He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

My yesterdays walk with me. They keep step, they are gray faces that peer over my shoulder.

He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

I also know Patrick White in Australia, both personally and as a writer, and Salman Rushdie in India.

Experimental novels are sometimes terribly clever and very seldom read. But the story that appeals to the child sitting on your knee is the one that satisfies the curiosity we all have about what happened then, and then, and then. This is the final restriction put on the technique of telling a story. A basic thing called story is built into the human condition. It's what we are; it's something to which we react.

There is, they say, no fool like an old fool.

Only one novel is a novel: that is a successful novel.