I'd defend the right for any novelist to experiment with form or language, but if people don't take to it, don't react by making out that they are thick.
If critics of 'readable fiction' want literature to change the ways people dream, they need first to come down from the mountain and speak to the people.
My story reflexes come less from fantasy or horror than from the darker sort of psychological thriller - not as plot-driven as most, rather more mood-driven. My interest in the supernatural is a complication - though I am less interested in ghosts than in people who see ghosts.
I have to get out once a week and speak with people or I start thinking I'm the emperor of Abyssinia.
Twenty years is, after all, a long time. We are not the same people we were. Old friends, lovers, even family members: they are strangers who happen to wear a familiar face. We have no right to claim to know anyone after such a distance.
Some people feed you with love.
I am less interested in ghosts than in people who see ghosts.
Because two people in love don't make a hive mind. Neither should they want to be a hive mind, to think the same, to know the same. It's about being separate and still loving each other, being distinct from each other. One is the violin string one is the bow.
The trouble with forgiveness is that some people don't want to be forgiven.