The novel is always pop art, and the novel is always dying. That's the only way it stays alive. It does really die. I've been thinking about that a lot.
From Leslie Fiedler
I have, I admit, a low tolerance for detached chronicling and cool analysis.
I think Henry Miller has had huge influence not because he wrote about sex, but because the memoir or the nonfiction novel has become such a monumental force in American publishing, if not in literature.
Faulkner sat in our living room and read from Light in August. That was incredible.
Foucault was the one person I met in France that I could talk to. He was a mensch. You know whether you agree with him or not because you know what he is saying.
Hemingway seems to be in a funny position. People nowadays can't identify with him closely as a member of their own generation, and he isn't yet historical.
I admire Ginsberg as a poet, despite the fact that he seems not to know when he is being good and when he is bad. But he will last, or at least those poems will last.
I liked Camille Paglia. I liked her even better when I heard her talk.
I used to be fond of Indian arm wrestling.
One more recent novelist to come along is Cormac McCarthy. Him, I like.
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