I find it incredibly painful to be misunderstood.1 And novels are themselves — they’re very ambiguous. It’s not like a philosophical argument where everything is laid out, so there’s a lot of room to be misunderstood. And you have to leave a lot of — I don’t know, a porousness, so that the reader can penetrate and make his or her own experience out of it, that it’s deliberately ambiguous — novels, but I thought well, if — but maybe it’s not the form for you, Rebecca, maybe, and then that had a lot to do with my leaving it for a while, and that it’s a very hard thing for me to do.2 It’s hard for me not to be explicit. I hate to be misunderstood.

  1. Historic Residue, Moveable Feast []
  2. Inequality And Contrast []
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