I Don't Keep Any Copies

This Is What A Woman Is: Unadorned, After Children And Work And Age, And Experience-these Are The Marks Of Living.

When I Write I Am Trying To Express My Way Of Being In The World. This Is Primarily A Process Of Elimination: Once You Have Removed All The Dead Language, The Second-hand Dogma, The Truths That Are Not Your Own But Other People's, The Mottos, The Slogans, The Out-and-out Lies Of Your Nation, The Myths Of Your Historical Moment - Once You Have Removed All That Warps Experience Into A Shape You Do Not Recognise And Do Not Believe In - What You Are Left With Is Something Approximating The Truth Of Your Own Conception.

One Thing You Learn About The Novel As A Form Is That It's Always Smarter Than You Are.

A Trauma Is Something One Repeats And Repeats, After All, And This Is The Tragedy Of The Iqbals--that They Can't Help But Reenact The Dash They Once Made From One Land To Another, From One Faith To Another, From One Brown Mother Country Into The Pale, Freckled Arms Of An Imperial Sovereign.

...despite All This, It Is Still Hard To Admit That There Is No One More English Than The Indian, No One More Indian Than The English. There Are Still Young White Men Who Are Angry About That; Who Will Roll Out At Closing Time Into The Poorly Lit Streets With A Kitchen Knife Wrapped In A Tight Fist. But It Makes An Immigrant Laugh To Hear The Fears Of The Nationalist, Scared Of Infection, Penetration, Miscegenation, When This Is Small Fry, Peanuts, Compared To What The Immigrant Fears - Dissolution, Disappearance.