Reality Might Be Described As

Even If They Knew The Truth Of Their Own Feelings, Most Mothers Would Be Socially And Emotionally Incapable Of Revealing It.

Christianity Has Kept Itself Going For Centuries On Hope Alone, And Has Perpetrated All Manner Of Naughtiness In The Meantime.

The Writing You Allude To Is A Form Of Dissent, But It's Also Expressive Of The Need To Evolve Beyond What Is Turgid And Stale In Contemporary Fiction.

I'm A Novelist, Not A Social Scientist Or A Commentator.

Hope Is Like One Of Those Orchids That Grows Around Toxic Waste: Lovely In Itself - And An Assertion, If You Like, Of Indefatigable Good - But A Sure Sign That Something Nasty Lies Underneath.