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[...] The obvious issues with her outfits started coming up, that her bra straps were visible beneath the straps of her tank top, that the pants she wore when going out were too low-rise, but what bothered her mother often had less to do with how revealing her clothes were than with the strange ide…

I suppose that character was a way of exploring what it is when one’s life is one’s art. But her extreme asceticism, the way she rejects whatever doesn’t serve her art⁠—that’s not me at all. I don’t know if it’s obvious from reading that book, but I hate the Cheffe’s intensity⁠—the way, for instanc…

Oh, I don’t know. Those voices are remorseful, too⁠—they’re voices of regret. In any case, when we write novels, we can’t choose sides. We have to be on everyone’s side⁠—the woman’s, the man’s, the child’s. That’s what I find marvelous about novels, anyway⁠—that they allow us to hear everyone.

Oh, I don’t know. Those voices are remorseful, too⁠—they’re voices of regret. In any case, when we write novels, we can’t choose sides. We have to be on everyone’s side⁠—the woman’s, the man’s, the child’s. That’s what I find marvelous about novels, anyway⁠—that they allow us to hear everyone.

Violet did not think of Edmund being carried away. Already this buried hook of pain was what remained of him. She ran and seized the woman, falling on her knees too. The woman’s shouts pulsed into her chest and Violet began to sob, gripping tighter, squeezing her tears against the woman’s neck. She…