Status Updates From Mon refuge et mon orage (Fr...

‘I thought about money all the time—To be absolutely alone—with almost no money, made me rigid with anxiety—My annihilation played before my eyes like a movie—my breakfast partners greeted me laughing, Aaj bhi bach gayi? “So, you made it safely through the day?” As though they expected me to have a terrible accident—Since I was all I had, I paid attention to my security—I felt safer with them than—men in my office.’

‘—we may not be the best arbiters of which is which. So read this book as you would a novel. It makes no larger claim—there can be no larger claim. Fiction is that strange, smoky thing that writers don’t entirely own, even if they think they do. Where does it come from? Our past, our present, our reading, our imagination—yes. But perhaps from premonitions of our future, too—But then—Why should we know everything?’