For Historians, Creative Writers Provide A Kind

I Would Have Been A Disaster As A Career Politician. I Would Never Have Toed A Party Line.

He Is Careful To Deny Responsibility For September, But He Does Not, You Notice, Condemn The Killings. He Also Refrains From Killing Words, Sparing Roland And Buzot, As If They Were Beneath His Notice. August 10 Was Illegal, He Says; So Too Was The Taking Of The Bastille. What Account Can We Take Of That, In Revolution? It Is The Nature Of Revolutions To Break Laws. We Are Not Justices Of The Peace; We Are Legislators To A New World.

Though I Have Never Thought Of Myself As A Book Collector, There Are Shelves In Our House Browsed So Often, On So Many Rainy Winter Nights, That The Contents Have Seeped Into Me As If By Osmosis.

Fiction Isn't Made By Scraping The Bones Of Topicality For The Last Shreds And Sinews, To Be Processed Into Mechanically Recovered Prose. Like Journalism, It Deals In Ideas As Well As Facts, But Also In Metaphors, Symbols And Myths.

Suppose Within Each Book There Is Another Book, And Within Every Letter On Every Page Another Volume Constantly Unfolding; But These Volumes Take No Space On The Desk. Suppose Knowledge Could Be Reduced To A Quintessence, Held Within A Picture, A Sign, Held Within A Place Which Is No Place. Suppose The Human Skull Were To Become Capacious, Spaces Opening Inside It, Humming Chambers Like Beehives.