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Quote by Thebaid

“Then, bending over the bed of his cruel grandson, [the ghost of Laius] bares the gaping wound of his throat and drenches the sleeping man with a stream of gore. The king’s sleep was broken. He bolts upright and tears himself from the bed, full of horrors, and shakes off the ghostly blood…”

Quote by Thebaid

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Thebaid

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“Each October I walk into the woods looking for bones: rabbit skulls, a grackle spine, the pelvis of a deer with the blood bleached out. What died in the lush of roses and mint shines out from the tangle of twigs that bind it to the place of its last leaping. The living lack that kind of clarity. In late April, when the water spreads out and out till everything is lilies and seepage, there is only the mystery of tracks, a rustle receding in the many reeds. And so the bones accumulate across my windowsill: the flightless wings and exaggerated grins, the silent unmoving reminders of where the glories of April lead.”

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“N O T H I N G I would like to write one of those sophisticated stories in which even though nothing much happens there’s lots to write about. That can’t be done in Kashmir. It’s not sophisticated, what happens here. There’s too much blood for good literature. Q 1: Why is it not sophisticated? Q 2: What is the acceptable amount of blood for good literature? y”

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