“I'm not sure that my friend's father liked my book. In an attempt to save me from my own imagination, he wrote me a six-page letter pointing out all the physical impossibilities and imaginary rules I had come up with to be able to say whatever the book says. The letter proves that the true art is reading, not writing, and it is a beautiful testament of loyalty: a friend of his son's is a friend of his. Commenting on some sexual incidents described in the novel, he noted: Now I know why you and my son are friends." This is a statement of complicity. It tells me that if we knew each other, he would forgive my defects just as he does his son's.”
Book:Sudden Death