He stood there, his eyes like they had been before. Their beauty stabbed at her heart like a great knife; the hair looked so like she had just pressed the wet comb to it and...

The last human of importance the American people have been able to keep in the working end of their brain is your own Chicago triggerman, Dillinger. After him they kind of lost hold on keeping...

If the book’s bad enough, they’ll publish it, and if it’s bad bad enough, the daily reviewers will love it, and it’ll sell.

He’s America in action — opposed to quality.

Curt, my husband, is a writer, and he’ll never write again. That’s our funeral, as they say down south. Now in your case, my pet, you’re married to a phenomenon of our own special epoch,...

And yet Curt’s a real writer too. His machinery is stuck, that’s all.

She was a church open only for him, with services in full operation twenty-four hours a day.

is present the truth as fiction.

But failure has kept Curt at home like a nice warm dachshund.