True intelligence requires fabulous imagination.
Wasn't writing a kind of soaring, an achievable form of flight, of fancy, of the imagination?
I've always thought cruelty is a failure of imagination.
How can a novelist achieve atonement when, with her absolute power of deciding outcomes, she is also God? There is no one, no entity or higher form that she can appeal to, or be reconciled with, or that can forgive her. There is nothing outside her. In her imagination she has set the limits and the terms. No atonement for God, or novelists, even if they are atheists. It was always an impossible task, and that was precisely the point. The attempt was all.
Politics is the enemy of the imagination.
