The people whose necks hurt when I write about the Middle East tend to live in Brooklyn or Boca Raton: the kind of Zionist who pays another man to live in Israel for him. I have nothing but contempt for such people.
My history writing was based on what I saw in strange, exotic places rather than just reading books.
I can still boss people around. I can still write. I can still read. I can still eat, and I can still have very strong views.
I've lost count of the interviews I've done about my illness and its relationship to my ideas and writing.
