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Interviews

I have broad tastes: Jimmy Little, Sufjan Stevens, Frank Sinatra, Radiohead, P.J. Harvey, Lorde, Gurrumul, Powder-finger, Karma County, Sex Pistols, Paris Combo … I’d like to be able to drop some more highbrow names into the mix, but honestly I never listen to Mozart or Bach.

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The ability to situate a work in its context, to praise it without flattery, to argue against it without rancour, to be authoritative without being a know-all, to make difficult matters clear without condescending to the reader – and, of course, to be a good writer in his or her own right.

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Virginia Woolf wrote somewhere that the reason she resented death was because it was the one experience she’d never describe. Art gives shape to what’s happened to you, so it is therapy, but therapy plus form and myth and poetry. I like the double pay-off of writing alone, then handing it over to others to fill the images with living bodies.

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There are a few things that are obvious enough to sound platitudinous: intelligence, knowledge, attentiveness, insight, and so forth. But I think a certain forthrightness and clarity of expression goes a long way. A sense of humour doesn’t hurt, either.

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I have often thought that a large part of achievement is just fronting up; having an idea and acting on it, however unlikely success might seem. What you need is a resolution (or the disposition) not to be discouraged by failure and to be pleasantly surprised by success. If it doesn’t work, you try something else. You make the most of any opportunity. You should also jettison a conventional sense of the social niceties. You’re going to Boston for your honeymoon. Hey, why not ask Noam Chomsky for an interview?

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Most editors I have worked for have been helpful and communicative, although often overworked and unable therefore to devote generous time to individual reviewers. There isn’t much feedback from readers, as far as I’ve seen, presumably because the main conduit is letters to the editor, which many readers are disinclined to use.

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When not preferring silence, I like to listen to Leonard Cohen and Emmylou Harris, but a friend recently introduced me to the early music ensemble, Accordone (Marco Beasley and Guido Morini).

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I’ve interviewed Stephen Hawking twice. On both occasions it was in his old office in Silver Street, Cambridge – in front of his huge poster of Marilyn Monroe. The first time, in 1989, I was a little anxious, not because I was with the world’s best-known scientist, but because I found the awkward silences waiting for his answers hard to manage. What do you do, having asked a question, during the two or three minutes it takes him to put together a sentence on his machine? You can’t stare at him for that long – we’re not equipped to do that with anyone for more than seconds. Ignore him? The way we ignore other crippled folk, without realising it? Hardly!

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I tend to reread The Sun Also Rises every year, if only to remind myself of what it was like to be eighteen or nineteen and overcome by the initial excitement, the shock, of something fresh and distinctive.

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I like words, though making music is even better. Writing is almost as good as playing the violin.

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