The interior life has been the stuff of our novels for a long time. I don't like to read or write that kind of thing. I like what I call edge books, that deal with people on a tight wire, with places that are in dissolution, with social change. That's what I like about Arizona, what excites me. Thousands of people pouring in, all these water issues.
Water is a great novel waiting to be written.
Speaking of water, housekeeping comes back with a pitcher of ice. The man genially tells Proulx that there are plenty of foam cups over there on the sideboard. Proulx heads out, graciously saying she hopes she's given me something I can use, perhaps thinking of Quoyle, who lives in constant fear of getting fired. I decide to make use of some of that ice. I pick the pitcher up and aim it into my foam cup.