I feel like I sort of missed the eighties. At the time, we didn’t know we were having fun, which is probably the way it always is.

In my writing I wanted to be liked for writing really unlikeable stuff. There were books that people, particularly women, hated so much. They said, I threw it against the wall! Which, in my opinion, was a compliment. Because it's very hard to get somebody to throw something.

The novel is never really in the first draft. The novel really happens in the revisions.

I think powerful women don't care whether or not they're liked.

Brownstein's is a fresh and jaunty voice, with a jazz snap all his own.

Crimes, sins, nightmares, hunks of hair: it was surprising how many of them has something to dispose of. The more I charged, the easier it was for them to breathe freely once more.

Fame is really great in a lot of ways, you know? People are a lot nicer to you. Like, the more famous you are, the more free presents you get. And invitations to really amazing things.

I felt my whole life was a facsimile of a life.

I'm writing what I want to write. But it's almost an act of rebellion on my part. Because as a person, I've always wanted to be very likeable, and I think that's a horrible thing, particularly for women. You're always like, Oh, I hope I didn't hurt anyone's feelings. I hope they like me! And that's just so stupid.

With publicity comes humiliation.

I think in a lot of ways, writing, when you're really in there, is like being an actress because you're in somebody else's head.

Why would I want to read something about somebody that's just a really nice, decent person who overcomes terrible trials? That's not how life is to me.

I think the sixties must have been quite a lot of fun.

Long after the bomb falls and you and your good deeds are gone, cockroaches will still be here, prowling the streets like armored cars.