With a deep, abiding hatred. And embarrassment. I have this fantasy that I’m walking past Bretano’s or wherever and I click my fingers and all my books on the shelves go blank. And then I can start again and get it right.... They’re all so far below what I had hoped they would be. And yet one goes on. Here I am starting a new book. This is the absolute best stage of it, because when you’re writing the opening pages of the book, anything is possible, you might actually get it right this time. In my heart, of course I know that I won’t. In a couple of years’ time when I finish the book, I’ll hate it just as much as the others. I won’t deny that every now and then I write a sentence and I can hear a chime. I can hear that ping that you get when you hit your fingernail on the side of a glass, and I think, "Yeah, that’s right."
John Banville, winner of the Booker Prize today, on hating all his books.
6:19 PM
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