Great writing and great ideas are strange: their sorcery and magic are more like dreaming with intent than they are like descriptions of the world. Daily art makes and remakes the world, giving it meaning and substance. It’s a responsibility. You could lose your voice, you could write I am the Walrus, or you could throw a party. The imagination creates reality rather than imitates it. There is no interesting consensus about the way the world is. In the end, there is nothing out there but what we make of it, and whether we make more or less of it is a daily question about how we want to live and who we want to be.
Kureishi gives a deep sigh. Relations with his mother, he says, are 'great. Mum and me are chill.' But he and Yasmin are no longer on speaking terms. 'But you can always rely on her for a letter to a newspaper. That's the extent of her writing ability.' He reads my look of shocked amusement and laughs. 'That'll go in! That'll be in bold type. But I honestly don't believe I've traduced my father in any way. I thought [My Ear at His Heart] was affectionate and respectful. But of course in families everybody has a different idea of who's doing what.'