Iain Sinclair
Iain Sinclair
Iain Sinclair FRSLis a Welsh writer and filmmaker. Much of his work is rooted in London, most recently within the influences of psychogeography...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth11 June 1943
running book eye
For the bookish, London is a book. For criminals, a map of opportunities. For unpapered immigrants, it is a nest of skinned eyes; sanctioned gunmen ready to blow your head off as you run for a train. When the city of distorting mirrors revealed itself, through its districts and discriminations, I discovered more about London's past as a reworking of my own submerged history.
book writing fate
It's just a freak of fate that I'm paid to write, not paying to print my own books - but I'd be doing it anyway: it's my life.
mean demand want
As you become known, the demands on you are such that you get less and less time to do the things you want to do. But if there are no demands, then that means nobody wants to read what you're doing anyway, so you're stuck.
business games play
You'd better make it your business to understand the market. The ability to charm or play the game is useful.
dark reflection mirrors
The line of traffic advancing towards the rising sun looked like a procession of the returning dead. Every one of them, solitaries in clean shirts, smoking, checking mirrors to see if their reflections were still there, wore dark glasses.
careers discovery plot
Life and career are the same thing. Every life has to have a plot and a plan. You have to recognize this early and be quite cold-blooded in the discovery and articulation of that plot.
dream sleep night
London is a city that sleeps too much. This is the mould of its quality. A magnetic contract: to reinvent itself on the other side of dream, each day. And such dreams, smouldering against the tidal spine of the river, telling and retelling the tales that must be told to manifest a city's bones. Whispering the night architecture back into stone.
travel journey doubt
An involuntary return to the point of departure is, without doubt, the most disturbing of all journeys.