Joyce Carol Oates
Joyce Carol Oates
Joyce Carol Oatesis an American writer. Oates published her first book in 1963 and has since published over 40 novels, as well as a number of plays and novellas, and many volumes of short stories, poetry, and nonfiction. She has won many awards for her writing, including the National Book Award, for her novel them, two O. Henry Awards, and the National Humanities Medal. Her novels Black Water, What I Lived For, Blonde, and short story collections The Wheel of...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth16 June 1938
CityLockport, NY
CountryUnited States of America
I consider tragedy the highest form of art.
Before I undertake a lengthy project, I have usually given much thought to it over a period of years. My files are filled with likely subjects - which perhaps, one day, I will develop.
Though I am never exactly "blocked" I do have difficult periods. I am led by a fascination with material - the challenge of presenting it in an original and engaging way. I have no problem imagining stories, characters, distinctive settings and themes - but the difficulty is choosing a voice and a language in which to present it.
Characters begin as voices, then gain presence by being viewed in others' eyes. Characters define one another in dramatic contexts. It is often very exciting, when characters meet - out of their encounters, unanticipated stories can spring.
For the writer, the serial killer is, abstractly, an analogue of the imagination's caprices and amorality; the sense that, no matter the dictates and even the wishes of the conscious social self, the life or will or purpose of the imagination is incomprehensible, unpredictable.
You don't have to understand why anything that has happened nor do you even have to understand what it is that has happened. You have only to live with the remains.
This was before voice mail, recorded phone messages you can't escape. Life was easier then. You just didn't pick up the phone.
Betrayal is the deepest wound. Betrayal is what remains of love, when love has gone.
Sometimes people surprise us. People we believe we know.
Memory blurs, that's the point. If memory didn't blur you wouldn't have the fool's courage to do things again, again, again, that tear you apart.
I'm sure all that you've heard is just the usual gossip, invented to injure feelings rather than illuminate truth.
One man's insanity is another man's genius; someday the world will recognize the genius in my insanity.
I want to tell you that I love you I want to tell you that I love you I want to tell you that I love I love I love I love but you do not.
the music was always in the background, like music at a church service; it was something to depend upon.