I’d been straining away at this tribute for a constipated hour or so before twin dawns broke on me. First, that if it’s this hard to write a few words about a personal inspiration, how much harder must it be for someone to write novels that provoke that inspiration. Second, that I was trying to write about Martin Amis in the manner of Martin Amis, and that all but one of the reasons I couldn’t were the reasons he was on my list in the first place. So there’s a sort of wannabe kinship here, wildly unbalanced, of course, but from where I’m sitting, it feels like we’re sharing the same pair of eyeballs. I admit without the whisper of a grudge that he assembles and expresses the incoming info with infinitely greater finesse and understanding than I ever could. Of course.
One thing puzzles me. In spite of his concentration, No No Blinks, on the nature, the texture of the world we live in today, with all its accelerating negatives, and even setting aside, for a moment, his indefatigable humour, his work always leaves me somehow energized, confirmed, reassured.