About Glen Duncan: Glen Duncan is a British author born in 1965 in Bolton, Lancashire, England to an Anglo-Indian family. He studied philosophy and literature at the universities of Lancaster and Exeter.
Comedy, of course, lives for serious moments.
It’s why we close the eyes, too. The dead shouldn’t have to look on the lewd aliveness of the living.
How was the light today?” “Big. Hot. Yellow-white. The sky’s blue was like a drumbeat. I watched the black tree shadows revolve. When the sun went down it was like someone’s hand was pulling it, very gently. It was soft-edged and orange. The ...
Hey presto: time travel. You don't need a time machine, it turns out, you just need a friend to laugh like a teenager. Chronology shivers.
The lies you tell yourself. The necessary lies.
Nothing is the whole story. The self’s curse – and the writer’s.
If you had a lot of money and you were miserable, you’d be miserable poor.
Why do people who read Shakespeare still spend hours watching shitty TV or staring out of the window or arguing about whose dinner party to go to?
All vampires smoke. Smoking’s high on the list of Things You Take Up To Pass The Time.
It’s Big Brother with werewolves. Live coverage for a month, leading up to a group kill on full moon.
... vampire ruler Hin Kahur implemented howler aversion therapy.
Full moon rises. You change. You need what you need, so you do what you do. The kill – like the show – must go on.
But did what it does: Simply insisted. Simply burned through. Simply defied. The same shrugging, grinning continuance. The nature of life. The nature of the beast.
The Curse has a thing for contrast: frivolity one minute, homicide the next.
Cheney, Rumsfeld - they were Shakespearean in their attitude of impunity.
We have grown up in an age where there is nothing that cannot now, courtesy of computer-generated imagery, be convincingly rendered in the visual field.
We're in the age of the series, trilogy, boxed sets.
Until the age of thirteen, I tortured the waiting worlds of book illustration and professional football by shilly-shallying over which of them was going to get the benefit of my inestimable talents.
It wasn't love at first sight. They ran into each other one morning in a sunny clearing in the forest. A few moments of stunned silence. `Glockenspiel,' Adam pronounced, thinking (but with terrible doubt) he'd found another animal in search of a name...
The question 'What was there before creation?' is meaningless. Time is a property of creation, therefore before creation there was no before creation.
