The kind my mother spewed over the phone each night when Papa sneaked out for a smoke, complaining to her sister about me, him, her period, the price of saffron, the thievery of mango season, and I heard by hiding the cordless in my room.

Brooks creates a gothic novel with the same clever and unseen yet unescapable hand as Austen in Northanger Abbey or Bronte in Jane Eyre.

I mean, I say this so much in interviews, but whatever, I really like the line between horror and beauty. The same reason you’re so captivated by a beautiful painting is the same reason you want to look at a car crash.

It’s easy to give up on writing or move away from it for five years and come back, but when you keep other writers in your life, it just makes it more likely that you’ll keep writing because you’re still in those conversations.