Tony Burgess Quotes

Maybe I went a bit too far, but that's what people want now. There's an expectation that children be treated poorly in their literature. Everyone wants to see children treated badly. So that ... well, so that when they triumph over evil we all feel lifted up. It's inspirational.

I think horror should have occult elements, not as its subject but as its ambition. It is a machine that destroys illusion. I, of course, never achieve this, but I always act as if I can.

As a kid, I couldn't articulate it but I sought out things that could. At first it was horror films - extreme panic and terror, grotesque and maniacal. These films calmed me and made me feel more connected in my experiences.

The thing he said aloud did not succeed.

It's my job really, to help you, my reader, in accepting things as real that aren't. Most books try to get you to accept things that, at the very least, could be real – and that's difficult enough, goodness knows – but here, in this book, nothing seems to be even trying to be real. Except, I would say, me. I'm here, I'm real. And to be honest, I've never been here before. I don't know where I am, I don't know what I'm doing. In some ways, I'm afraid this is the most real story I've ever written.

And now, no matter what I thought I had done or why I did it, it has become completely untrue because of what I have done since.

I believe the book should be something you protect yourself from by returning to your life. But it has threatened your life. Not by saying something it believes is true, but by attacking it.

perhaps, all these years, historians had been unwilling to recognize history as a spiral because a spiral was so difficult to describe. was war, then, the big solution after all? war the great aphrodisiac, the great source of world adrenalin, the solvent of ennui, angst, melancholia, accidia, spleen? war itself a massive sexual act. -war, finally, the controller, the trimmer & excisor; the justifier of fertility?" --the Wanting Seed/Burgess

It's strange to sleep. Sleep is a mysterious thing even in the simplest of people. When you're sleepy, you seem to be getting sick, losing energy, losing clear thought, lying down out of weakness. Then you succumb to the weakness and what happens next resembles death. And then you dream. You abide in a world whose rules are hidden even from you - you who create it.

I am interested in giving the reader true vertigo. I look to deteriorating consciousness as our inevitable condition and I am trying to make it work the same way I did with my juvenile mind - that is, to imagine how we are suffering. To record it being actual and then virtual.

There is another system, more beaded than weather or murder, that is moving up into the province. As Les leaves the chair to investigate his son's crying a thousand zombies form an alliterative fog around Lake Scugog and beyond, mouthing the words Helen, hello, help. This fog predominates the region; however, other systems compete, bursting and winding with vowels braiding into dipthongs so long that they dissipate across a thousand panting lips. In the suburbs of Barrie, for instance, an alliteration that began with the wail of a cat in heat picked up the consonant "Guh" from a fisherman caught in surprise on Lake Simcoe. The echoing coves of the lake added a sort of meter, and by the time these sounds arrived in Gravenhurst, the people there were certain that a musical was blaring from speakers in the woods. All across the province, zombies, like extras in a crowd scene, imitate a thousand conversations. They open and close their mouths on things and sound is a heavy carpet of mumbling, a pre-production monstrosity. In minutes the Pontypool fog will march on the town of Sunderland and over the barriers south of Lindsay.

I am a feral person. I have no bank account. I am unemployable. I own nothing. I lose my shoes sometimes when I go out. It sounds like I'm making a case for my own exceptionalism, which I suppose I am, but I wish it wasn't true.