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The paradox of writing fiction is that, at least for the author, it is reality. My characters are trapped in a situation that’s achingly plausible; I’ve got to help them through it to a credible resolution. This feels like decent, blue-collar work. And it has the small satisfaction of human-scale protest. A novel is a story, and stories have a kind of primitive power—they’re the weeds that grow in the sidewalk cracks, the campfire fables and telephone tales that can never be stamped out.

• The Writing on the Wall: When Reality Isn’t Enough – Jesse Kornbluth on why fiction is sometimes more comfortable than reality