Author, Author

Martin Amis

Cities at night, I feel, contain men who cry in their sleep and then say Nothing. It’s nothing. Just sad dreams. Or something like that . . . Swing low in your weep ship, with your sob probes and your tear scans, and you would mark them. Women–and they can be wives, lovers, gaunt muses, fat nurs…


Saving the World
The Congo Dinosaur