At the end of the second chapter of Richard Ford’s The Sportswriter the protagonist says:
It’s no coincidence that I got married just as my literary career and my talents for it were succumbing to gross seriousness. I was crying out, you might say, for the play of light and dark, and there is no play of light and dark quite like marriage and private life.
…I needed to turn from literature back to life, where I could get somewhere. It’s no loss to mankind when one writer decides to call it a day. When a tree falls in the forest, who cares but the monkeys?
Thus far: strange, funny and very sad. Passages of searing insight, humour and the most wonderfully distinctive descriptions of the world and human nature, in amidst rambling sentences about the places and people of eighties America.