![]() ![]() If people were not writing books about people like me, I’d write one myself, spitting out all the painful things, rudely, lightly. ![]() I had an intense experience which can happen to writers, when you understand that your subject is right there you have lived it already, and that world is waiting to be converted into scenes. Then I kept thinking there was more material. But I did write what became the first chapter of The Buddha of Suburbia, as a short story for the London Review of Books, published in 1987. I was a horny bookworm, and novels got through to me. I had been no good at school, but always felt more alive than the people around me. The success of My Beautiful Laundrette had given me confidence that the writing tone I’d found, could be extended into the novel I’d wanted to write as a teenager. The two films I’d written previously, My Beautiful Laundrette and Sammy and Rosie Get Laid, had bought me time and money. ![]() It was the late ’80s, and I was in my early 30s, when I began to work on The Buddha of Suburbia. All first novels are letters to one’s parents, telling them how it was for you, an account of things they didn’t understand or didn’t want to hear, saying what couldn’t be said, providing them with a bigger picture. ![]()
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