It seems that perhaps my three favourite living authors were sitting around together chewing the fat for an adoring public at the British Library last night. Jeez, they could've let me know; I was just hanging around the house.
Anyway, highly entertaining notes on proceedings here.
Michael Moorcock claiming his imitators (whoever they might be) are "spoon-feeding [his] work to the masses, spreading borrowed ideas in sanitised form" seems pretty rich coming from the guy who clogs up British charity shops to this day with about eight billion '70s Elric paperbacks, but no matter, it's all good stuff, and I think these fellows are each possessed of a body of work that gives 'em a free pass as regards being a tad self-regarding at times.
Iain Sinclair asks Michael Moorcock “Did you just meet in a pub, kind of reimage the cosmos as a hobby?”
Michael Moorcock says “Yeah, I suppose so.”
Michael Moorcock is very deadpan.
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