You two were in a cave together?’ said Miss Simpkins in horror. ‘Yes,’ said Kate, ‘and it was very, very dark.
Flying into a storm, even its outer edges, did not seem like a good idea to me. And this was no ordinary tempest. Everyone on the bridge knew what it was: the Devil's Fist, a near-eternal typhoon that migrated about the North Indian basin year-round. She was infamous, and earned her name by striking airships out of the sky.
I'm cursed with this puritanical streak that makes me want everything to be about something. It's a terrible affliction.
The more I worked on 'Half Brother,' the more it seemed to me the story was really about love in all its possible forms - how and why we decide to bestow it, or withdraw it; how we decide what is more worthy of being loved, and what is less. We are masters of conditional love.
The world should have been in Technicolour, but seemed more like black and white.
