When the Jehovah’s witness people come to my door I take them in. I like to explain where they are going wrong. They have a love of exegesis. They are literary critics manques. They love to pick apart the texts of the bible. That’s wonderful, I say. Come into my home. I too have a love of exegesis. I bring them in. They are already confused. You know there are other texts other than the bible. Look at all these books on my bookshelves. It is a world of analysis. Hours of discovery in the forms and shapes of texts, their cross-references, their sub-textuality, skirmishes in textual authority. Why only the other day I was looking at the Marquis de Sade’s Justine. Thay are unfamiliar with this text. They remain guarded. They are not doing what they came here to do, which is make me believe that all these texts are true. They leave me with a leaflet. Come again soon, I say. They back away. He was crazy, they must be laughing to themselves. He reads that stuff, but he doesn’t believe any of it!

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