After reading about ten of those self-help books, I saw that they were leading nowhere. They have an immediate effect, but that effect stops as soon as I close the book. They’re just words, describing an ideal world that doesn’t exist, not even for the people who wrote them.

EVeryday is a good day, because I have my family around me

Words are tricky things, a friend of his has told him, they’re much more tricky than violins.

And before I&#39;d got to the end of the first paragraph, I&#39;d come up slap bang against a fundamental problem that still troubles me today whenever I begin a story, and it&#39;s this: where am I telling it from?

Written By Philip Pullman

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