Q: What would he do when he got there?

A: He doesn't expect to get to Sweden, he makes that--I make that clear. He hopes to get to Rome and take his chances from there. What does he do when he gets there? That's not part of the book. He would probably have to go underground as a fugitive...wait for amnesty...or be captured and punished. As long as he's free, he's free. I saw his being free as perhaps inspiring in others a more critical attitude, an attitude of inspection. It's the same thing with the end of Something Happened, it ends where it ends. It's not like a nineteenth-century novel which in its last few pages tells what happens for the next fifty years in each of the characters' lives.

The last line of Something Happened is in a way very interesting: "Everyone seems pleased with the way I've taken command." And that's very interesting because it seems--if you know the character--he never feels secure in any situation. He has taken command, he's gotten promoted, he's doing very well. But his use of the word "seems" rather than "is pleased"" is an indication that he's insecure, he's not sure just how pleased everyone is.

Q: In Something Happened, how come you never named the company for which Slocum worked or either the daughter or the son?

A: Or the wife. I don't know. The main reason is that I felt in this book, it would be better if they were not named. I didn't,t even say what they do. In Catch-22, where Yossarian has a first name, it's only used twice in the thing--his nickname is used more often. He's never described physically--Yossarian--other than being suntanned, and kind of large in build. I don't know why it's that way. I think that in the books I write I tend to lean away from action-packed kind of literal realism.

Also, in terms of the character's mental operations--he, like many men, when they think of certain members of their family never think of them by name, or almost never think of them by name. The only one who does have a name is the brain-damaged kid, and Slocum doesn't think of him as a member of his family. That's why I decided to give him a name.

Q: why did you choose this particular portrait of Robert Slocum, of all the different ideas you might have had for a second novel?

A: Well, listen: you don't get that many ideas. Sometimes you have to tell people who want to be writers, who ask the question, "How come you don't write one or two novels a year?", the answer is that novelist just don't get that many ideas. If they get lucky they might get one that can be developed into a novel. Writers don't have choices. Unless you're writing for a newspaper, the you're assigned to write theater or book reviews, or you interview a writer. Playwrights don't, novelists don't really have a choice of what it is they're going to do. Different kinds of writers might, you know--like Irving Wallace--if they can choose from among current events like sex, or campus radicals.

I have to get an idea I can write. If I were going to class here, and I were writing for a grade, which would mean my writing a novel, the I would pick two or three things if they satisfied the instructor, and write the best I were able to. But when you're on your own, when a writer's on his own, he's lucky if he can get one good idea. He writes only for himself, he's no longer writing for the faculty of a university. It takes a long time. It takes me longer than most, but most novelists spend at least a year or two on a book.

I wrote this book because I thought it would make a good book, and I thought Catch-22 would make a good book too. It looks like I was right in the first case and it looks like I'm going to be right in the second case. I could've been wrong. Imagine having spent, in my case, really five years of hard work experimenting with ideas, with an idea in which you have no confidence. I wouldn't be able to do anything about that. If I didn't feel very strongly about what I was doing, or I was doing it badly... I would give it up. The book wouldn't be very important to me.

I'm constantly testing out what I do in each section with my agent and with my editor, and they give me advice. It's never happened before that any book that I submitted was rejected or needed major editing. If they did reject it, I guess I would stop, because they'd probably be right.

Q: Here's a catch-22 for writers: the more time you spend writing a book to satisfy yourself, the greater the anticipation on the part of your reading audience, and the greater their expectations.

A: It worked that way with me but it probably won't work that way with most novels. It worked that way with me because Catch-22 enjoys a remarkable longevity. There aren't many books that are so widely read after so many years. I can think of only two others that date from the same period that are still read by people with enjoyment, rather than any courses they might have to read them for. The other two are Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle. I cannot think of any others. Pynchon readers, I think, come mostly from courses studying contemporary literature.

Q: Did you like the movie, Catch-22?

A: I liked the movie very much. If you ask me if I liked it as an interpretation of the book then I would say that I think that's an invalid question. The movie was as good an American movie as I've seen. I was able to see the movie as it was in the making, and I didn't expect it to be that good. It's amazing what they've done with camera lenses.