“It’s amazing what lies people can sustain behind the mask of their real faces. Think of the art of the adulterer, under tremendous pressure and against enormous odds, ordinary husbands and wives who would freeze with self-conciousness up on a stage—yet in the theater of the home, alone before the audience of the betrayed spouse, they act out roles of innocence and fidelity with flawless dramatic skill. Great, great performances, conceived with genius down to the smallest particulars, impeccably meticulous naturalistic acting, and all done by rank amateurs. People beautifully pretending to be “themselves.” Make believe can take the subtlest forms, you know. Why should a novelist, a pretender by profession, be any less deft and more reliable than a stolid, unimaginative suburban accountant cheating on his wife?”
— Philip Roth, The Paris Review, Issue 93, 1984
