I stood in the harsh electric light of that new tunnel, in Bombay’s Arthur Road Prison, and I wanted to laugh. Hey guys, I wanted to say, can’t you be a little more original? But I couldn’t speak. Fear dries a man’s mouth, and hate strangles him. That’s why hate has no great literature: real fear and real hate have no words.
…Shantaram, page 414.
I spent half an hour thinking about this, and I’ll tell you what…the bastard might be right. Can’t think of a single book. Apathy, maybe. Or negative hate, perhaps. Either way, hate does make for some pretty good tunes.