The consequence for my fiction, anyway, has been, I think, an inclination to depict realities where the characters seem to have no connection to the settings in which they persist. Which isn’t to say that these characters arrive in the landscape of their stories from some other locale, as if they were strangers to it, for more often than not that isn’t the case, but that they seem so baffled by the fact of their existence — that they are alive and are equipped with a consciousness — that nothing of the relevance that might ordinarily be imparted to a narrative by the familiarity of a character’s surroundings, to that character, can be brought to bear on their situation.