I remember reading the letters of Raymond Chandler some years ago. Chandler was of course the English public schoolboy - educated at Dulwich college, who creared the Private Detective Philip Marlowe - immortalised by Bogart in The Big Sleep, and Robert Montgomery in that film where the camera tells the story, and The lady in the lake.

Anyway Chandler was forever being plagued by letters who confused him with his creation - they used to ask him which was favourite gun the beretta, or the snub nose colt? stuff like that.

Chandler wrote in exasperation - I think these are the kind of people whose lips move when they read.

You HAVE to separate the artist from his creation. Otherwise we'll all end up sheltering in the cellar with Rushdie.

un soupcon of sophistication, please gentlemen!