and making sense of them later-a process that often diverges in its purpose as Peter explained so wonderfully well in his lecture 12 More recently,an industry has grown in using mathematics to predict the future,a phenomenon that is not restricted to infectious disease but stretches widely into areas such an economic forecasting and the like.I have argued before,and will argue again today that this is an extremely dangerous and highly seductive territory,where the apparent rigor of mathematics can appear to lend an illusion of certainty,an illusion even of control.There are certain situations where the level of information surrounding a particular crisis is sufficiently detailed and explicit that intelligent mathematical models can provide some insight into future,if not current,methods of control.However,many do not fall within that category.I believe it is the duty of a scientist to be explicit about the assumptions that go into a mathematical model,and even more so of the limitations of the exercise-otherwise it constitutes,to me,a frank abuse of a process that relies on the lack of ambiguity. 13 Having argued for the avoidance of ambiguity in science,it is only fitting that the rest of my energies should be devoted to advocating ambiguity in practice of literature Much of the potential energy of literature lies unlocked in the gap between word and referent.This plasticity of meaning is still exploited quite explicitly in poetry,and certainly tolerated by most within this increasingly marginalized activity.Prose, however,appears these days to come under a different jurisdiction.I was happily not aware of this when I sat down,more than fifteen years ago to write my first novel- Memories of Rain.I had no preconceived desire to play with words or sentence structure,but what emerged was an English that was largely devoid of fullstops,and where clauses often belonged to both its flanking sides. 14 Unlike The Glassblower's Breath,Memories of Rain received no severe criticism (first novels rarely do,if they are reviewed at all)but was definitely labelled avant-garde.This shocked me-coming as it did exactly seventy years after a work such as Ulysses was published!I am not for a moment suggesting that the richness of literature resides entirely in flouting convention.Many of my favorite authors write in perfectly grammatical sentences,using other devices such as narrative or imagery to create meaning.Indeed,I have a very high regard for prose whose complexity lies outside the structure of its sentences,but there is a certain tyranny in the expectation that we all write that way.It grieves me that the battles fought by so many writers to free us from such an expectation have not led to any sustained victory,for we all write from the heart,and if the heart eschews punctuation at that given moment,that is the only way to be true to oneself. 15 My reaction to punctuation is truly visceral.I physically abhor the repeated use of the full-stop.Interestingly called the 'period'by some,the full-stop to me is simply not the satisfactory musical interval between the statements or ideas that I wish to put forward.There is something too final about the full-stop -I am happy to use itand making sense of them later – a process that often diverges in its purpose as Peter explained so wonderfully well in his lecture. 12 More recently, an industry has grown in using mathematics to predict the future, a phenomenon that is not restricted to infectious disease but stretches widely into areas such an economic forecasting and the like. I have argued before, and will argue again today that this is an extremely dangerous and highly seductive territory, where the apparent rigor of mathematics can appear to lend an illusion of certainty, an illusion even of control. There are certain situations where the level of information surrounding a particular crisis is sufficiently detailed and explicit that intelligent mathematical models can provide some insight into future, if not current, methods of control. However, many do not fall within that category. I believe it is the duty of a scientist to be explicit about the assumptions that go into a mathematical model, and even more so of the limitations of the exercise – otherwise it constitutes, to me, a frank abuse of a process that relies on the lack of ambiguity. 13 Having argued for the avoidance of ambiguity in science, it is only fitting that the rest of my energies should be devoted to advocating ambiguity in practice of literature. Much of the potential energy of literature lies unlocked in the gap between word and referent. This plasticity of meaning is still exploited quite explicitly in poetry, and certainly tolerated by most within this increasingly marginalized activity. Prose, however, appears these days to come under a different jurisdiction. I was happily not aware of this when I sat down, more than fifteen years ago to write my first novel – Memories of Rain. I had no preconceived desire to play with words or sentence structure, but what emerged was an English that was largely devoid of fullstops, and where clauses often belonged to both its flanking sides. 14 Unlike The Glassblower’s Breath, Memories of Rain received no severe criticism (first novels rarely do, if they are reviewed at all) but was definitely labelled avant-garde. This shocked me – coming as it did exactly seventy years after a work such as Ulysses was published! I am not for a moment suggesting that the richness of literature resides entirely in flouting convention. Many of my favorite authors write in perfectly grammatical sentences, using other devices such as narrative or imagery to create meaning. Indeed, I have a very high regard for prose whose complexity lies outside the structure of its sentences, but there is a certain tyranny in the expectation that we all write that way. It grieves me that the battles fought by so many writers to free us from such an expectation have not led to any sustained victory, for we all write from the heart, and if the heart eschews punctuation at that given moment, that is the only way to be true to oneself. 15 My reaction to punctuation is truly visceral. I physically abhor the repeated use of the full-stop. Interestingly called the 'period' by some, the full-stop to me is simply not the satisfactory musical interval between the statements or ideas that I wish to put forward. There is something too final about the full-stop – I am happy to use it