Summary of “Zadie Smith Remembers Philip Roth”

One time, I was having a conversation with Philip Roth about lane swimming, a thing it turned out we both liked to do, although he could swim much farther and much faster.
Roth in the swimming pool was no different than Roth at his standing desk.
At an unusually tender age, he learned not to write to make people think well of him, nor to display to others, through fiction, the right sort of ideas, so they could think him the right sort of person.
Roth always told the truth-his own, subjective truth-through language and through lies, the twin engines at the embarrassing heart of literature.
Like all writers, there were things and ideas that lay beyond his ken or conception; he had blind spots, prejudices, selves he could imagine only partially, or selves he mistook or mislaid.
Unlike many writers, he did not aspire to perfect vision.
Roth used every little scrap of what he had. Nothing was held back or protected from writing, nothing saved for a rainy day.
Roth was an unusually patriotic writer, but his love for his country never outweighed or obscured his curiosity about it.

The orginal article.