Excerpt
In the aftermath of having seen a production of Bartok's Bluebeard's Castle, at the age of nineteen, Maggie Blackburn had endured a night of terrifying dreams, vivid in memory even after fifteen years: she had been trapped, like Bluebeard's importunate young bride, Judith, in a hideoudly protracted and indefinable drama, a drama of her own instigation seemingly, yet beyond her control; the very substance of the air she breathed had turned gelatinous, music made material. So the nightmare of her several hours with [xxx] in the late evening of February 22, 1989, was similarly protracted and indefinable, a drama to be explicated only in retrospect when it would be perceived that, for [xxx], the dilemma lay in indecision: in not knowing whom he should kill, Maggie or himself or both; or whether in fact he was compelled by circumstances to kill another person at all.
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Reviews
- Booklist, June 1, 1990, p1850
- Publisher's Weekly, June 8, 1990, p43
- Library Journal, July, 1990, p132
- Atlanta Journal Constitution, July 8, 1990, N, 8
- San Francisco Chronicle, July 16, 1990, F, 4
- New York Times, July 26, 1990, C, 18
- New York Times Book Review, July 29, 1990, p1
- Washington Post Book World, August 26, 1990 p3
- Boston Globe, August 30, 1990, p91
- St. Louis Post-Dispatch, October 14, 1990, C, 5
Epigraph
It is not my fault if I am like a mushroom which seems edible but which poisons you if you pick it up and taste it, taking it to be something else.
CHOPIN, in a letter, 1839
Other Editions
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