Fiction. Jack Foley’s autobiography begins, ＂What is a life but stories?＂ The stories collected here are not his life but a fantastic consciousness in which he is as lost as anyone. Foley writes what he does not know; he writes what he can imagine. The dead sprout up here as easily as leaves of grass.
Stylistically the stories range widely—some are comic, some bring tears. All manifest ＂the strangeness and the power of poetry,＂ plunging us into the enigma of the human heart.
博客來
