72pp, 8 x 6 x 0.3 inches, paper, November 1994
"Haven't wanted to read anything lately, certainly not any of the 500 manuscripts and galleys I get a year. However, I found Solow facinating. It reminds me of early John Hawkes which is still for me the best Hawkes. The whole dreamscape was especially vivid."
"Lynn Crawford's first book is a stunner, revealing a formidable new talent that is both invigorating and somewhat unnerving. The worlds she explores are absolutely clear and absolutely opaque, the way "A springtime sky fills with the darkness of sunset"; while they shimmer with wit, they are also shaken by obsessions we hadn't yet guessed were our own. These stories are haunting, funny and irresistible."
"Like fourteen white capsules on a tray, these stories are simply yet frighteningly there. Will they induce visions, will they poison? Beneath their dissembling simplicity and antiseptic diction, a perverse imp agitates the language. From "contraption" to "contraction," Solow gestures and withholds with the precision of human desire. In these end-of-century narratives where description evacuates plot and humor lines sex, Crawford traces the unsayable while returning to the infinite possibilites of the I-You sentence."