Prophet Song
“She has entered a part of herself where she is absolute, she has a sword between her teeth.” Loss. Confusion. Fear. Courage. And: hope. You are opening a book that is a flow of lava, dense, incendiary, inexorable. Starting from the writing: no quotation marks, compact paragraphs, syncopated scene changes. All downhill, dragged down the mountain, we would call it “crescendo” if it didn’t resemble a precipice. It’s as if we’re waiting for a turning point that...