Parallax

She inspected her knitting. A yarn imagines itself, you know, she murmured, from separate strands. Every story is made of strands, too, of worlds that keep unfolding simultaneously along the same yarn. You can spot one at a time or, rarely, a multitude swarming -- though no yarner can ever glimpse both theindividual tale and the swarm at the same moment. Imagination can conceal while it reveals. Sooner or later, though, everything gets used. In Parallax, Robin Morgans most radiant...
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She inspected her knitting. A yarn imagines itself, you know, she murmured, from separate strands. Every story is made of strands, too, of worlds that keep unfolding simultaneously along the same yarn. You can spot one at a time or, rarely, a multitude swarming -- though no yarner can ever glimpse both theindividual tale and the swarm at the same moment. Imagination can conceal while it reveals. Sooner or later, though, everything gets used. In Parallax, Robin Morgans most radiant prose, spare but sensuous, welcomes you into her dazzling imagination. This is a story about storytelling -- a set ofshorter tales which, like Russian dolls, nest and fit together to reveal a larger one. A fable for the future, a prediction about the past, this is a luscious story that enfolds you and demands immediate rereading the moment you finish, a story that surprises you and invites you to play with the patterns inside its paradoxes, a story whose characters will accompany you for the rest of your life.