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257 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
I have been watching warily for her ever since, but never so hard as when my mother slips off into the caverns where the past and present and future are etched together. You could say that my life as her daughter, the life of my imagination, began with my mother's visions. My sisters and I took them for our texts. Her madness was our narrative line. I am trying to decipher that line still, for its power and meaning over our past.
For just like that, our lives had a way of falling prey to her guile, as my mother herself fell, a slippage, a breath, nothing very great, no time to look back, to grab each otehr's hands. Just my mother turning around to say, "I must be dreaming," and our lives fell away at a touch, mine with hers -- throughout my life as a college student, girlfriend, journalist in Belfast or Baghdad, Chicago or London, the life that paralleled her life as a cocktail waitress, a hotel clerk, a model. REality fell in waves with unreality, commingling, and washed out to sea.