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Paperback
First published January 9, 1992
"These were all things I dreamed about before I met the architect, which makes this story dishonest in it's way. Under excuses for sitting on library steps I could also list: simple fatigue, not winning the lottery, not liking the colour blue. Under excuses for killing babies I could list: not liking babies, not liking myself, or not liking the architect. Take your pick."See what I mean? Or maybe you don't. Maybe you do think it's cool and trendy, an expression of the new hep-cat really, really free, post-modernist, post-feminist rad fiction. I just don't think its good enough. And the characters and situations are all so off-the-wall as to be totally unbelievable! It's like wanting to touch the sublime whilst remaining ever so, ever so respectable; like standing on the edge of a cliff with a safety harness on. It seems trite, flippant, teenage (not inherently but DESIGNED to be) and therefore entirely superficial. It is EXACTLY the Booker fodder she went on to produce in novel form.