There is a feeling of disbelief that comes over you, that takes over, and you kind of go through the motions. You do what you're supposed to do, but in fact you're not there at all.
Meg Pokrass writes like a brain looking for a body. Wonderful, dark, unforgiving.
A computer is a wonderful and friendly machine, because it's always just a little better than you are. You're always a little bit behind, but it stays right there with you anyway. It allows you to make the mistakes, and then to try to find out what the mistakes are, and then to repair the mistakes. It's always your friend. It quits on you, but it doesn't leave the apartment.
Glimpses is dead-on about the high and tight nineties even as it reaches out for the sweet hereafter of the sixties. It longs for something better, and finds it, I guess, as much as anything is ever found anymore. It's a mean, sweet, wry, and disturbing book, in equal portions.
