Like a film in subjective camera, the book meanders from image to image in the disjointed world of a woman whose husband has disappeared.
I felt as lost and unsettled as she does and was borne adrift on the splendid imagery.
Extract
The table turns into a table made of mist, only to rematerialize the minute you turn to look at it, the second you lay a finger on it .... You know what it cost, its size, the right tablecloth for it, the label stuck on the underside ... but you can't know it, even though you can still reach out and touch it. Give them a name, reach out and touch them, or walk right through them - ghosts will lose none of their power or their indulgence.
