by Lisa Tuttle
| |$12.00 $10.00 (paperback) |
...all at once, as if another light had been switched on, I saw the hidden
picture. Within the contours of the island was a woman. A woman, naked, on
her back, her knees up and legs splayed open, her face hidden by a forearm
flung across it and by the long hair—greenish, grayish—that flowed
around her like the sea.
The center of the painting, what drew the eye and
commanded the attention, was the woman's vulva: all the life of the
painting was concentrated there. A slash of pink, startling against the
mossy greens and browns, seemed to touch a nerve in my own groin.
In this creepy but delicious novella, an early twenty-first-century
novelist decides to write the biography of Helen Ralston, an
all-but-forgotten twentieth-century novelist she has long admired. In the
late 1920s, Helen studied painting with W.E. Logan. Logan painted her as
Circe, and Helen painted herself as an island titled My Death. When they
parted for good, both of them turned to writing. Willy became famous; Helen
did not. The narrator of My Death intends to do something about that. But
first she must solve the mystery of Helen's relationship with Willy and why
Helen titled her self-portrait My Death.
ISBN: 978-1-933500-23-2 (13 digit)
Publication Date: 2008
paperback 118 pages