For someone who has never held in their hands any of Fox’s pieces, this short story might seem bizarre, unconventional, eccentric… even bewildering. But if you are used to reading her perplexing tales you can only admire her renowned stamp, welded in iron, seizing the characters’ sanity to the point you don’t know what you’re seeing —feeling.
She’s the master of confusion. Her gift to mould the human psyche at her wish, to soak your thoughts in blood for suddenly gather the thick liquid and make you realise —everything was an illusion. Or perhaps… wasn’t it?
She never stops astonishing me. In this case, a little girl mistreated, manipulated with her mind broken to pieces like delicate ceramic, faces reality (an infamous, insane reality) the only way she can stand it: conceiving their predators and alliances as schizoid entities, changing, twirling, disorienting her (disorienting… you) at every beat.
