Stargazing has become our governing guilty pleasure. We feel, many of us, that we know Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna or Jennifer Lopez as well as we know our best friends, and though that is clearly an illusion, it is not entirely untrue. As you float along the surfaces of Martha Sherrill's haunting and evocative first novel, you experience something of a waking dream: the It girl of the moment is telling a journalist, "At my deepest point, my still point, I am water," when suddenly, almost inexplicably, you get pulled into something deeper. Stars somehow possess us.
On the face of it,...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
