In the spell-like, poetic fiction of Thaisa Frank, the fantastic is never far from the ordinary: her characters glimpse other worlds in their rear-view mirrors, receive postcards from long-dead friends, and take lovers who literally glow in the dark, their mustaches filaments, their pubic hair incandescent. Call it ‘domestic magical realism,’ call it the work of a West Coast I.B. Singer, it’s fiction that ‘packs an emotional punch that will leave the reader gasping.
—San Francisco Chronicle
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