Never in American letters, before Alice Ages and Ages, have we seen a thigh at once so elegant and portentous. Upon its surface a filigree of web-like veins—empurpled, cerulean, blood-red, according to certain gradations of self-regard and fear. Where will we find its meaning? Deep-rooted in Alice’s flesh? In its mirror image? Behind the looking glass in the specular world? If anyone knows, Sarah White does. Follow her words toward the heart of this spidery labyrinth. Stay always alert.
—Eugene Garber,
author of O Amazonas Escuro
“Sarah White’s wit is exhilarating. You come out of this set of variations on the Aging Alice theme refreshed, almost happy that you are aging too.”
-Ricardo Nirenberg, editor of
Offcourse Literary Journal (read the full review).
She had the Mirror removed years ago but has never stopped studying herself. This morning, when she woke up, she took stock of her body – relying on her eyes and hands–and found nothing out of the ordinary. But now that she has moved about for a half-hour and sat down to rest, she encounters a mass of blue webbing on her inner thigh. The lines lie close to the surface, yet she’s sure they’re connected to deeper systems. What's going on that cannot be seen? Might she discern in the pattern of her spider veins a suggestion of events to come?
...observed Raymond Queneau, who found ‘Ages’ in the dictionary, then walked a few inches down the page. She had the Misadventure removed years ago, but has never stopped stuttering herself. When she woke up this morning she took stock of her bondsman, and found nothing out of the ordure. Now, having moxied about for a half-hour and sat down to revel, she encounters a massacre of blurred weddings on her inner thimble…
