Jeff Greenberg, Silhouette of Man Fishing, Lake Erie, Lorain, OH
Because it was one of these pointless wandering tales of people dealing with emotions that are never spelled out for the reader, other than to refer us to a boat or a swinging light bulb or a can of ham. How are we supposed to know what these things mean to characters when we never get to know them as other than shell-shocked?
It was like Housekeeping or Tinkers or The Patron Saint of Liars. The genre confounds me.
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