by PETER STRAUB

A being can only be touched where it yields. For a woman, this is under her dress; and for a god it's on the throat of the animal being sacrificed.

—George Bataille, Guilty

I see again my schoolroom in Vyra, the blue roses of the wallpaper, the open window… Everything is as it should be, nothing will ever change, nobody will ever die.

—Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I owe thanks to all who helped by contributing their insight, intelligence, advice, stories, and support: Charles Bernstein; Tom Noli; Hap Beasley; Scott Hamilton; Warren Vache; Lila Kalinich; Joe Haldeman; Eda Rak; my brother, John Straub; and my wondrous editor, Laurie Bernstein.