Natasha’s writing is deadpan, realist, bleak, analytical, Apollonian in its clarity and attention to form, stern in its rationality, suffused with deep ennui, in places Novocain blank, trying to remember a feeling. Fiona’s is full-blown magical Dionysian, fantastical, desiring to feel more, weirdly optimistic, micro-dosed and credulous, dizzyingly open-hearted. It’s way out there. The covers say it all. For Exquisite Mariposa, a Maggie Lee sculpture of a chaotic strawberry-blonde girl in a wild outfit, dressed like a tablecloth, who wants to believe, who’s trapped in a glass box.
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