We all dream about our families. Notions drift into our head about their nighttime configurations. Is she still in her room? Or is she lurking somewhere? Does he wander–and does he do so with mind or body?
The world is strange, and it is strangest where it meets the surreal. That surreal underside of family life is what this novel is about. The things hiding under the beds, or in the shadows of the ceiling. The angels that take away or give children to us.
No matter where our family came from–whether we washed up together on a shoreline, or were all born in the same room–we all dream of each other. And we dream each other. Dreams that touch reality, draw back–and then touch again.