Her other mother smiled brightly and the hair on her head drifted like plants under the sea.

A disturbing novel about dreams and wishes, a nightmarish distaff monkey's paw of a book that it's impossible to forget. Lisa Tuttle remains our preeminent chronicler of family madness and desire.

Children's fiction is the most important fiction of all.

There's a tale in the Caballa that suggests that the Angel of Death is so beautiful that upon seeing it (or him, or her) you fall in love so hard, so fast, that your soul is pulled out through your eyes. I like that story.

The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names.

You're a big one,[...] a tall drink of water, but I got to tell you, you don't look too bright. I got a son, stupid as a man who bought his stupid at a two-for-one sale, and you remind me of him.

You hurt. It's okay. I hurt too. Hold my hand.