The Sociopath Next Door, by Martha Stout, grabbed my attention walking through a Borders. Three sets of female eyes peer out from the cover, and it is like a long ago quiz show: which one of us is a criminal? The book itself proved even more interesting because it shares the concept that there are people with a personality disorder that doesn’t allow them to experience remorse or guilt for their actions. For personal reasons, this book was like finding a flashlight in my backpack on a moonlight night. It helped me make sense of a lot of mysterious territory in my life. http://www.curledup.com/sociopat.htm

He writes prose that flows like music. He writes of Newfoundland in a way that makes an Arizonan occasionally but not permanently enticed to a hard, cold, scrabble of an island. If I wanted to sample his work, understanding he is an acquired taste, I would start with The Bird Artist.

Moon grows a little.

Each night it rises later.

Eating out of sight?