THIS STORY IS THE SECOND IN THE SERIES OF SIX BOOKS. This particularly complex story is told individually by three characters each from their own narrow perspective. BECKY, MEG, AND ALEX, ALL MARRIED, NOT TO EACH OTHER, NONE HAPPILY.

“Painting is not about making pictures—is writing about making a book? It’s about one thing: the secret of how to work. I talk to God when I paint. I have stopped painting. Do you understand what I am saying?”

I felt paralyzed with fear. For her. For me. “Is there anything I can do? Can I take you someplace? Do you want to come home with me?” I figured we could all convalesce together. We could eat soup and read magazines.

She pushed the notion away with her hand. “It’s like poison. It’s like a bacterial infection that will always adapt to a new way to eat you alive. It begins with the tasty morsel, the soul. So elusive, so tender, the ultimate catch.”

This condition, this stasis of the spirit, where life’s energies were paralyzed even though life’s physical processes continued, was the essence of despair. To label it a sin to be outlawed and punished must be a political phenomenon.

No doubt true despair was as mute and unreflective as flesh lacking consciousness.

“I wish for it to be over quickly.” She sipped her tea.

“For what to be over quickly?”