But the painting is a journey, a transformation, as chaos travels to a hallowed place depicted by an angel with a sacred heart, the colors transition from dark to light. There is hope.

It was so predictable. So obvious. The rustling plastic, the snorts and sniffles, a red-hot whisper. A zipper baring its teeth, its mouth open wide.

For Louki, the marital home was a neutral zone simply disguised as a fixed point, making the empty existence all the more unbearable.

This is an ambitious book — but Swierczynski successfully tackles it with loads of heart. . .

A selection of hypnotic songs . . . more atmospheric than lyrical.

All the elements I love most about noir: a gutsy broad, a dicey heist, lovers on the lam, excess, madness, and knockout prose.