Ms Robinson has created a world of human beings seeming to exist as memory and perception against a backdrop of overwhelming natural forces. Ruth, her sister and their guardian sit in a darkened house " The lake still thundered and groaned, the flood waters still brimmed and simmered. When we did not move or speak, there was no proof that we were there at all. The wind and the water brought sounds intact from any imaginable distance. Deprived of all perspective and horizon, I found myself reduced to an intuition, and my sister and my aunt to something less than that. I was afraid to put out my hand, for fear it would touch nothing, or to speak, for fear no one would answer. We all stood there silently for a long moment." Such writing might seem to come close, but never does get, precious. It is full of telling detail: the furtive closing of a door; the obsessive cleanliness of Sylvie who soaks tea towels in a solution of water and bleach over a period of weeks; the memorabilia a grandmother keeps in a bottom drawer; the old photos in the shoe box with patches of black felty paper on their backs; the sound of heels bumping with a soft, slow, rhythm against the legs of the chairs as children wait for their toast to be buttered. The themes concern desire and loss and our relationship with the natural world. It takes effort on the reader's part to enter Ms Robinson's world but what fine writing does not? Effective reading is a creative act too I understand. This particular journey is well worth the effort.