She held up her knitting, inspecting it. "A yarn imagines itself, you know," she said, "entangling out of separate strands. Every yarn is made of strands, every story of worlds that can never ever be told, since no one could live long enough to spin them. Or hear them. And they keep unfolding, too, continuously, simultaneously, skeins living along the same yarn. You can spot one at a time and sometimes, very rarely, you can glimpse a multitude swarming--though no yarner can ever see both the individual tale and the swarm at the same moment. But imagination can conceal while it reveals. Sooner or later, though, everything gets used." In Parallax, Robin Morgan's most radiant prose, spare but sensuous, welcomes you into her dazzling imagination. This is a story about storytelling--a set of shorter tales which, like Russian dolls, nest and fit together to reveal a larger one. A fable for the future, a prediction about the past, Parallax is a luscious story that enfolds you and demands immediate rereading the moment you finish, a story that surprises you and invites you to play with the patterns inside its paradoxes, a story whose characters will accompany you for the rest of your life. In Parallax, Robin Morgan's most radiant prose, spare but sensuous, welcomes you into her dazzling imagination. This is a story about storytelling--a set of shorter tales which, like Russian dolls, nest and fit together to reveal a larger one. A fable for the future, a prediction about the past, Parallax is a luscious story that enfolds you and demands immediate rereading the moment you finish, a story that surprises you and invites you to play with the patterns inside its paradoxes, a story whose characters will accompany you for the rest of your life.