The novel remained in a storage locker in Mission Valley, in the shadow of the Jack Schrade Bridge and mountains of gravel. My Cardiff saviors encouraged me to unearth the book, to find an agent.
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Carl Fabergé did have one crucial thing in common with the Soviet realists who followed him and with the people putting on this exhibition: he worked for the government, and the work he did was “government work."
Tidying shelves as we walk past poetry — Auden. Berryman. Chaucer, Cicero, Coleridge. Dante. De La Mare. Dickinson, Donne — Chuck, Jr., smiles, asks. "Do you know how many pressed flowers we find in books?"