I lifted my maroon apron from the cold marble slab. Its golden embroidery curled into spelling my name, Arun; Wong. Most people stop at Arun.
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It is character-driven humanity that McKenzie-Murray captures. The broken beauty of a falling feather or an unsent letter. The loneliness of a suburban laundromat.
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Rejection is not your regular book. Very soon into it, you’d be presented with a coltish gaze by the author, checking your audacity of going deeper in the book.
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My challenge lay in shifting the reader’s focus from the physical to the metaphysical journey and moving their cognition from visceral and visual to one that is markedly less so.
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“The court is now in session. So, let me get this right; you killed a dra…” “Smote, your lordship.”
