I was once referred to in a Kirkus review as a "northern Michigan version of Andre Dubus. " My editor called me after the review came out and asked if I was okay with that. What part? I wondered. Finding myself in the same sentence with Andre Dubus? What could be better than that? Or perhaps - and more likely, my editor meant being pigeonholed as a writer of this remote region "mostly ignored by the rest of the world," as Jim Harrison says.
Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine gun.