from “paradise,” by alison headley, aged 11:

from edwin mullhouse: the life and death of an american writer 1943-1954 by jeffrey cartwright by steven millhauser:

“from the opening words of edwin’s immortal masterpiece we enter a precise and impossible world:

“a white crescent moon, wearing a red nightcap that comes down to a long-lashed eye, snores in a blueblack-ink-colored sky above a twinkling town where the purple houses breathe in and out, in and out.  one by one the yellow lights go out, each to a musical note.  down in the drowsy town the blear-eyed streetlamps yawn and nod, a corner mailbox snores through its mailslot, and shoulder to shoulder on the swaying telephone wires, the purple sparrows huddle in feathery sleep.  two black hiccupping cats come staggering along the road with their arms around one another’s shoulders, singing ‘down by the old mill stream’ while up above, the grumpy moon stirs in his sleep, and in the lamplit roadside grass a cricket wearing a tuxedo falls asleep under the eaves of a dark blue mushroom.  two glowing fireflies trace the words good night against the dark.  now one by one the stars go out, each to a musical note.  the world sleeps.

“these familiar images, drawn from animated memories of technicolor cartoons, make up a world that i have called precise and impossible, and are the very heartblood of edwin’s book.”

edwin was better than i.