This is my favourite story in the anthology so far. Marlow’s prose is beautiful and sensual. We experience the suffering of Libby, our protagonist, and understand her desperation. She does not have an easy life, and her monthly cycle only compounds her problems. No one is willing to help, they see her treacherous womb only as potential for new life, and her pain as something she must endure.
The chance for relief drives Libby to join a drug trial. Others who know and love her believe she has made a terrible mistake, but for Libby the radical changes mean freedom.
The story is full of delightful and evocative imagery -
“Libby's arm felt like the tail of a kite flapping in the wind.”
and
“She was the kernel of truth in every superstition. She was no grim reaper, not a skeletal man in heavy robes but the mother of death, Kali in all her terrible beauty.”
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