In a hard-to-categorize debut, Australian White lets her imagination run free with 17 short first-person . . . well, pieces, for lack of a more specific term: one introduces a friend who adds a wing to her house for her pencil collection; another pictures memory as a labyrinthine archive run by scurrying sugar ants; in another, she presents the sounds on her street as a "Concerto For Autumn" ("Section two is punctuated by sudden door slams—house and car . . ."), then describes the "concerto's" CD cover.
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