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Synchronicity never ceases to amaze me: I listened to the broadcast this afternoon, then went home to continue reading the newest novel checked out of the library, Jodi Picoult's THE STORYTELLER. The following excerpt appears . . . (pages 128-129):

" 'I was a writer,' she says. 'A child who believed in fairy tales. Not the silly Disney ones your mother used to read to you, but the ones with blood and thorns, with girls who knew that love could kill you just as often as it could set you free. I believed in the curses of witches and the madness of werewolves. But I also mistakenly believed the scariest stories came from imagination, not real life. . . . I started writing when I was thirteen. It is what I did when other girls were fixing their hair and trying to flirt with boys. Instead, I would dream up characters and dialogue. I would write a chapter and give it to my best friend, Darija, to read and see what she thought. . . . This is what I was doing when the war came. And I did not stop. . . . It is not the original, of course. I don't have that anymore. But as soon as I could, I rewrote from memory. I HAD to. . . . This is my story. . . . It's not the one your are looking for, about what happened during the war. That's not nearly as important. Because this story,
it's the one that kept me alive.'
"Her story is supernatural, about an UPIOR--the Polish version of a vampire. But what makes it so terrifying is not the monster, who's a known quantity, but the ordinary men who turn out to be monsters, too. It is as if she knew, even at that young age, that you cannot separate good and evil cleanly, that they are conjoined twins sharing a single heart. If words had flavors, hers would be bitter almonds and coffee grounds."
This excerpt deals with an elderly Jewish woman who survived the Holocaust and the memories of what had happened to her father before the concentration camp experience even arrived. I could not help but parallel this narrative with those you ladies referenced on air today.