Indivisible

Fanny Howe is best known for her experimental poetry, but Indivisible is a short dreamlike novel about a working-class Boston woman (Henny) who aspires to a more spiritually fulfilling life. The story moves in fits and starts, and the narrative is not altogether satisfying, but the book is carried by Howe's precise prose:

I locked my husband in a closet one fine winter morning. It was not a large modern closet, but a little stuffy one in a century-old brick building. Inside that space with him were two pairs of shoes, a warm coat, a chamber pot, a bottle of water, peanut butter and a box of crackers. The lock was strong but the keyhole was the kind you can both peek through and pick. We had already looked simultaneously, our eyes darkening to the point of blindness as they fastened on each other, separated by only two inches of wood. Now I would not want to try peeking again. My eyes meeting his eyes was more disturbing than the naked encounter of our two whole faces in the light of day. It reminded me that no one knew what I had done except for the person I had done it with. And you God. 

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