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I’m a big fan of art in all its forms, and this book is indeed what one would call modern art. Metaphorical and subliminal throughout, Helen Cova doesn’t so much write, she purges. There are many hidden messages in these short narratives, none less than the recurrent metaphor itself, and you wonder how much of the content in this book is therapy for its author. Indeed, Helen says as much in her book’s preface, that the somewhat bizarrely chosen title – Autosarcophagy: To Eat Onesel...
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