Still Life

Matthias Jordan was the golden boy of the New York Literary scene, when he started taking himself just a little too seriously, let his celebrity status go just a little to his head, and found his wife, fans and sobriety left him a lot alone. Ramming around his immense sea-side monument to himself, he'd feel remorse if he could sober up for long. Just about the time he thinks his writer's block is terminal he has a sort of epiphany. Not the sort Saints are made of, more like the ones people have shortly before they drive into a tree: His world of self-doubt and pity is upset by someone in possibly worse shape than he is - they don't even have a body to speak of anymore. It takes all the mental horsepower Matt has left, can borrow or scrape out of his ear to follow the clues in this humorous artistic murder mystery through to the surprising end.