From Amazon
Some of the women in Lau's stories are interlopers, pulling on the threads of unravelling marriages. Others are star-struck, like Belinda in "Suburbia," who finds, early in her infatuation with her former professor Jeremy, that "the dry white lines across his forehead, the creases at his ears, only made him more attractive to her." Later, though, "she looked at her lover and it seemed to her then that he was small and pitiful, an aging man." Occasionally, as in "The Summer Place," the men are unavailable and desire never regresses into repulsion. From her first published book, the autobiographical Runaway: Diary of a Street Kid, Evelyn Lau's ruthlessly personal writing has made her one of Canada's best-known authors. Her stories in Choose Me, by blurring the lines of desire and power between men and women, make for fascinating reading. --Moe Berg
Review
"Evelyn Lau trespasses into the shadows of her reader's curiosity. Her stories are stark, compelling and poignant. Stunned and oddly stirred, the reader turns to the next page, the next story. Ms. Lau uses the very sharp point of her pen to tattoo her stories onto the reader's mind, where they remain long after the book is closed." --Clarissa Pinkola Estes, author of Women Who Run With the Wolves
From the Back Cover
"Evelyn Lau writes like she was touched by the wing of a lost angel." --Pat Conroy
"Evelyn Lau trespasses into the shadows of her reader's curiosity. Her stories are stark, compelling and poignant. Stunned and oddly stirred, the reader turns to the next page, the next story. Ms. Lau uses the very sharp point of her pen to tattoo her stories onto the reader's mind, where they remain long after the book is closed." --Clarissa Pinkola Estes, author of Women Who Run With the Wolves
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Douglas had invited her in so calmly. After she set down her bags in the hall with its high ceilings and polished floors, he pushed the keys to his home into her hand, two skeleton keys dangling from a loop of twisted wire. Then he motioned her back out onto porch, where he wrapped his fingers around hers, demonstrating how to work the locks. Their breath showed in front of them, but his hand pulsed with warmth. She learned to shove the keys in smoothly, to jiggle them, to listen for the muffled internal click that signified the lock had been turned.
"Will you remember this?"
He repeated the code to the burglar alarm by the door, half-concealed by the winter coats hanging on the wooden rack.
"Yes. I think I'll remember."
His wife appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs.
"Ellen, this is our visiting poet, Zoe. She's been on campus all week working with the students, and I thought it'd be nice for her to stay in a real home before she leaves, especially since we won't be here."
Ellen came down the first flight of stairs, bending to extend her hand; her arm was long, her palm warm.
"Welcome."
Zoe held his wife's hand in her own and swallowed past the catch in her throat. His wife continued to lean down from the landing, bending her body from the waist, one hand holding the railing, the other clasping Zoe's as though to help her up. Douglas kept his eyes fastened on Ellen's face. Their two children were clamouring around her, tugging and demanding; the girl jumped up and down, whining, while the boy pulled down his trousers to reveal buttocks as smooth as cream.
"Jason, I said no. Look, we have a guest. Say hello, Jason, say hello to Zoe."
The boy ignored her, burying his face in his mother's thigh, squirming his bare bum in the air while his sister hid behind them both.
"Zoe will be staying here while we're at the cabin. You've got to be good and say hello."
After a while, just when it seemed he could not be persuaded, Jason lifted his face and grinned winningly. His eyes were like his father's, only clearer, the colour of amber.
"Hello. Hello!" he shouted.
Douglas pressed the keys once more into her palm. She looked at him then in a moment of terror, the weight and light of the house around her suddenly there for her to both protect and invade. He sensed her fear, mistook it for concern about burglar alarms, difficult locks, the house burning down.
"Got it?"
He repeated the code again.
"Is everything all right? Are you happy?"
He had given her the keys, his hands were empty. At the top of the stairs his wife was saying, "No, no, no," to the children. "No, you can't bring that. Look, you already have so much."
"I'm happy."
She stood in the doorway and watched him leave with his family. Ellen was weighted with the children's clothes, warm and puffy jackets that were awkward in her arms. Jason and Julia ran ahead, the tops of their heads bright and new in the winter light. Douglas paused before following them; he placed both his hands on Zoe's upper arms and kissed her on the cheek.
"One more."
He kissed her on the other cheek just as she was pulling away.
She looked over his shoulder and caught the blur of Ellen's face. She felt the sudden tension, her body electric with watchfulness. But the moment passed quickly -- it was only a kiss, friendly, sociable. Ellen beamed and waved.
"Have a good time!"
"You too!"
She eased the door shut, the house was hers.
