Take some literary fiction (a whole bunch of realistic characters in deep emotional pain), add in the kind of magical realism you might find in a Neil Gaiman book, then bake it up with amazing writing, and you still probably won't have Eleanor...but you might get as close as it comes.I can't say ...
The thick rug has left a prickly pattern stamped on his face. His head is a pile driver, his tongue a lead slug. Stacy, he grunts. You rang, sir, Stacy says. He blindly flaps his hand in her general direction, which is to say he flaps his hand all over the place. I need some aspirin, he says. Tur...
Bob asks. Micah is standing at the window, staring down at Argus City. It is nightfall, at least until the sun rises again in ninety minutes. He doesn't know how people adjust to the frequent sunrises. Maybe their windows are timed to the station's orbital schedule, and darken each time the sun ...