Oates layers hatred and blindness stop each other in a suffocating and intoxicating mix, and the birthing of monsters and murder throughout it just feels like the skin crawling operation of the hideous crimes of history. An incredible achievement, thoroughly absorbing, and, perhaps most astonishing, she lands the plane, in a bravura combination of fable, sermon and hallucination. Almost unbelievable in it's towering success. I'll never forget it, or forget Lieutenant Bayard disappearing into the occupation of the Philippines, and what stopped in Princeton, and what I know started there.