Robert Marshall, author of A Separate Reality—described as “...a portrait of an artist as a young man in the seventies. It’s a novel about Jews in the sun-belt diaspora, sprinklers on dead grass, and the smell of creosote in the desert at night. It’s a story of rattle snakes and the death rattle of the sixties. It’s about Watergate and the history of the left from the Rosenbergs to McGovern."—conjures up a 100-word description of a dream for the 92Y Blog. (“100 Words” background here.)

Dream I’m at a museum with my father. They’ve bought some new paintings, very tiny Rembrandts. Because they’re so small perhaps he can see them. So I wheel him out into the museum (also a parking lot), but we can’t find the Rembrandts, or the little Van Goghs which may also be there. We give up, head in, but must be careful—we don’t want to get in the lane where the planes are taking off. We do, accidentally, for a moment, but then manage to reenter the building (airport?). Later my brother is also going blind. Spina Bofida, he says.

He joins Jami Attenberg and Galt Niederhoffer for the New Jewish Fiction talk at Makor on March 7.