“What happened to a dream without a dreamer?”
PAINT IT BLACK
Josie Tyrell, art model, runaway, and denizen of LA's rock scene finds a chance at real love with Michael Faraday, a Harvard dropout and son of a renowned pianist. But when she receives a call from the coroner, asking her to identify her lover's body, her bright dreams all turn to black.
Josie struggles to understand Michael's death and to hold onto the world they shared. Attracted to and repelled by his pianist mother, Meredith, Josie is drawn into a twisted relationship that reflects equal parts distrust and blind need.
With the fever pitch intensity and lyrical prose that are her hallmarks, Janet Fitch weaves a spellbinding tale of love, betrayal, and the possibility of transcendence.
Available in Hardcover, Paperback, Ebook, Audiobook
Praise…
for Paint It Black
“A dark, crooked beauty that fulfills all the promise of White Oleander and confirms that Janet Fitch is an artist of the very highest order.”
“In dysfunctional family narratives, Fitch is to fiction what Eugene O’Neill is to drama.”
“Lushly written, dramatically plotted. . . Fitch’s Los Angeles is so real it breathes.”
“There is nothing less than a stellar sentence in this novel. Fitch’s emotional honesty recalls the work of Joyce Carol Oates, her strychnine sentences the prose of Paula Fox.”
“A page-turning psychodrama. . . . Fitch’s prose penetrates the inner lives of [her characters] with immediacy and bite.”
“Fitch wonderfully captures the abrasive appeal of punk music, the bohemian, sometimes squalid lifestyle, the performers, the drugs, the alienation. This is crackling fresh stuff you don’t read every day.”
“Riveting. . . . An uncommonly accomplished page-turner”
Interviews
Reviews
“‘Why does each man kill the thing he loves?’ she’d asked him that day at Dante’s View. Hot and smoggy, the sunset coming a little earlier each day, heady with the scent of laurel sumac, the bright pungent green that was the smell of California.... The softness of his voice. Even now, under the deodars... her feet in the grass over his silent body, she could her his voice, clear but soft, you had to stop whatever you were doing and lean close to hear it. And he had replied so quietly it took a few sections for it to register. ‘You kill it before it kills you.’”
