Certainly, there was an uneasiness to the place
Certainly, I felt like we didn’t belong there

Clay Eaters traverses anetwork of fault lines diverging and converging at unexpected angles: amysterious jungle island, military reconnaissance training, the spirits in thetrees and abandoned temples, old family homes, the echoes across rooms, thedining table set for the archetypal feast. Here the author asks what it meansto write the self, and what it is the living must carry.