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"I am a singer. And I am alone. His parents came from two very different worlds. And Singer was an outcast. a misfit who belonged to neither world... a master of solitude." The City stood alone beyond the forest. Through the Self-Gate, annihilator of the unwary, none could gain entry alive, and none came out.
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Contemplative, unpretentious, bleak and grave.
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On Open Library, 1 have read it and 3 want to.
American writer
Closest on the same fourteen dimensions, from everything scored on Taste Buds. Other media included when they land close.