The Book of Dreams

Nova's wit dark wit is well suited to this tale of Hollywood's underbelly. Warren Hodges, head of International Pictures, is one of the film industry's mythic figures - too wealthy and powerful to be human. Into his line of sight walks Marta Brooks, who fulfills her promise of mystery with a nosebleed in his sportscar which she cleanses away with an ocean swim. The scene should be absurd, particularly coming, as it does, after the overweening description of Hodges' party, where, wending his star-struck way towards Marta, Hodges shares a stock tip with a hard-edged actress and averts a drunken suicide with a promise. But his meeting with Marta imparts a hint of redemption, a possibility of tragedy, a touch of the sinister. And it draws the reader on. Nova leaves Hodges behind as he delves into Marta's world. Like the movie magnate, she is a Hollywood native. But she takes ads for the Romance Advertiser and, needing the job, she has agreed to pick up a package for her shady boss. Instead, she finds an empty house, bloodstained walls and clouds of flies. Nova delves deeper, introducing Marta's sad-sack mother, the fantasy Dad she created for Marta, Marta's deep sadness and escape. Escape into the present where, against her better judgment, she pursues the package to a new destination. Where she is followed by another Hollywood native, a recent release from Soledad State Prison, who's hit blackmail paydirt in his cleaning job at a psychiatrist's office. But he needs someone to pick up the money for him, a patsy, and Marta falls into his lap like a ripe plum. Nova weaves his way through the lives of these people, their convoluted route to the moments they share, what they took from a common background to become the creatures they are. Their intersection is outlandish but somehow inevitable. Comic, dark and suspenseful, his story owes its strength to the gritty feel of the place as much as the nuances of character.