It wasn’t my birthday. Yet, a large and very heavy package
came in the mail addressed to me. Like most people, I enjoy opening unexpected
packages. Like Sarah in this book, I opened my heavy package with anticipation.
I found, to my surprise, a familiar kind of nightmare in Sarah’s story.
With Sarah I stepped into another world, sepia colored, a
monotone twilight zone that immediately evoked memories of my own childhood
when I had dreams of someday possessing the dollhouse of my dreams. Unlike
Sarah, no one ever gave me the kind of dollhouse I really wanted. After reading
the text, and viewing the stunningly eerie photographs in this book, I am glad
that kind of dollhouse was denied me.
When we are young and vulnerable, and subject to the
pressures, the whims and the control of those older, stronger and presumably
wiser, we construct within our mind a sanctuary.
In times of distress and disappointment we seek to disappear
and fade into the perfect environment where we can control our own destinies.
We don’t realize when we are young that there is no perfect place, and if there
were how then we would entertain ourselves?
In fantasy most of us can only linger a short while before
we are forced back to face up to those problems that drove us into fantasy in
the first place.
With a strangely haunted feeling, I drifted into the
dollhouse with Sarah, enthralled by the déjà vu send of having been there
before as perhaps all little girls-and maybe boys, too-have been there before.
