Time Lost Can Never Be Recovered...and This

Whenever I Finish A Book, I Start With A Blank Slate And Never Have Ideas Lined Up.

It Was So Easy To Disappear, So Easy To Deny Knowledge, So Very Easy In The Smoke And Din To Mask That Something Dark Had Taken Root. This Was Chicago, On The Eve Of The Greatest Fair In History.

Beneath The Gore And Smoke And Loam, This Book Is About The Evanescence Of Life, And Why Some Men Choose To Fill Their Brief Allotment Of Time Engaging The Impossible, Others In The Manufacture Of Sorrow. In The End It Is A Story Of The Ineluctable Conflict Between Good And Evil, Daylight And Darkness, The White City And The Black.

Great Murderers, Like Great Men In Other Walks Of Activity, Have Blue Eyes.

Place Has Always Been Important To Me, And One Thing Today's Chicago Exudes, As It Did In 1893, Is A Sense Of Place. I Fell In Love With The City, The People I Encountered, And Above All The Lake And Its Moods, Which Shift So Readily From Season To Season, Day To Day, Even Hour To Hour.