Richelle Kosar has her narrator who displays a penchant for descriptions of fragrance describe one particular morning.
The next morning I walked in the white garden, sipping a cup of coffee. The sunlight was bright […] Light was sparkling on the edge of my white cup. I put my face down to inhale the steamy aroma. I could smell the flowers too, tea roses, white narcissi, daisies, nicotiana, sweet alyssum, and the rich, loamy earth they sprang from.
Quiz: do these flowers all bloom at the same time? Do we have a reliable narrator? Something odd can happen to time sense in a novel that is bookended by a prologue and an epilogue given over to moments lifted out of time and inscribed in dream-like sequences tapped to the rhythms of The Drum King.
And so for day 746