Abstract
In his first book in nearly ten years, Doug Rice moves against the silence of paper and dreams in a meditation on desire, a memoir told and untold somewhere between image and word. Undeveloped photographs. Bodies abandoned by reflections. Mirrors gone ecstatic with wanting.
Dream Memoirs of a Fabulist becomes memory for a time that never was. The book itself is book as exposure. Cover falls away, single sentences drip themselves across multiple pages, windows pull the gaze forward then back then down in a tactile interaction with reading. You find things here, literally, tucked between the pages. This book is for play. This is a book built for pleasure.