No one knows how to hurt a woman like another woman does.

I first read this book in 1986 and have read it twice more since then. Joyce Carol Oates is the first contemporary American author I remember impressing me enough to linger with me long after I'd read her work. "Solstice," like other works by Joyce Carol Oates, does not paint a pretty picture. 

Great fiction is often about complex, sad, scary, bitter relationships. Happy relationships are better left to the Harlequins of this world. Sometimes when you're in a weird, complex mood you want weird, complex reading, catharsis and all that...

"Solstice" lingers like someone's presence after she's left the room. If you look at some reviews written about this book, there is mention of everything from stormy psyches to lesbian subtext. Whatever the motivation behind Monica and Sheila's relationship, fascination and even some kind of subtle hatred works into it.

Monica is transfixed by Sheila and Sheila seems to need Monica as some kind of dumping ground. They'd probably just as soon want to walk away from each other with a clean break, but they can't. As Shelia says, "we'll be for friends for a long, long time...unless one of us dies." Probably a normal thing to say, but still sort of creepy.

They behave more like people in love than friends; what they have is not exactly chemistry, but it has drawing power. I always thought this novel was more about hatred than love, but sometimes hatred is love in confusion.