Exposed

Throughout this deftly written, disturbing novel, Connie Zamora, the almost thirty-year-old narrator, refers to herself as a ``strange girl.'' She's not the only one who sees her this way--and why not? A reclusive cellist and photographer more at ease in the orchestra pit or the darkroom than she is with colleagues or even a lover, Connie relates best to people when observing them through her camera lens. While a cellist in a San Diego theatrical production, Connie is cast to take publicity photos dressed in tight satin and sequins, `` `part of the play, except she shows up in the aisle setting up a telephoto, setting off a flash and flashing a little cheesecake,' '' as the producer puts it. Like Connie's job much of what happens subsequently is not what it would appear to be. Do her photos prove that the producer set a fire backstage on opening night and that the director doused it? Is Connie disoriented during the play's tour because of pills or is it simply that she sees things differently? Mazza, who won a PEN/Algren award for How to Leave a Country , tries to comment on the nature of visual and emotional perception, but the novel is ultimately the story of one young woman's skewed observations, detachment and breakdown. Despite Mazza's revealing dialogue and eye for detail, Exposed is a confused effort. It lingers after it has been read, but is in the end unsettling and unsatisfying. (May)