In Slowly, By Thy Hand Unfurled, a nineteenth-century nameless and poorly educated housewife records a remarkable diary of her dark, disintegrating journey. Trying to make sense of herself and to form a judgment of her life, she struggles in confusion to pierce the narrow limits of her understanding—of her time and place, of the realities of her nature. Award-winning Romulus Linney has written an exquisite exercise in self-destruction, but its final strength rests in its naked yet compassionate treatment of human guilt and suffering. The diarist’s language is blunt and deformed, but it also reaches toward a lyricism as she sees the discrepancies between what she professes and what she practices—as a mother, a wife, and individual.