Experimental, cross-genre, with a touch of meta: these descriptors only begin to reflect the highly sophisticated yet grounded methods that Ted Wojtasik employs in his hauntingly beautiful Kunstlerroman. The melding of poetry and prose, contemporary and historical fiction works solidly because first and foremost, Wojtasik is a storyteller, who never sacrifices his narrative. Those who bristle at the concept of breaking up a sentence by inserting seemingly unrelated material should simply turn within and see how their own minds work. We do not think in neat chronological spreadsheets; rather our minds wander as if creating a collage. Every collage that Wojtasik creates in Collage has a purpose, along with a sense of realism that cuts through our senses as does the loss of a loved one. Therefore, the "seemingly unrelated material" becomes paramount not only to the development of character but also to the author's portrayal of the human condition. Wojtasik knows the inner workings of human memory--the way we interrupt one story, as a larger, more important story unfolds. In many ways, Collage reminds me of my own memories of Dubrovnik and its surrounding environs: the multilevel, compact walled city, with its red tile roofs; Mt. Srd, with its haunting munitions museum at the top; and the bucolic island of Lokrum, with its Benedictine ruins and boisterous peacocks. Through the act of reading, I am able to embody Wojtasik's story as I mix in my own stories, an act I find much more pleasing than reading a story designed to barely touch the surface of a mass and superficial audience. Collage achieves what feminist philosopher describes as the human body's "wonderful ability, while striving for integration and cohesion, organic and psychic wholeness, to . . . produce fragmentations, fractures, dislocations that orient bodies and body parts toward other bodies and body parts" (13). Thank you, Ted Wojtasik, for helping me become more human.