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Narrator, Frannie Avery, watches as her breasts are sliced from her body: 'the nipple resting on the edge of the blade, the razor cutting smoothly, easily, through the taut cloth, through the skin, the delicate blue skein of netted veins in flood, the dark blood running like the dark river, the Indian river, the sycamore, my body so vivid.'1 This violent description later shifts to a disengaged poetic consciousness in which Frannie's narration dissolves into quotation: 'My skirt was heavy with blood, pooled between my thighs ... it tickled when it dripped onto my skin, into my pubic hair, over the labia ... Perhaps more disturbing than Moore's unapologetic depiction of sexualised attacks on the female body was my discovery, during research prior to the interview, that In the Cut is listed on Playboy's 'Top 25 \"sexiest\" novels of all time.' The Big Girls, for instance, is about a woman who kills her children, but it is also about the obsession with fame that causes people to identify with public figures, and a delusion of intimacy that almost always results in such trouble for people. [...]if the book is about a woman exercising her power, trying to figure out who she is and refusing to be afraid, sex would be one of the things she thinks about. Q. Was the decision to write about sexual violence and murder in later novels an attempt to move away from stereotypes that had been established by the Hawaiian trilogy (comprising I Myself Have Seen It, The Whiteness of Bones and Sleeping Beauties)?

In-depth and refreshingly readable, Splattered Ink is a bold analysis of postfeminist gothic, a literary genre that continues to jar readers, reject happy endings, and find powerful new ways to talk about violence against women. Sarah E. Whitney explores the genre's challenge to postfeminist assumptions of women's equality and empowerment. The authors she examines--Patricia Cornwell, Jodi Picoult, Susanna Moore, Sapphire, and Alice Sebold--construct narratives around socially invisible and physically broken protagonists who directly experience consequences of women's ongoing disempowerment. Their works ask readers to inhabit women's suffering and to face the uncomfortable, all-too-denied fact that today's women must navigate lives fraught with risk. Whitney's analysis places the authors within a female gothic tradition that has long given voice to women's fears of their own powerlessness. But she also reveals the paradox that allows the genre to powerfully critique postfeminism's often sunshiney outlook while uneasily coexisting within the same universe.

This essay troubles the 'fidelity model' of adaptation criticism by mobilizing a slightly more dialogic analytical lens: one which re-conceives literary and cinematic works as textual engines generating and circulating affect, and the adaptive process as a productive drifting of those intensities from one medium to another. Specifically, I offer close readings of Susanna Moore's 1995 novel In the Cut and Jane Campion's 2003 filmic adaptation, not with an eye toward similarities and differences in story or character, but rather toward the palpable affective forces fostered by Moore's text—the unease and anxiety, the discomfort and dread— and the means by which Campion's film seeks to tap into those affective lines of flight, seeks to redirect those intensities from page to screen. In the process, I illustrate how both works, each in its own unique manner, come to function as critical meditations on the seemingly fragmented nature of postmodern identity.