Perhaps poets are best met in poems, says Uma Mahadevan-Dasgupta, reviewing Eunice de Souza's second foray into fiction. De Souza may be miffed at the general opinion of her prose, but she may be consoled by the knowledge that her poetry is reckoned far superior. She will never rank among the egomaniacs or paranoid amateurs whose poetic effusions Barney McClelland deplores.