From the back of his Kia Sorento, Walter Bowne speaks about John Steinbeck's amazing story of an isolated woman in an isolated valley in December who so wants to compete in a world run by men. Who is the only one who sees her children, her art? A con man who symbolically "uses her" and her husband who only sees profit in her "art." Her husband cannot even recognize her "as a woman." Does he even know his own wife? Why does it a take a stranger for her to remove her "costume" of "men's clothing"?