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  Readers familiar with the works of Matthew Freese will expect the best and will not be disappointed by his new book, “Tesserae”, a memoir in which he reveals much of his early life and his struggles with the demons of his past that shaped him into the man he has become: educator, psychotherapist and author. Although the story focuses on two summers in the late 1960s, it is told in context of his childhood and events in his later life, even up to the present time. This is a raw, often heart wrenching, insight into the life of a young…

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Contact: Mathias B. Freese 1786 Tanner Circle Henderson, NV 89012 Cell 702 715 0683 702 685 2446 www.mathiasbfreese.com mthsfreese@hotmail.com Publisher’s link: http://www.wheatmark.com/catalog/entry/Tesserae-Summers-Mathias-B-Freese TESSERAE: A MEMOIR OF TWO SUMMERS The quiescence found in Tesserae: A Memoir of Two Summers has a staying effect upon the mind; this memoir lingers in the reader’s memory for some time.  – Steven Berndt, Professor of American Literature, College of Southern Nevada  In 1941 Citizen Kane premiered and the author was one year old. The snowglobe Rosebud weaves in and out of his memoir, cinema’s consummate symbol of attachment and separation, the classic…

The book can be ordered from Wheatmark.com or the author at mthsfreese@hotmail.com. Publication date mid-February 2016 A recent article in the New York Times noted that “Imitation runs rampant in memoir land,” and this observation underscores many of the memoirs that exist currently in the writing market. In reading Mathias Freese’s Tesserae, however, it becomes clear that this is no mere pastiche of other works; his memoir stands above much of the crowd in its commitment to ask, “What is it to remember? To recall, retrieve, reflect, to go back for a moment, to feel a period of time long…

THE WOUND Sometime during the day, at odd moments, I experience memories and reminiscences. I associate to the old blinds with “pulls.” As I pull down the blind one more day is gone, and in the morning I raise the blind as if I have another day given to me as I inexorably march off to my end.  At 75 I am saturated with all kinds of reflections of my childhood and all the concomitant cliches that come with that. I am drawn back in time like a receding tide and reminisce mostly of my dull relationship with my mother, a classic depressive.…