Gaslighting Anna Karenina unfolds as a layered exploration of time, memory, and identity through the life of Regina Whitaker, a woman in 2025 whose schizophrenia and treatment with risperidone unlock an uncanny ability to slip into the minds of others across history.  Her journeys force her to confront versions of herself while inhabiting figures as unsettling as Adolf Hitler, raising questions about whether history can ever truly be altered or if it inevitably repeats.

     Time is depicted through both a past and future constantly reshaping the present, and Regina’s experiences highlight the fragile boundaries of selfhood.  Central to the narrative is the author’s belief in telepathic communication with Anna Karenina, who emerges not merely as a literary character but as a living presence within Regina’s psyche.  This “internal narrator” blends Regina’s voice with Anna’s, sometimes comforting, sometimes unsettling, as though Anna herself is steering Regina’s thoughts.  

     Through this bond, Regina wrestles with attraction, jealousy, and self‑image, projecting insecurities and hopes onto Anna while blurring the line between imagination and reality.  The story expands into philosophical and political reflections, touching on healthcare, equity, and leadership, with Anna imagined as a figure of societal change.  Ultimately, the novel invites readers into a haunting meditation on how voices—internal, historical, and literary—shape identity and connection across time, challenging us to consider what truly defines the self.

     In a country unraveling at the seams, a queer woman finds herself tethered to two realities: one where her partner, Mary Lou, ascends to the vice presidency amid political absurdity, and another where dreamlike encounters with Elvis Presley and Jack Kerouac challenge everything she thought she understood about identity, love, and truth.  As Mary Lou navigates the surreal theater of American power—trading barbs with the former and newly elected president Silas, a caricature of ego and decay—the narrator drifts between timelines and metaphysical scenes, eating peanut butter, jelly, and bacon sandwiches with Elvis in one moment, and confronting Kerouac’s romanticized despair in another.

     What begins as a love story becomes a layered meditation on perception, disillusionment, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive.  Through sharp satire and lyrical introspection, Elvis and Company explores how personal relationships mirror national dysfunction, and how shifting realities can reveal deeper truths about who we are—and who we pretend to be.

     Funny, poignant, and defiantly strange, this novel blends political critique with emotional depth, offering readers a journey through the fractured psyche of a woman caught between love, legacy, and the gravitational pull of cultural myth.