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Because why
Immersed in botanical insight, Fox's experimentations with language and life illuminate this accomplished debut.
HOMES
Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, Superior: HOMES. Moheb Soliman traces the coast of the Great Lakes with postmodern poems, exploring the natural world, the experience of belonging, and the formation of identity along borders. Moheb Soliman’s HOMES maps the shoreline of the Great Lakes from the rocky North Shore of Minnesota to the Thousand Islands of eastern Ontario. This poetic travelogue offers an intimate perspective on an immigrant experience as Soliman drives his Corolla past exquisite vistas and abandoned mines, through tourist towns and midwestern suburbs, seeking to inhabit an entire region as home. Against the backdrop of environmental destruction and a history of colonial oppression, the vitality of Soliman’s language brings a bold ecopoetic lens to bear on the relationship between transience and belonging in the world’s largest, most porous borderland.
Twelve Branches
Four writers gather stories from the people of St. Paul and weave them into this beautiful collection.
Not Here
Not Here is a flight plan for escape and a map for navigating home; a queer Vietnamese American body in confrontation with whiteness, trauma, family, and nostalgia; and a big beating heart of a book. Nguyen’s poems ache with loneliness and desire and the giddy terrors of allowing yourself to hope for love, and revel in moments of connection achieved.
The Latehomecomer
In search of a place to call home, thousands of Hmong families made the journey from the war-torn jungles of Laos to the overcrowded refugee camps of Thailand and onward to America. But lacking a written language of their own, the Hmong experience has been primarily recorded by others. Driven to tell her family’s story after her grandmother’s death, The Latehomecomer is Kao Kalia Yang’s tribute to the remarkable woman whose spirit held them all together. It is also an eloquent, firsthand account of a people who have worked hard to make their voices heard. Beginning in the 1970s, as the Hmong were being massacred for their collaboration with the United States during the Vietnam War, Yan...
Reel Bay
What was Takako Konishi really doing in North Dakota, and why did she end up dead? Did she get lost and freeze to death, as the police concluded, while searching for the fictional treasure buried in a snowbank at the end of the Coen Brothers’ film Fargo? Or was it something else that brought her there: unrequited love, ritual suicide, a meteor shower, a far-flung search for purpose? The seed of an obsession took root in struggling film student Jana Larson when she chanced upon a news bulletin about the case. Over the years and across continents, the material Jana gathered in her search for the real Takako outgrew multiple attempts at screenplays and became this remarkable, genre-bending essay that leans into the space between fact and fiction, life and death, author and subject, reality and delusion.
Mitochondrial Night
Taking mitochondrial DNA as his guide, Lee explores familial and national legacies, and their persistence across shifting boundaries and the erosions of time. In these poems, the trait of an ancestor appears in the face of a newborn, and in her cry generations of women's voices echo. Stories, both benign and traumatic, travel as lore and DNA. Using lush, exact imagery, whether about the corner bar or a hilltop in Korea, Lee is a careful observer, tracking and documenting the way that seemingly small moments can lead to larger insights. From Mitochondrial Night: We’re drumming, he explained, in the tradition of shamans, so the ancestors won't be so lonely. Because spirits need us more than we need them. And for hours they’ll listen to anyone
The Falling Down Dance
Martin's lines are a brief as breath, and cloister us at home, in winter, where the tiny everyday ministrations of love and parenthood are magnified and abundant with meaning. I wanted to tell you something About the shipwreck Of fatherhood, of motherhood, the coarse Sugar leaving us Shook. Soft wreck of the baby Greeting each kiss With an open And drooling mouth, reflex We don't understand Heart-blip stuck Tipping my finger On the keys, speeding Memory of yesterday out The window I'm Pushing barely open Chris Martin is the author of American Music (Copper Canyon, 2007) and Becoming Weather (Coffee House Press, 2011).
Things to Do in Hell
Join Chris Martin for a poetic walking tour of hell—or is it heaven? In this wickedly clever collection, Martin asks how we go about living in the tension between protesting lunatic politicians and picking up the kids from school, mourning a dying Earth and making soup, combating white supremacy and loving our dear ones. Martin’s poems pick at the tender scabs protecting our national and individual identities, and call for more honest healing. Things to Do in Hell channels 2016 anger into 2020 action with sophisticated, rhythmic verse that compels us to beat our swords into ploughshares and join the fight.
Our Sometime Sister
While writing her first book, twenty-five-year-old Pearl Christomo is haunted by ghosts, images of the past, scenes from movies, and lines from tragedies. She confronts the roles and emptiness that previous writers have ascribed to women and discovers that the plots, details, and characters of her fiction begin to mirror her own story. Growing up with an elusive ghost-like father and raised in suburban Michigan by a mother always searching for something just beyond her reach, Pearl chooses to exile herself to a private school in the isolated Upper Peninsula. Once there, Pearl begins her novel, discovering that the characters - Hugh Denmark, a reclusive writer; Aaron and Rose, the not-so-perfect couple; Theresa, an actress; Mary Clare and Butternut, little sisters spying on the world - all come to resemble the players in her own life. Eventually the boundaries between the two narratives tangle and the limits of fiction, dream, and memory are lost.
