Anne Carson can come across as a writer with no clear lineage or influences — even as she references the work of other authors, her poetry and prose seem to float relatively free of clear affiliation to any contemporary literary trend.
Warning: “Dear Edward” is not meant for the faint-hearted or anyone with a fear of flying.
Last week I was reminded of the horrific love triangle trope in young-adult novels when my friend brought up the “Shatter Me” series in our book club.
Needles littering the floor, desperate addicts searching for a score, shuttered windows and crumbling homes; the opening picture author Liz Moore paints of Kensington conveys a relentlessly bleak and hopeless world.
There's a certain type of person you’ve probably encountered in grade school. Perhaps you were this person yourself. This was the person who didn’t just like to read — reading was part of their identity.
Jane Hirshfield’s ninth book of poetry is an elegy to her lost sister and the world she used to live in, the world that had her sister in it.
Holla young adventurer! Sick of having to cover your younger sister’s eyes when a scantily clad high priestess appears after a boss fight? Tired of your girlfriend writhing whenever the protagonist of the movie you’re watching enters the fifth brothel of the day?
“The Gimmicks” by Chris McCormick is set against the backdrop of the Armenian genocide; it follows the journey of two inseparable friends — brothers, really — who embark on two wildly different paths.
The blurb on the back of Tarryn Fisher’s “The Wives” describes the book as “shocking” and “twisted.” I can’t help but agree.
