Review of Lex Williford’s SUPERMAN ON THE ROOF

Superman on the Roof
Lex Williford. Rose Metal Press, $12 chapbook (39p) ISBN 978-1-941628-06-5

The best connected story collections work on two levels. The individual stories stand alone, leaving you satisfied and thinking. But when linked together, they are even stronger, calling back to previous stories, answering previous questions, and offering new ones. Lex Williford’s Superman on the Roof, winner of the Tenth Annual Rose Metal Press Short Short Chapbook Contest, offers this connectedness in concentrated form. The novella-in-flash is comprised of ten stories, each 1,000 words or less. Through great economy, Williford tells the story of loss, grief, and the cycle of violence one family endures. Each short is narrated by Travis, the oldest son of four growing up in 1960s Texas, and each deals with the death of the youngest son Jesse. These are not stories of his death but of the days and years after, full of the sucker-punching details of family life made harder by the death, which is always present and never addressed. It’s these vivid moments that make the collection stand out. Children running naked from their kiddie pool into the street to please their father.

Review of Sarah Rosenthal’s LIZARD

Sarah Rosenthal. Chax Press, $17 paperback (80p) ISBN 9780986264054

Lizard stalks
images so vivid
they cut. A
friend in fuschia
saying let’s try
a new process.
(Lizard’s wearing
orange, it
compliments her
natural green.)
We’ll argue. (It’s
more elaborate but
that’s the gist.) It
will make our ideas
            I like the
streaks on you,
tour toned

Bay Area poet and editor Sarah Rosenthal’s second full-length poetry collection, following Manhatten (Spuyten Duyvil, 2009), is Lizard (CHAX Press, 2016), a sequence of untitled, short-lined lyric sketches that accumulate into a book-length suite. Deft and quick, the poems in Lizard allow Rosenthal such speed and accuracy in movements both small and sweeping. As she writes: “I eat my sister. No / one cares because / we’re not pronouns, / says Lizard. We’re / not names. I’m not / Lizard and this is / not a magic act. This / is real, tongue so / long and muscular, / toes scaling verticals, / third eye parietal [.]” Utilizing the lizard as part character and part spirit-animal for the poems, she is able to write through fact, fable and metaphor, held together through a central figure that, as she writes:

Review of Jennifer Zilm’s WAITING ROOM

Waiting Room
Jennifer Zilm. BookThug, $18 paperback CAN/US (104p) ISBN 9781771662147


Her muse for poetry is an old woman. She declares this on an island in the wilderness—it doesn’t matter where as long as it’s either Ontario or Québec. She says her mother was always kind to her. Her mother says she would leave her young daughter alone in the kitchen, baking. Alone with flour, eggs, oven, elements, because she didn’t want to discourage her but couldn’t watch her do it wrong. The Crone Muse prefers heavy, dense sentences. The Muse as Landscape says I am the road you are walking on, pay attention. The Muse as Pioneer Housewife hides the bodies of her sons beneath wet soil as territorial markers. Sometimes the Crone Muse says I am happy. She forever holds someone’s memory of burnt cookies—an absence with the flavor of smoke and hard crust.

The author of two poetry chapbooks—The whole and broken yellows (Frog Hollow Press, 2013) and October Notebook (dancing girl press, 2015)—Vancouver poet Jennifer Zilm’s first trade poetry collection is Waiting Room (Toronto ON: BookThug, 2016), a draft of which was shortlisted for the 2014 Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry. The poems that make up Waiting Room are constructed out of a mix of experimental fragments, erasures and more formal lyrics, ranging from sonnets and centos to poems with titles such as “The Committee Meeting,” “Footnotes to the Associate Professor” and “Email to the Full Professor.” As she describes the collection in a recent interview conducted by Stacey Seymour and posted at BookThug: “It has four sections. The first is about the dentist, the second about the academy, the third is about Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside and the fourth is about therapy. There are a lot of doctors in it.”

Review of Norman Lock's THE PORT-WINE STAIN

The Port-Wine Stain
Norman Lock. Bellevue Literary Press, $16.95 paperback (224 pages) ISBN: 978-1-942658-06-1

The Publisher Says: In his third book of The American Novels series, Norman Lock recounts the story of a young Philadelphian, Edward Fenzil, who, in the winter of 1844, falls under the sway of two luminaries of the nineteenth-century grotesque imagination: Thomas Dent Mütter, a surgeon and collector of medical “curiosities,” and Edgar Allan Poe. As Fenzil struggles against the powerful wills that would usurp his identity, including that of his own malevolent doppelgänger, he loses his mind and his story to another.

My Review: I’ve read other reviews in the book-blogosphere that were, shall we say, indicative of a certain disappointment in the blogger’s experience reading The Port-Wine Stain. I am not among these bloggers. I liked the book. In fact, I liked it the best of The American Novels cycle that Bellevue Literary Press will be publishing through 2018. I asked their publicist for all of them published so far, since I was that curious about Lock’s aims. When they arrived (thanks again!), I started from book 1, The Boy in His Winter, which wasn’t a favorite of mine; American Meteor, second in the cycle, which definitely was a favorite of mine; so now, by book three, I think I might have absorbed a sense of purpose and a trust in Lock’s craftsmanship and artistry that others might not have the advantage of possessing.

Or maybe I just have really good taste. This book was shivery-good.

He knocked absurdly on the skull like a man impatient for a door to open. His eyes glazed over. He appeared to be in the grasp of something beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
“Time is slowing,” he said in a leaden voice. “Each moment grows and fattens like a drop of rain on a window sash, waiting to fall.”

Review of Jon-Michael Frank’s HOW’S EVERYTHING GOING? NOT GOOD

Jon-Michael Frank. Ohio Edit and Cuneiform Press, $21.95 paperback (98p) ISBN: 978069253193-852195

For a book whose title could stand in for any given day of content on Google News, Jon-Michael Frank’s collection of one-panel poem-drawings, How’s Everything Going? Not Good, curiously and perhaps mercifully contains not a single topical reference. Anything like a reflection on political or economic matters has to be taken through inference, from the sly reverberations of these ragged, inward-looking and uniquely affecting scrawls.

In keeping with the drawing style, the accompanying text is direct and biting, rarely more than a handful of words. As we might pick up from the early drawings (i.e., image: spotty banana / text: THE ORGANIC THING TO DO IS DIE), these pieces make use of big, basic motifs: death, water, the heart. Frank’s simple but startling constructions return to these motifs over and over again, as if gently insisting we look at the fundamentals of human existence on their own terms rather than in idealized form.

To what degree is one lying by constantly mustering, no matter the circumstances, an upbeat answer to “How’s everything going?” If the same degree of dishonesty—subtle, widespread, constant—is at work in the notion that life is an “adventure,” with each human fully free and capable of manifesting success, this book is notable for its ability to grasp (and effectively mock) our collective wishful thinking. Frank aims his repertoire of often-hilarious jabs at the artificiality with which culture attempts to pull away from nature.

Review of Anthony Michael Morena’s THE VOYAGER RECORD: A TRANSMISSION

The Voyager Record: A Transmission
Anthony Michael Morena. Rose Metal Press, $14.95 paperback (168p) ISBN: 9781941628041

You’ve probably heard of the Voyager Record, the golden record (or really records) sent into space in 1977 with messages from Earth to intelligent life that might happen upon it.  You might have questioned the choice of sounds and images chosen by Carl Sagan and his team to represent Earth.  You most likely haven’t spent as much time thinking about or listening to the record as Anthony Michael Morena.  Morena has taken his self-proclaimed obsession with the Voyager Record and created a lyric essay that manages to be a critique and tribute at the same time.

In the book, Morena references his own love of mixtapes and playlists, and what is the Voyager Record but a mixtape?  What is a lyric essay but a different kind of mixtape?  Morena artfully shuffles between the factual, the analytical, the imaginary, and the personal. The book is peppered with snippets from the record, ruminations on the politics behind them, imagined and tragic scenarios of aliens who come upon the record, playlists that could have been, Morena’s own life as an alien in Israel, and fictionalized vignettes of Sagan’s personal life, all orbiting each other and returning.

Review of Norman Lock's AMERICAN METEOR

American Meteor: A Novel
Norman Lock. Bellevue Literary Press, $15.95 paperback (208 pages) ISBN: 978-1-934137-94-9

At some point in this brief, pithy book, I caught myself wondering why I was turning pages so fast, why I couldn’t wait to find the next golden moment described in lovely, burnished prose, when I knew how the story ended already. It’s not a mystery, it’s not a puzzle novel, it’s a meditation on the Manifest Destiny era. The myth of the poor lad who comes from nothing and nowhere to make a fortune is an oft-told tale. Lock’s spin on that is to have the traditional humble lad, this one named Stephen Moran, as protagonist:

“While my father was out boozing, she'd read to me by the stub of a candle, a thread of soot twisting upwards from its pinched, meager flame. By her voice alone, she could raise up the old stories from the bones of their words and—lilting between shades of comedy and melodrama—turn the dreary space around me into a stage for my wildest imaginings.”

And while she’s creating the world anew for her son, she’s also priming the pump for his life-long belief that there is fate even if there isn’t a god to be found, since all the old fairy tales involve come-uppances and just desserts.