Finalists

Starred review from January 17, 2022
Armantrout (Conjure) returns with a lovely exercise in surprise. These sparse but searing poems leap from one mode to another, what Armantrout describes in “How to Disappear” as “swinging restlessly/ between the appearance of spontaneity/ and the appearance of serious thought.” In tracing the mind’s twisting and turning movements, her imagination is on full display, as when she imagines “St. Peter/ as a special concierge/ or a supercomputer/ listening.” Armantrout does not shy away from critiquing systems of abuse that bolster American life, especially capitalism: “By naming its vape flavor/ ‘Unicorn Poop,’/ Drip Star/ parodies marketing,/ thus appealing/ to children.” However, the collection resists imparting easy lessons, above all else celebrating the mind, its horrors and respites, its wanderings, and its potential to connect seemingly incongruous things out of “eternity’s hodgepodge.” She posits: “Since mind/ is the gape/ of surprise/ propped open,/ we can stop/ and think.” This striking, playful collection, which encourages readers to recognize their own capacity to astound themselves, celebrates the unexpected in times of crisis.

Starred review from September 23, 2022

"The leaves recede// and the flickering holes between them/ come forward// not angels, but unnamed objects" observes Pulitzer Prize winner Armantrout (Conjure) in her masterly new volume, and it's those flickerings she captures in lines pared down to essentials we don't usually take the time to see. Here, Armantrout takes a deep dive into our constant negotiation with the world. "I have a great respect/ for the recalcitrance/ of objects," she declares while placing experience on the same level; objects are out there and obdurate, more than can be grasped ("if the tree blooms pink/ there will be more// than we can imagine"), while "identity is made of select experiences," sifted and shifted and used to define who we are. We see similarities ("each pitching frond// the arched neck/ of a horse"), crave contrast ("Clean lines separating/ bounty from its opposite"), connect ideas ("A stream system/ seen from above: tuning fork twig/ in winter forests"), and straddle the "now" and the "not yet"--all the while looking for our place in the world. In the end, what look like aphoristic, cut-crystal fragments of verse are actually reverberant with connection: "By pulsing, bars of music// make as if to reconsider," and pulsing is a good way to describe these poems. VERDICT Armantrout at her most thoughtful; highly recommended.--Barbara Hoffert, Library Journal

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