"The work is deeply felt...Bernstein has been there and brought it back. Bernstein is a writer." [William S. Burroughs]

    Reading this novel, the reader is present at the birth of Bolaño’s enterprise in prose: all the elements are here, highly compressed, at the moment when his talent explodes. From this springboard—which Bolaño chose to publish in 2002, twenty years after he’d written it (“and even that I can’t be certain of”)—as if testing out a high dive, he would plunge into the unexplored depths of the modern novel.Antwerp’s fractured narration in 54 sections—voices from a dream, from a nightmare, from passers by, from an omniscient narrator, from “Roberto Bolaño” all speak—moves in multiple directions and cuts to the bone.

    A shockingly assured first collection from young poet Jesse Ball, its elegant lines and penetrating voice present a poetic symphony instead of a simple succession of individual, barely-linked poems. Craftsmanship defines this collection; it is full of perfect line-breaks, tenderly selected words, and inventive pairings. Just as impressive is the breadth and ingenuity of its recurring themes, which crescendo as Ball leads us through his fantastic world, quietly opening doors.In five separate sections we meet beekeepers and parsons, a young woman named Anna in a thin, linen dress and an old scribe transferring the eponymous March Book. We witness a Willy Loman-esque worker who "ran out in the noon street / shirt sleeves rolled, and hurried after / that which might have passed" only to be told that there's nothing between him and "the suddenness of age." While these images achingly inform us of our delicate place in the physical world, others remind us why we still yearn to awake in it every day and "make pillows with the down / of stolen geese," "build / rooms in terms of the hours of the day." Like a patient Virgil, insistent and confident, Ball escorts us through his mind, and we're lucky to follow.

    At that time, responding to a question about that book, Pinsky said: “I would like to write a poetry which could contain every kind of thing, while keeping all the excitement of poetry.” That ambition was realized in a new way with each of his books, including the book-length personal monologue An Explanation of America; the transformed autobiography of History of My Heart; the bestselling translation The Inferno of Dante; and, most recently, the savage, inventive Gulf Music. That variety and renewal are represented in this brilliantly chosen volume.

    Like the women in Jane Bowles’s work, Cain’s narrators seem always slightly displaced in the midst of their own experiences, carefully observing the effects of themselves on their surroundings and of their surroundings on themselves. Other literary precursors might include Raymond Carver and John Cage, some unlikely concoction of the two, with Carver’s lucid prose and instinct for the potency of small gestures and Cage’s ability to return the modern world to elementary principles. These stories offer not just a unique voice but a unique narrative space, a distinct and dramatic rendering of being-in-the-world.A threadless way --Attached to a self --I will force this --The beak of a bird --The sleeve of my coat --They've been bringing them here for decades --Words come to me --Queen --Tramps everywhere --The beating of my heart --Gentle nights --There's an excess --Furniture, table, chair, shelves --Delicately feeling

    There are conquerors, slaves, and rebels from Caribbean history; the "Mayan astronomer" calmly smoking a cigarette in the middle of a New York tenement fire; a nun staging a White House vigil to protest her torture; a man on death row mourning the loss of his books; and even Carmen Miranda.

    This bundle of book 2 & 3 continues the saga of NY private eye Michael Derrigan, as he comes into possession of a manuscript that will change the world order if its secrets are aired. Clandestine factions of the U.S. government will do anything to keep the story buried, & a trail of butchery follows Derrigan as he races for his life in a chase that takes him from New York, to Mexico, to Havana. A roller-coaster ride of a thriller, The Delphi Chronicle's unflinching & often disturbing twists and turns question the nature of reality & of the integrity of our governments in a post-modern world of lies, deceit & betrayal.+++Questions & Answers with bestselling author Russell Blake.Question: The Delphi Chronicle posits a troubling & plausible conspiracy. Where did you get the idea?Russell Blake: The idea stemmed from the title. I was originally going to call the trilogy The Pegasus File, & I'd conceptualized a cool cover, so I Googled it to confirm there weren't any other books with that name. The original conspiracy was much tamer than what I wound up with. I had the idea of a literary agent getting a manuscript detailing a shocking scheme, but I hadn't defined what it was, exactly. From that search came this conspiracy, & I have to admit I considered toning it down a lot, because it scared even me. So readers? This is fiction, OK? And U.S. government? No need to send a wet team after me. We all understand it's fictional. As in, an invention, not real. That's my official position. Readers can decide how plausible theinvention is for themselves. Some will hate it, as it portrays the U.S. government in a negative light. Can't please everyone.Q: Why write it as a trilogy?RB: It would have been a long single volume if I'd tried to squeeze it all into one book. Given the success I saw with the Zero Sum trilogy, I wanted to do another one, & this was just naturally written in three volumes, although I think most will get the first one, & then buy the specially-priced bundle of Books 2 & 3 if they're interested in following the story to its thrilling conclusion (wink wink).Q: How do your novels compare to the work of your peers?RB: I think they're faster paced than most. I try to catapult readers through a series of twists & turns at such aggressive velocity they're left gasping by the end. And I dislike books where I can see the ending coming a third of the way through. Just hate that. I try to write racing, intelligent thrillers that don't pander & aren't formulaic. All have gotten raves, so I'm fooling at least some of the people most of the time...Q: Part of Delphi unfolds in Mexico. Any particular reason?RB: I live in Mexico. Have for almost a decade. Modern Mexico is very different than as portrayed by the U.S. media. Many parts are indistinguishable from medium sized cities in the U.S. Strip malls, high rises, melting-pot racial integration, etc. It's not cactus & sombreros. One of the things I find fascinating is how different it is than what my expectations were when I moved here, & I try to impart that. Most novels set in modern Mexico I've read are caricatures of the truth. Mission bells, white-garbed peasants, stereotypical characters. I try to imbue my fiction with reality, not a Hollywood portrayal based on a snapshot from the 1950s. I think readers will find that distinction interesting.

    Presenting a cast of allegorical and symbolic, yet very real, characters, the poems have “authority, daring, [and] a language of color and sure movement,” says series judge W.S. Merwin.From Seven ChimerasThe way Booth makes a love story: same as a regular story, except under one rock is a trapdoor that leads to a room full of belly buttons;  each must be pushed, one is a landmine. The way Booth makes hope: thirty-seven acres, Black Damon, Red Dog. Construct a pillar of fire in the Great Field and let it become unquenchable. The way Booth ends the Jack-in-the-Box charade: shoot the weasel in the neck and toss it to the buzzards. The way Booth thinks of salvation: God holding a broken abacus, colored beads falling away.

    Trethewey's resonant and beguiling collection is a haunting conversation between personal experience and national history.

    Before those books, he and fellow artist Mark Gonzales put together limited run fanzines showcasing their bitingly satirical and wildly inappropriate collages and language pieces to be sold out of the Alleged and Andrea Rosen galleries in New York City. This boxed set contains replicas of all eight zines, perfectly reproduced, with a bonus poster added to the package.

    A graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop, she currently lives in New York City with her husband and three sons, where she is a certified labor doula.

    As the title implies, this is certainly not a novel -- not in the general sense of the term. And yet a reader who follows the flow will gradually notice certain novelistic conventions insinuating themselves. Writer -- as the narrator refers to himself -- is tired of inventing characters and subjecting them to the rigors of plot development. Instead, historical personages from Dickens to Beethoven recur throughout the book: They re born, create, speak fondly or acidly of their own work and the work of others, and then die. (Death, in fact, is a major concern of Writer.) Works of art interlock and interrelate; diary entries, attributions, and critical comments jostle for position. But what at first appear to be random bits of historical trivia ultimately come together with a narrative logic: a beginning, middle, and end. So while Markson has jettisoned the standard conflict-and-resolution pattern of a novel, he nevertheless fashions a literary journey that gets somewhere. Indeed, the book s conclusion will come as an intensely moving surprise to those who reach it. Does Writer even exist in a book without characters? the narrator wonders. Passing through a period of aging and self-doubt, Writer looks deeply inside himself over the course of the book and worries about his very purpose. The real question hovering in the margins of this beguiling work is, Why do I write? Many an artist suffers under the burdens of posterity, the sinking feeling that words and works will fade with the passage of time. Eventually, though, this particular Writer answers in a qualified affirmative, for he realizes himself to be the main character in his own life. That which is not a novel, he implies, is life itself; creating art is what the artist does to live. In the end, out of a shared sense of mortality and its frailties and beauties, we can only agree. (Jonathan Cook)

    / The elms made tents of solace over grimy / streets and alley cats purred me to sleep.” She writes in graphic, unflinching language about the poor, banished now by politicians because they are no longer “real people like corporations.” There are elegies for her peer group of poets, gone now, whose work she cherishes but from whom she cannot help but want more. There are laments for the suicide of dolphins and for her beloved cats, as she remembers “exactly how I loved each.” She continues to celebrate Jewish holidays in compellingly original ways and sings praises of her marriage and the small pleasures of daily life.This is a stunning collection that will please those who already know Marge Piercy’s work and offer a splendid introduction to it for those who don’t.

    Tap Out, Edgar Kunz’s debut collection, reckons with his working‑poor heritage. Within are poignant, troubling portraits of blue‑collar lives, mental health in contemporary America, and what is conveyed and passed on through touch and words―violent, or simply absent.   Yet Kunz’s verses are unsentimental, visceral, sprawling between oxys and Bitcoin, crossing the country restlessly. They grapple with the shame and guilt of choosing to leave the culture Kunz was born and raised in, the identity crises caused by class mobility. They pull the reader close, alternating fierce whispers and proud shouts about what working hands are capable of and the different ways a mind and body can leave a life they can no longer endure. This hungry new voice asks: after you make the choice to leave, what is left behind, what can you make of it, and at what cost?

    A perfect servant suddenly reveals himself to be the insidious Dr. Fu Manchu. Science-fantasy wars, racism, corporate capitalism, drug addiction, and various medical and psychiatric horrors all play their parts in this mosaiclike, experimental novel. Here is William S. Burroughs at his coruscating and hilarious best.