![]() ![]() It’s narrated by a young American poet who goes to Madrid on a fellowship and wastes his time smoking hashish and taking pills and fearing he’s a complete fraud. ![]() So brainy, the only way to describe it is to fall back on swear words, like a motherfucker. The intensity of my listening did at least return strangeness to each word, force me to confront it as a sound, and then to recapture the miracle of sound opening or almost opening into sense, and I managed to suspend my disgust. Here is a sample sentence from this poet’s novel about a poet: But if “poetic” is blurb-speak for “lyrical” or “painterly” or “richly evocative,” then forget it. The former has been a finalist for the National Book Award and the latter tends to cite John Ashberry. Both the author and the narrator are young, accomplished poets. The other expectation for this slim, semi-autobiographical novel is that it will be poetic. ![]() Do you find it “hilarious” ( Electric Literature) when a despondent poet has reason to quote, in casual conversation, a line from W. ![]() Accolades for Leaving the Atocha Station-from James Wood in the New Yorker, Lorin Stein in the New York Review of Books, Paul Auster, Fresh Air with Terry Gross, Tao Lin, and probably your barber, and the person changing next to you at the gym-call it a funny book. ![]()
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