Ben Lerner is perhaps a genius, in that he's able to brilliantly describe the many simultaneous, ego-centric abundance of ways we make meaning out of the world and people around us, and how we often spectacularly fuck all of it up, but also how, I dunno, there's still something really kind of bea...
I’m sure this is going to bend my review towards the positive, but Leaving The Atocha Station has a special place for me because the narrator is a young single dude bouncing around Madrid and Barcelona during the time of the subway bombings in 2004. I also happened to be a young single dude bounc...
This book is a weird one and I'm not completely sure how to review it. I had read somewhere that Ben Lerner writes really good books whose descriptions make them sound like really terrible books. I'm not sure that that completely fits the description, but there were things I loved about this boo...
The title of this book comes from the term in physics for the distance a particle travels before colliding with another particle. The lines with in the poems of the book feel like spaces between two points, bouncing off one another, clashing in meaning before bouncing off something else and comin...
I confused her body for a simplified prose version of Paradise Lost. I confused her heritage for a false-bottom box. I confused her weeping for express written consent. “Choked with leaves” is the kind of thing a child would say in this rhomboid fun park and yet you’ve been saying it under your b...
It was my first night there: Michael, the caretaker of the residency houses, who was also a painter, had picked me up at the El Paso airport that afternoon and driven me in amicable silence for three hours through the high desert until we reached the little house at 308 North Plateau Street; I re...