Reviews

Appraisals that develop their own shape and urgency. Investigations opening unseen vistas.

Danielle Mckinney, Table for Two (detail), featured in AGNI 103

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Hurling On for Fame: John Berryman’s Uncollected Dream Songs

Review by Mark Neely

In 1964, John Berryman sat in Abbott Hospital in Minneapolis, recovering from an alcohol-fueled East Coast reading tour, and sketched out a plan for The Dream Songs . . .

Eleni Kefala’s Time Stitches: Threading Muted Voices into Our Record of the Past

Review by Suzana Vuljevic

Eleni Kefala’s Time Stitches, originally published in Greek in 2013, is a spellbinding adventure through open-ended, unbounded time.

“That Full Void”: Clarice Lispector’s The Hour of the Star

Review by Abby Minor

Colm Tóibín introduces readers to Lispector by way of the writer José Castello’s recollection of finding the great Brazilian Jewish novelist on a street in Rio, gazing into a shop window populated by naked mannequins.

Cowardly Provincial Assholes

During schoolyard spats between young boys, conflicts rarely end in punches. There is, instead, a perpetual appeal to those higher up in the food chain—all grade-school boys magically have a big brother who is ready, apparently, to fight someone half their age . . .

“Out of Uncertainty, Openness”: On Mei-mei Berssenbrugge’s Empathy and A Treatise on Stars

Review by S. Brook Corfman

Mei-mei Berssenbrugge’s work is almost entirely resistant to summary. If you tried to paraphrase A Treatise on Stars—her first new book since 2013’s Hello, the Roses—you might find yourself, as I have, babbling . . .

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Editor’s Note by agnimag

Under the stewardship of Reviews Editor Rachel Mennies, we’re looking for roughly 1,500-to-3,000-word review essays that lift us to your singular inquiry-driven vantage: show us what your chosen book reveals to you that only you can show. Begin new conversations; bring us along for your investigations . . .

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And Then . . .? : Books We’ve Read and Loved

Reading recommendations from the AGNI masthead of 2021. Books that nourished us, prodded us, haunted us. Books that left us “nearly punch drunk.” Made us laugh and terrified us. Books that changed us.

As an admiring reader, I secretly and selfishly hope Szporluk never satisfies herself with answers, because it’s the bleak suspicion in her voice that makes her poems so poignant and exquisite.

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