Confessional poetry—particularly work that deals with the end of a relationship—is exceptionally tricky to pull off without coming across as navel-gazing and self-centered. Edith, however, is a remarkable work of pathos, using the inward gaze to illuminate both the self and everything around that self.
“All of these are experiments in figuring out actually how close these topics are. I make them appear much closer than they appear normally. Things that we compartmentalize. Things that we consider distant and close, either spatially or in time.”
Sometimes, you circle and you circle, and you never find the point. But here is mine. I don’t know who will read my novel. I don’t know in what numbers. To ask these questions is to drive myself insane. So here is a better question to drive myself crazy as the days count down. Why do I read in the first place? Why do you?
“I think open endings require a little more work of the reader; that, when a scene or story is left open, the reader gets to imagine for him/herself how things might’ve turned out.”
“Music has a way cutting right through to the bone of the thing, shining a light on all that holy marrow. What it does so well is what I’d like my writing to do: express a feeling or drip a tone, even if it is surreal or doesn’t make logical sense.”