Anne Carson

People who don’t read poetry read Anne Carson.

She reaches past the contemporary moment to craft her unique and universal voice, one that is both as ancient as Sappho and intimidatingly modern.

For two decades her work has moved–phrase by phrase, line by line, project by improbable project–in directions that a human brain would never naturally move. The approach has won her awards, accolades, and an electric reputation in the literary world.

She is one of the few writers writing in English that I would read anything she wrote.

Anne Carson is, for me, the most exciting poet writing in English today.

A striking book.

Maybe her best…totally recherché and weirdly clear, lingered over and neatly boxed. Precious in the word’s best sense.

Anne Carson is a daring, learned, unsettling writer.

In Carson, a single sentence can transcend the entire operation.

[Antigonick] is both riveting and humorous. Bianca Stone’s illustrations are immediate and visceral, and Robert Currie’s overall book design has elegance and strength.

It is a cry of grief posed in question form, emphatic, handwritten, excessive and abbreviated and, in this sense, a measured scream that gives us some sense of who or what lives on when it is all too late.

A beautiful, bewildering book, wondrous and a bit scary to behold, that gives a reader much to think about without making it clear how she should feel.

Antigonick is as much a re-telling as it is a testament to the importance of Antigone in Western art, of re-tellings, and of refiguring narrative.

One of the best designed books of the year and a unique reading experience.

Anne Carson’s is among the most inventive, astringent sensibilities in modern letters.

This is where Carson’s work is best staged: in the uncanny gateway between the temporal and the timeless; in the nick between the world of powerboats and the sublime, terrifying realm of the dead and the still lively gods.

Her poetry is light, swift, and beautiful.

Carson’s poetry convinces…irrepressibly modern and provoking.

It captures, too, the rift between our everyday efforts to keep ourselves busy, and infinite tragedy: that raw nick between Tuesday and death.

Anne Carson’s blunt Antigonick has arrived at the right cultural moment, if not for poetry than for grief.

Antigonick plays extensively with the conventions of narrative form, translation, and the physical presentation of literature.

Carson has perfectly captured Antigone’s moral fervour and her almost erotic desire for death.

Carson is an exceptionally rhythmic writer.

Ms. Carson does more than just update the language and quicken the pacing–she rewrites the play, mines its subtleties, its absurdity and its strangely comic timing and manages to produce a unique text out of a story that goes back much further than the fifth century B.C. when Sophokles wrote his version.

An assemblage of words and images so artfully arranged that they make us reconsider not only what poetry can do and should do but even what a book is… Nox will change the way you read.

Carson has made an extraordinary object, like the phoenix’s egg, and has supplied us with the sublime logic to understand everything inside of it as provisional, sketched, and partial: it is an edifice built on botched attempts.

True, this book — which you can read in less than an hour but will take a life to absorb — takes risks, gambles with exposure… Nox reminds us that where we cannot understand, we can still love.

What a book.

Nox is interactive, beautiful, and its presentation lends meaning to its contents.

A moving document, a rapt exploration of a few more or less deconstructive ideas, a marvelous object of manufacture, a long trip through a short poem by Catullus, and a minor, memorable occurrence in the career of a major writer… Poetry of the most welcome kind: a work you can admire and interpret.

This most desolate and solitary of elegies is a work of salvage.

Carson daringly resists the idea that one cannot think one’s way into another’s muteness and pursues an intimacy occasioned both by necessity and desperation… Stunning in the eloquence of its ambivalence.

Nox is poetic: Its language sings and stings… Carson is less interested in line breaks and stanzas than in creating a collage of texts to mimic the unwieldly and disjointed experience of mourning.

[Anne Carson] applies the habits of classical scholarship, the linguistic rigor, the relentless search for evidence, the jigsaw approach to scattered facts, to the trivia of contemporary private life.

Anne Carson’s shape-shifting powers are epic.

She faces the voids that many of us prefer to turn away from, and this gives her work a rare urgency.

Reading Anne Carson is to experience a euphonious, mystical sort of perplexity.

Here, from the muse of paradox, from Eros the Bittersweet, are poems that shuttle and veer between Hebraism and Hellenism, serendipity and the full blown sequence, the wry and the wondrous, autobiography and the story of the race.

…breathtaking, evidence of visionary publishing at a moment when the book business is increasingly cynical.

Carson has… created an individual form and style for narrative verse… Seldom has Pound’s injunction ‘Make It New’ been so spectacularly obeyed.