Jordan

And I thought capitalism couldn't possibly get any stupider

Look, I don't know jackshit about poetry. But I do know that, of the poets I've read, Ellora Sutton is far and away the best, and connects with me in ways for which I don't have adequate descriptors. The precise architecture of her words is astonishing - they move, they churn, they breathe, and they constantly surprise. And having now read all three of her (excellent) pamphlets, this one is my favorite.

I was curious to read descriptions of this being a more “playful” work that introduced direct references to “things that bring [Sutton] joy,” considering how generally heavy All the Shades of Grief and Antonyms for Burial were, but I was delighted to find that the incorporation of such references and tones allows the poetry to twist and reach even further than before, and I often found myself laughing right before a powerful punch to the gut. And, speaking as a millennial, a lot of the references hit home for me and evoked very specific memories of times and places and experiences that feel shared and vivid.

Reading Artisanal Slush made me feel like I do after an intense therapy session. Things inside me were stirred, sometimes ripped open (“Formal Apology to the Teacher Who Tried to Explain Dadaism to Me” legitimately made me sob, complete with rolling tears). Sutton always manages to locate buried emotions and elucidate percolating thoughts. I feel like a more complete person after reading her work. I can't wait to read what she writes next.

Condescending neoliberal junk that obfuscates America's role in South Sudan and geopolitics in general. It's hard to say if it does so out of deliberate dishonesty or ignorant credulity, but I'm not sure which of those would be worse. I should have known better than to read a book by an American diplomat.

This is an amazing book. Wapner uses a unique mixture of history, politics, and neuroscience to reframe how we think about the modern concept of national borders, breaking it down to fundamental terms of humanity and empathy. It is astonishing how much perspective is squeezed into such a slim volume.

As a biography of Mae West, this book is exhaustively researched, informative, and full of detail. Unfortunately, it is also saddled with many tiresome stretches of strained exegesis that are inordinately preoccupied with race. The constant references to “signification” and “tricksterism” are borderline deranged in their glut - they read like the work of a young person who has just discovered the concepts' existence.