Milk Sickness

This is a book borne of its nouns, its noun-ness: boy, girl, child, mother, milk, horse, sky, meat, knives, god, ghost, box-cutter, bones. As its reader, I am made to hold these things, their thinginess, in the hands of sentences that make the mundane sing and lean and turn its tongue towards the fantastic. I want to pick up my own pencil and rub it against such singular strangeness. This book is the dark play of a writer who refuses to grow up or grow old and who is old enough to know that...