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Good Morning Bone Crusher! is a book of poems written in homage to the sun. These poems invite us to see the world as is, uncorrupted by ego and prejudice. A cinéma-vérité in which William Carlos Williams walks with A.R. Ammons and Lao Tsu in a wildflower field where Gertrude Stein and Harpo Marx play badminton over a tattered net.

Like a modern day sometimes vehicular flaneur, wandering among the ruins, treasures, and bric-a-brac of our throwaway civilization, Joe Safdie brandishes his considerable erudition in The Oregon Trail to focus on phenomena as they pass our line of sight or flit through the mind, giving us another version of realism.    Ammiel Alcalay

Two broken families, fractured lives, prose that often reads like poetry and a deep understanding of what it feels like to be an adopted child, who experiences a complicated world beyond his control and of which he never really feels a part. This is Andrew Mossin''s heartbreaking memoir, an adoption story that is raw, revealing and painful, about the presence of someone he never knew and the struggle to find his place with the parents who raised him.

She inquired about our shredding charges and I explained the various security levels (1-6) and our pricing plans. We also offered pulping, pulverizing, and chemical decomposition, though these are rarely requested. The woman said she wanted something between your conventional office shredder and your highest security shredder, which can turn an 8 1/2" x 11" sheet into over 15,000 particles. I led her to our 650-Sheet Cross-Cut Shredder/Baler Combo. It's gorgeous.

Ire Land is a formally inventive novel in which the borders between human and animal, dream and reality and art film might dissolve. A novel that both engages with theory and laughs at its insufficiency.

God is punishing you!" Mom said as I turned round the corner of the house, crying, in my muddy clothes and blood trickling down my leg. I limped along the sidewalk toward the main door where she stood waiting for me. My dad and my big sister, Helle, were already sitting in the car, the Yellow Captain, parked at the curb right outside our building. Now she would have to take me back up and start all over again. And just when we were on our way to Pesach at my grandma and grandpa.  ∩╗┐

Just like in Paris, there are men in Calais who deal in human trafficking. They frequent the bars at the harbor to see if there are any newcomers. I was sitting together with my two travel companions, the spice merchant''s son and the man from Rouen. We were in the middle of eating a meal which consisted of meat and cabbage when an elderly sailor entered. He sat down at the end of the table and started interrogating us. He wanted to know where we came from and how tall we were.  

The master hovers over us, and the sound of stirred liquids floats in the hermetic air. I smell chimney soot, spring water, the urine of a child, alcohol, beeswax, oil; all coming together in this concoction bound to penetrate into our wooden fibers. At this point, my consciousness is shallow; I have yet to grow fully. Nevertheless, I know I embody another consciousness, older and larger-the consciousness of the sung and unsung instruments. Music is our core, our lifeline; and that is eternal.

With the blood of Borges in its wanderers' rivers, is a book with worlds of myth and magical realism hovering. It seeks beginnings, invokes the inner-driven walker, ravenous for words, invokes the collective shadow, the collective lost, the collective seeker, the oceans, the wind...all chasing miracles of chance. And a reeking stalker in a striped tunic, a soul of longing and confession ... is existentially near. The unknown pulls the reader like a determined undertow.

The expression "middle passage" evokes the crossing of the Atlantic Ocean which was necessary to convey black slaves from Africa to America. By juxtaposing "against" to this tag, Steve Light's text seeks to organize a response to the heinous political and commercial enterprises which punctuate our past, recent, and contemporary histories featuring genocides and ecocides.

All the echoes of memory and the rapidly disintegrating past come into play in Rebecca Goodman's beautiful meditative novel-a chamber piece for embattled voices that unfolds inside the natural world. The narrator, taking on different guises, tries to make sense of what it means to be alive, "these things I can think and feel." Goodman writes at perfect pitch, looking back, looking forward, on the border between holding on and letting go. I couldn't stop reading.

Eros and Thanatos. Love and Death. The majestic themes of life and literature that characterize Jürg Amann's entire body of work are delicately woven together in Lifelong Bird Migration, his last collection of poems to be published. The poems are accompanied with the searing question of "how she was intended, our World where love subsides, and ... if she is intended at all." Precise, masterful but searingly lucid, these poems talk of love in the inevitable vision of a final departure and of a yearning of faith lost. Compiled by the poet himself before his untimely death in 2013 and faithfully brought to life in English by award-winning translator, Marc Vincenz, Lifelong Bird Migration brings together the quintessence of Amann's small yet influential oeuvre of verse.