Holiday is a book of poems chiseled into both public and private calendar markers, where the unfinished self seeks, desperately and defiantly, resolution through either completion or negation. The poems are filled with unflinching irony and an intelligence that celebrates and laments personal, mythic, biblical, and historical events.
The book as a whole works, meaning that it has parts that fit it all together. And I'm especially pleased with the part of "Holiday" that has God creating the world, pushing toward the holiday that will come to Him on the seventh day. But the poems feel uninvolved, and more interested in making all those poems fit together instead of making really great poems.
This has to be one of my favorite poetry books that I've ever gotten my hands on. The book itself has a lot of personal meaning to me and I cherish it dearly.