“How unethical seeking pain to exonerate your deep // unremarkable.” Loved Susannah Dickey’s debut poetry collection Isdal, strange and bold and endlessly provocative. Taking the infamous Isdal Woman, a still-unidentified woman found dead in Norway in 1970, and a podcast about the case, Dickey probes the murkiest depths of the true crime genre: its ethical, aesthetic, and ideological underpinnings. In doing so, Dickey is meditating even wider on how we as a society consume and ransack sites of violence against women and their bodies. The second part is a fragmentary, lyrical essay, considering writers such as Maggie Nelson, Lorrie Moore, Winnicott and Bataille, to muse on empathy and narrative as it relates to an exploitative, dubious medium. Dickey is incredibly precise in her constructions of language and image: “In a city on Norway's coast there's a grave untouched by lineage. / A single member's club with hidden entry and no signage.” “(Little by little they're unravelling her mystery's disorder.)” And there’s the series of ‘Outtake’ and ‘Digression’ poems, which are as incendiary as they are darkly comic: “He offers her some lasagna. She smiles and says, Yes. / He says, I hope our podcast passes the béchamel test.” “The flashes of insight that come in poetry can't absolve / us of our ignorance, she says. / Did you come up with that? he says, It's amazing. / No, it was someone else, she says. I'm just paraphrasing.” It’s a rare treat to read an entire collection of poetry that impresses often, on formal, linguistic, and intellectual levels, but Isdal is exactly that. “Plug the holes in your head with wet sheets to keep the spiders out.”!!!