I admit, when an author hits a bestseller list, I'm a little leery of whether or not I myself will love it. I'm not sure if that's the academic in me speaking, but there are some names who appear on those bestseller lists as good at "poetry," but you look at some of the stuff, and it's really just fortune cookie Instagram nonsense.
To be clear: That Is Not What This Book Is. At All.
This book is, in fact, so good, I went and ordered the New York Times bestselling book because I knew I would love it as much as this one. This book is so good that I ended up sending two of its poems to my not-poetry-reading husband (I mean, he'll read mine, and then he'll say, "That's nice" and look at me like, I love you and I don't know what else to say to you right now but good job getting it in a journal you claim is a good one but I have no barometer to agree with you on).
Baer has somehow managed to write completely readable stuff that feels so completely true but also really hits you in the solar plexus as good stuff. Yes, that's exactly it, and thank you for writing that because I feel like you wrote it exactly for me, except I'm pretty sure a bajillion other people will get it too. We all have a solar plexus (I think).
Thank you, Kate Baer, for whatever it is that allows you to see the things and then write about them in these just-right sized poems without a lot of pomp and circumstance but also with just the right amount of craft. And thank you, Kate Baer, for writing a book that somehow also doesn't have duds. So many really good poetry collections have a handful of stellar poems and some pretty good ones and a handful of duds, but these were all above the mark.
I loved this book and when it comes out (on my birthday!), I will get myself a copy so it can live with me, but in the meantime, thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for allowing me to read an advance copy in exchange for an honest review.