Gillian Conoley's The Plot Genie takes its title from a system devised in the 1930s by silent film writer Wycliffe A. Hill, which provided writers with a list of characters and plot elements to be selected at random by spinning a cardboard wheel. In an interview which precedes the book’s release, Conoley says of this work that it is ‘about narrative and not in a strict aristotelean sense in both its powers to enchant us and the lack of a grand narrative we have,’ as well as ‘some of the tyrannies behind narrative.’ She writes in the poem, Culte du Moi, “Our bodies are imitations of the spirit and our statues are imitations of imitations.” Thus, with Conoley’s poetry, we feel spaces being opened within spaces. This is demonstrated in the odd figurations of a house, along with many other characters, of names and of letters, which enter into the realm of the plot genie to find themselves re-assembled intertextually, within the text of the Plot Genie. In this way, we hear a poetry which is aware that its source, even when methodical, is chaotic and subject to the utterance of “ideas” and “earth.” We have a demonstration of the futility of words except as a world unto themselves—a living substance. And the language is embodied by a love for the power of this word—as techne, in the greek—an opening into a pariticular space. This is a beautiful lyric sound which recognizes its poetry as progeny, as a living thing which leads to a re-discovery, in many different forms, of multiple openings, into dwelling and space. It is a poetry which by its enchantment subverts narrative mastery. It is a wonderful poetry founded in a strange beauty.