Unique selections of books from our book buyer Paul Ingram. He compiles great lists of books on varying topics.
If you have any requests for recommendations, send Paul an email at email@example.com
April 25, 2016 - 6:44pm
Michelle Hoover reads tonight at 7 pm. If you can't be here, be sure to listen live.
Here's what Paul has to say about this fantastic book:
Michelle Hoover, who wowed Prairie Lights’ audience with her reading from her first novel, The Quickening, now has a second novel. It’s called Bottomland and, like her first book, deals with life in rural Iowa (Hoover is from Ames) in the early part of the 20th Century. This book is a bit more of a thriller than was The Quickening. It involves an escaped German prisoner of who may have kidnapped a farm child. As always, Hoover’s novel is well-researched, with characters who emerge from the circumstances of their lives. The reader is pulled in from the first page. If you love Willa Cather and the other great mid-western writers, you won’t want to miss this reading.
April 22, 2016 - 10:35am
To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber
And lift up a patch, dark-green, the kind for lining cemetery baskets,
Thick and cushiony, like an old fashioned dormat,
The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with roots,
And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top,
That was moss-gathering.
But something always went out of me when I dug loose those carpets
Of green, or plunged to my elbows in the spongy yellowish moss of the marshes;
And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,
As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;
Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,
By pulling off flesh from the living planet;
As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.
--Theodore Roethke from Selected Poems
April 21, 2016 - 3:15pm
"oh antic God"
BY LUCILLE CLIFTON
oh antic God
return to me
my mother in her thirties
leaned across the front porch
the huge pillow of her breasts
pressing against the rail
summoning me in for bed.
I am almost the dead woman’s age times two.
I can barely recall her song
the scent of her hands
though her wild hair scratches my dreams
at night. return to me, oh Lord of then
and now, my mother’s calling,
her young voice humming my name.
from Lucille Clifton's Mercy