In the Introduction to Michael Zapruder’s book/album/sculpture/scroll Pink Thunder, Scott Pinkmountain writes that the included poems “stake their foundation on the minutiae of accidental revelation, trusting the details of life to point out the bigger picture.” Sometimes those minutiae are sad, overwhelming, representative of the worst of life’s aspects. Somehow—and I think this skill is what distinguishes truly great writers—in the detailed pains, however small, catharsis is found. At least, it has always been that way for me.

The world of The Dream of Doctor Bantam, Jeanne Thornton’s debut novel, mostly resembles our own except no one seems to want to be in it (you may think that, too, is a similarity, but I prefer not to).

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