Then, at a Christmas party run by colonials – a fine opportunity for King to provide some sharp, efficient portraits of that society – the couple run into fellow anthropologist Andrew Bankson (modeled on Bateson). Lonely, despairing and suicidal, Bankson agrees to show the two some tribes up the Sepik River. Little does he know that studying the Tam, a group run by powerful women, will irrevocably alter all of their lives.

I think observing without sharing the observations creates an atmosphere of extreme artificiality. They don’t understand why you’re there. If you are open with them, everybody becomes more relaxed and honest.”Holy moly, I couldn't put down the last third of this incredible book. Review to follow...when I catch my breath! I hate books that waste their potential. The premise of Euphoria is excellent and could've been unlike anything else, but every single one of its plot points is underdeveloped. It paints an incomplete portrait of tribes in New Guinea and of an anthropologist’s fieldwork. The “passionate love triangle” promised in the summary is quite unpassionate and more of a side plot. This love triangle also doesn’t threaten the three main characters’ lives, careers, and bonds, as the summary states. Here’s a perfect example of a book that’s won a handful of prizes but isn’t necessarily deserving of all the accolades. A quote I enjoyed was “There are times when I wanted the worst for you, Hoping you would understand The roots of my thoughts. I needed you to feel the pain I held, But here I am Praying you never feel like I did. Hoping no one ever sees you Like the way you saw me.” I was fond of these words strung together because I’m aware that at times I feel this type of emotion and others feel it as well.

I had trouble getting through this book. I found the story rather boring and the characters only partially developed. The historic significance of cultural anthropology in New Guinea during the 1930's was very interesting as was the protagonist's character being based on Margaret Mead. This created the groundwork for an interesting historical fiction. When Sylvia Plath died, she not only left behind a prolific life but also her unpublished literary masterpiece, Ariel. This collection showcases the beloved poet’s brilliant, provoking, and always moving poems, including ‘Ariel’ and once again shows why readers have fallen in love with her work throughout the generations.” The Collected Poemsby Audre Lorde (1934–1992) There are so many joys in this book: watching three vastly different approaches to the then nascent field of anthropology (the fact that they're from different cultures is obviously significant); seeing a love triangle emerge; and, of course, meeting the various people they’re studying, which include a tribe leader who was recently exploited by colonials by working in a mine. Not only in the title poem, which the critic John Russell called ‘one of the finest long poems of our period,’ but throughout the entire volume, Ashbery reaffirms the poetic power that made him an outstanding figure in contemporary literature. These are poems ‘of breathtaking freshness and adventure in which dazzling orchestrations of language open up whole areas of consciousness no other American poet as ever begun to explore.'” The Complete Poetryby Maya Angelou (1928–2014) It happened twice in October alone, with this book and during the post- I'm Thinking of Ending Things fog I read Foe during.

The Best Poetry Books by Living Writers

Cullhed succeeds in creating a book for our times; this isn’t yet another dissection of a time long past Then there's a love triangle. I'm not automatically opposed to love triangles like some readers are. Generally, I'm opposed to love triangles that don't make sense for the story. With Euphoria, although I'm not sure the love triangle was necessary, it doesn't feel shoehorned in the way triangles in other stories are. However, its portrayal is just not very good. Tension is weak, only simmering under the surface, never reaching a boiling point of intensity. I like questions. Questions in poetry often seem to be thought of as lazy, an “easy way out.” I don’t experience them that way. I find them expansive. If I ask a question I generally have my answers, and I hope those answers resonate or are suggested between the lines, but I don’t want to overdetermine the poems. I would like the reader’s answers to take precedence. As they were leaving the Mumbanyo, someone threw something at them. It bobbed a few yards from the stern of the canoe. A pale brown thing.