Small presses have had a rough year, but as the literary world continues to conglomerate, we at Literary Hub think they’re more important than ever. Which is why, every (work) day in March—which just so happens to be National Small Press Month—a Lit Hub staff member will be recommending a small press book that they love.
The only rule of this game is that there are no rules, except that the books we recommend must have been published, at some time, and in some place, by a small press. What does it mean to be a small press? Unfortunately there is no exact definition or cutoff. All of the presses mentioned here are considered to be small presses by the recommending editors, and for our purposes, that’s going to be good enough. All of the books mentioned here are considered to be great by the recommending editors, too. If one intrigues you, consider picking it up at your local bookstore, or ordering through Bookshop.org, or even directly from the publisher.
Today, we’re recommending:
Wings in Time by Callie Garnett
published by The Song Cave (20201)
If you’re interested in reading more contemporary poetry—really, really good contemporary poetry—The Song Cave is an excellent place to start. Their titles are consistently among the most interesting poetry being published right now (see also: John Keene’s 2022 National Book Award winning Punks). I read Callie Garnett’s brilliant Wings in Time when it came out, just post that post-vaccine summer when we thought we’d really done it, and found that at points it captured the feelings of being both apart from and deeply entwined with others. I was a little nervous to revisit it, now years further removed from that time, but was delighted to find that I loved it even more.
Garnett, whose mother was a long-time writer for Sesame Street, has a deep respect—though not a reverence—for childhood (her own, her niece’s), and writes about it in a way both beautiful and clear-eyed. She is very funny, but her wryness doesn’t wink over anyone’s head. These poems don’t feel nostalgic, more reminiscent—reading them made me feel like I was in the middle of a long, wonderful conversation. They assume you were with them; they present images with the assurance and intimacy with which a friend might. They draw you in, neither checking in anxiously nor deliberately cultivating distance.
In this collection, “a little poster / of some dipshit Mumford & his sons.” lives with “sometimes stuff happens so fast I hardly have time to wipe the / Singing off my face, like every other child / The lifeless campfire song” just as in the video stores of Garnett’s youth, she browsed the covers of Last Tango in Paris (“Flesh-colored / & steamy, somehow like video itself”) and Bedknobs and Broomsticks (“Children riding a bed through the sky w/ Angela Lansbury / Who’s not even hiding the fact that she’s a witch. / Why hide? There’s a war on & you have these / Special skills”) and The Fisher King (“such a mystery to me: / Just a man laughing / By a pond With a ponytail”).
And I would browse here all night.
–Jessie Gaynor, Senior Editor
