Appropriately for a book haunted by music, Katharine Towers' poems
exhibit an almost pianistic sense of timing, touch and tone. In The
Floating Man, Towers writes about weight and weightlessness,
presence and absence, the body in space, and our oblique
relationship with the natural world, always with a wonderful sense
of compositional balance; she is expert at registering the huge
emotional shifts effected by the smallest things, whether the scent
of apples, the slant of the light, or the grace-notes of memory.
Music expresses the things we cannot say, but Towers recruits its
power to bring the beyond-words into the realm of speech. The
result is a debut of great originality and subtlety.
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