Carol Muske Books

Elegant and colloquial at once, wounded, passonate and alive, this book's an elegy of the first rank -- as well as a meditation on marriage, the acting life, and the difficulty of really knowing anyone. Formally acute, tonally various, this is one of the year's strongest books of poems.

I had a great time reading 'Channeling Mark Twain'. The book flowed well and wasn't predictable. I hate predictable and formulaic books. There were a number of obvious 21st Century women's themes brought in, but why not. I don't believe you have to recreate the world to create a fictional story. The scenes were realistic enough that they sent me looking at New York City maps on Google. Don't read this book unless you're willing to just relax and enjoy it.

I read Carol Muske-Dukes' CHANNELING MARK TWAIN straight through, fascinated, although I often forgot that I was reading a novel. Much of it felt like a life history--written by a young teacher-poet so captivated by her life in New York City that she simply could not resist sharing her experience. She is caught up in her work- and poems-in-process, and her efforts to do something good for society, namely, teaching poetry as a volunteer in a women's prison. The first-person narrator, Holly, seems designed to remind us of Carol, the author, whose own name sounds as if she might also have been born in December. And from the book's dedication, we know that Muske-Dukes has been there: "To my unforgettable students, the members of the original Free/Space Art Without Walls Poetry Workshop, Women's House of Detention, Rikers Island, 1973-1983."

Although the young teacher-poet-narrator begins with seeing the pimps as she arrives at Rikers Island--pimps waiting for prostitutes to be released--she manages to bring in flashes of her earlier life in the midwest, featuring wonderful vignettes of her mother, who was always quoting poetry. The narrator juxtaposes her own fragmentary autobiography, including poems, with the fragmentary life accounts and autobiographical poems of the student-poets, inmates at Rikers Island. The juxtaposition and interplay cast light on both realms. So does the poetry.

As other persons make their way into the story--a husband, a lover, associates at Columbia University--the reader realizes that they indeed are invented characters, some of them anyway, not real people, and they are there to make possible the creation of a plot. Yes, this is fiction.

CHANNELING MARK TWAIN, despite its realistic setting and its genesis in the author's real-life experience, is a highly literary piece of work, allusive on almost every page, basically so in its central plot involving the "channeling" of Mark Twain by prisoner Polly Clement, who claims Twain as an ancestor. The author manages successfully the necessary intricate structural crafting, minute narrative detail, the historical and geographical background. Her talents as a poet make convincing both the heroine's poetry and that of the convicts. The inmates are not just pitiable, but diverse, singular, often appealing personalities, portrayed with an artistry that avoids sentimentality. Although we are caught up in the emotional texture of relationships and events in the prison as well as elsewhere, the tone is expertly controlled, and there are touches of humor throughout. I read the denouement thoughtfully and sadly but not with a sense of depression.

I liked the novel. Its story held my interest and so did its techniques, its management of autobiography (or embroidered reality), its assumption of the necessity of poetry, and its deft weaving of on-going events, background details (like the flaming tragedy of the General Slocum)--and toward the end, mystery. It is a unique and engaging mix.

I just finished the book, although it took me a long time to finish. I enjoyed the characters in the book and a chance to go into Rikers prison. I could also relate to Holly since I am a teacher and work in Chicago Public Schools. Although I tried to understand the poetry, I found it difficult at times. I think if I was more of a poet and into poetry I would have enjoyed the book more. I was glad that I was able to read the reviews on this site. That gave me more understanding. I am also curious to read some of the other novels that were referenced as being similar.

I actually couldn't finish this book, it was so discombobulated. There are way too many things going on at once. Holly (the heroine) somehow finds time to interact with and subtly reject her husband, contemplate an affair with an absolute jerk, teach a poetry workshop at a jail, hold down a job that has something to do with the criminal justice system, write her own poetry and essays, flash back at length to her own childhood, and belong to a women's group that seems like something out of the 60s. There do not seem to be enough hours in the day.

Holly keeps coming up with one-liners about the male hierarchy and oppressive patriarchy and spouting them off to whoever is around. I can't tell if it's a joke or not--she's very flippant, and her generalizations about men and women are staggeringly broad, but on the other hand, the author seems to want her to be taken seriously.

The book verges on screed (against capitalism, men, the criminal justice system) but never really gets to the point and really didn't convince me of anything besides the fact that the author clearly has some serious biases. It also completely distracts from what little amount of story line there is. Give me Sinclair's "The Jungle" any day.

For many poetry is obscure, vague, tedious, and trying. But for poets, poetry is the highest form of human expression capable of imparting great feeling, joy, and understanding - transforming. Such is the feeling of Holly Mattox, recent post-graduate and poet, who arrives in NYC in the 1970s with her sometimes husband K.B., a hospital resident doctor, to write poetry, participate in radical politics, and attempt to make a difference in the lives of the oppressed, namely female inmates at Rikers Island, by teaching a poetry workshop.

The book is highly autobiographical as the author did conduct poetry workshops at Rikers for a number of years. The gritty reality could hardly be more palpable: the intimidating presence of the pimps monitoring the exit of the prison for ho's, the no-nonsense female correctional officers, the stark reality of steel, bars, etc. And then there are the women in Holly's class - most all of whom having led precarious lives as prostitutes, drug runners, or victims of domestic abuse with highly detrimental impacts on their psyches. The author captures the contrast of a privileged white girl leading a class of these underprivileged women writing meager, ungrammatical, though intensely personal, poems concerning their train wrecked lives. There is the interesting, but improbable, character of Polly Clement who claims to be the great-granddaughter of Mark Twain and can quote at length from his works, especially Huckleberry Finn.

Holly is a bit of a an uncertain and naïve character. She is a radical who grows disenchanted with a women's group that talks the game of helping the oppressed. She feels compelled to live the life that was cut short for her mother in the dust storms of the Dakotas in the 30s. She is ambivalent about being married to her best friend and searches for a more edgy relationship. She disingenuously confronts the prison warden to release two inmates from solitary lockdown - as though the warden is unaware of her agenda.

Between the constant bits of poetry (Holly is also haltingly writing a poem throughout the book), Holly's wanderings and hesitancies, and some rather unlikely prisoner actions, the book seems a little spotty, not completely convincing, yet worth the read. The reader can decide the impact, if any, of poetry on the women in the workshop.

Like a few other reviews, I had trouble figuring out where this creative writing professor was going with the creation! Too much garbage about the funeral home details. Who cares what a trocar does to your guts on the mortician's table. It wasn't much to feel or be entertained by. I smiled only when I got to the last page; I was through. Like buying a pair of shoes that don't fit and then trying to wear them. I should have chunked it. Sorry, but this one must have been for the exercise.

I was intrigued by the author's approach to life and death. This was an interesting read but I seemed to want more at the end. Muske-Dukes gives you something to think about while enlisting your mind in her characters. A gentle read.

I was really wanting more from this novel -- I didn't find it hard to get through, as another reviewer mentioned below, I just found it lacking in several areas. The characters are likable enough -- I just didn't find them interesting or sympathetic in many ways. The woman who is the center of the story has married a man I suspect she does not really love -- and barely respects -- and put her medical career on hold in order to have a child and make a life with him. In her case, the verb 'make' connotes a bit of a feeling of 'force' -- their life together doesn't seem to mesh, their personalities seem to be very much at odds with one another.

As a result, when they argue early in the book, and she tells him 'Why don't you just die?', it's not too much of a surprise when he does just that. The rest of the story involves her coming to grips with the guilt that she inevitably feels over this unfortunate chain of events -- and her struggle to understand (and recognize) her own emotions and feelings on love and death.

The scenes mentioned in another review involving detailed descriptions of embalming procedures didn't offend or disgust me as much as they made me wonder why they were there at all -- perhaps to give some authenticity to one character's line of work (a funeral director). He provides a somewhat believable catalyst for the widow's emotional and intelluctual struggle with her own demons, and works on a few of his own in the process -- but I was left with the feeling that the novel could have been much more effective (and interesting) if it were quite a bit shorter.

I finished Life After Death just before September 11th and on the 13th I began reding A Death in the Family. Together these books provided a balm... the kind of balm one uses to bandage an injury and go on however painful going on is. There has never been a time when understanding human emotion,loss and the will to go on has been more important. Life After Death is jarring and it is smart. It will make you tough. A Death in the Family is tender and insightful. It will help you find a balance. We need what these books provide.

The reviews on the back cover mention humor and laughter, but the only time I laughed while reading this book was when Boyd gave the dollhouse daddy doll a swirly. Given the initial premise (she tells her husband to die and the next day he does), I expected some black humor. But this book rarely provoked even a smile.

I don't need humor. A book doesn't have to have a plot. I can even overlook disjointed dialog (this book has its share). What I cannot forgive are characters I don't care about and can't understand. I could not get a clear picture of just who these people were or why they behaved as they did, especially toward each other. In fact, the only one for whom I felt any sympathy was poor dead Russell; like most people, he just wanted to be loved.

At the end of the book, I was still waiting for the answers to questions such as: Why did Boyd hate Russell (and his mother) so much? What was the point of refusing her inheritance? How did she feel about Will? After losing the patient during a legal abortion, why would she risk performing one on a minor with no one else attending? Why were the last few pages about Roger?

Freddy, the four-year-old daughter, seemed to be the only one with any sense: when the going got rough, she fell asleep.

The best part of this book is the title. Once inside it is a major disappointment - shallow, self-centered and, frankly, boring. STAY AWAY FROM THIS BOOK.

Being familiar with and a fan of Muske-Dukes' poetry and fiction--have you read "Dear Digby"? If not, why not?--I can't understand the brief, snide "criticism" of one of her customer reviewers. The essays in "Icepick" celebrate, disect and illuminate a cultural mish-mash of writers and writing history in California--and offer insight into the "writing scene" in LA, so closely knit as it is with movies, ocean, earthquakes and sun and a literary history overlooked! It is not enough to pass off an accomplished author's work in one snide line. It is misleading and unfortunate. It is obvious from CMD's essays her passionate belief in the art of poetry, of writing, and the life of a writer in sprawling Los Angeles, passion that makes for an engaging read.

Acerbic, funny, culturally aware and crackling with insight, as are Ms. Muske Dukes's poems and criticism

Narrow, incomplete and pretentious, as are Ms. Muske-Dukes' poems and poetic opinions.

Carol Muske's book "An Octave Above Thunder" is a tribute to Muske's ability to weave themes and subthemes into her book. The book explores everything from the power of a woman's voice to sex to death. She is also masterful at using language to illustrate gestures and actions that seem indescribable. I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys the richness of images and words.

If you get easily bored with poetry, but desperately love it anyway -- read this. The writing is complex, yet spare. I intend to reread Muske's book to catch what monster catfish I missed the first time. If you want something fun and superficial, try Hal Sirowitz and not this.

These poems appear to be the neurotic ramblings of a frighteningly self-important, yet somehow dull poet. I couldn't even drag myself to the end. But I did give it a 2 because a few of the little 'gems' were so overblown that they made me laugh. Awful, simply awful.

In the oral tradition of literature, it was necessary to use alliteration and eidetic "tricks" in order to effectively and faithfully pass along the exhaustive details and subtle nuances of an original poem. Carol Muske returns to poetic origin in "An Octave Above Thunder", giving her readership a body of work that begs to be read aloud. Thus, in many of Muske's poems, the joy is in the presentation- the feel of the tongue alliterating and the sensual quality of her construction.

Muske is a lyricist who creates intellectual music. In the poem "At the School for the Gifted", she describes a classroom blackboard as "cut out camels plodding across the blackboard's high/ sill. Yet the desert below refuses to unfurl its/ mica wings" (31). Not only is this a fresh visual, but so too is the language. Muske's work delights the ear. Therefore, much of the beauty of craftsamnship is lost if the words are silently ingested. What I found most beautiful is how each poem has a moment that moves the reader to open their mouths and speak her words. It is this musicality and precision that I will remember from "An Octave Above Thunder".