ISBN: 979-8-9853124-4-7 (Print)
$16 (Print); $9.99 (eBook)
About the Author
SUZANNE BURNS writes both poetry and fiction. Her
last short story collection, The Veneration of Monsters, was named a Top 100 Fiction Book of the Year by Kirkus
Reviews. She is currently working on a new novel.
Now It Seems That I'm Not Here at All
You are in the wrong life, with the wrong man. This is a trap. Escape. You are in the right life, with the right man. This is a trap. Escape. In the surreal, macabre performances of femininity that haunt Suzanne Burns’ third collection, nobody emerges innocent or unscathed. Tasha lives in a community that is mysteriously obsessed with a high-stakes bake-off. Junie constantly tries to impress a cabal of unsettlingly toxic ladies who don’t respect her—until she suddenly goes missing. Elaine’s life seems idyllic, apart from her cold, uncaring husband (and the many black cars that lurk around her neighborhood and cause people to vanish). Underlying the resentful misfit women and boozy tea parties of Now It Seems That I’m Not Here at All is the terrifying question of where—and who—we would be, if we had the freedom to choose.
Advance Acclaim for Now It Seems That I'm Not Here at All
"Burns’s witty and incisive social commentary lands as forcefully as her surprising plot turns." -- Publishers Weekly
"Burns, as always, is darkly funny and her sentences burst with linguistic riches: Female rage can be delicious on the page." -- Kirkus Reviews
"The writing here offers a baked confection of weirdness, depth, and heart. [Burns'] heroines are the everywomen we need: strong, smart, and with more than a few flaws. This may be a set of stories, but they build on each other, adding up to a frosted literary layer cake you need to read." -- Hobie Anthony, author of Liminal and Silverfish
"These stories slip between dimensions, winding and weirding across theatres of feminism, social connection, and romance. I bit into layers of language like millefeuille to feel the pastry splinter like bone under my teeth, taste the metallic prick of the drop of blood pinking all those pillows of whipped cream. In these stories, appetite prevails, and forest loneliness is more than a German metaphor, it is to be alone and hungry in a crowd that includes your sweet ripe lover across a supermarket aisle, as close as your fingertips, inedible as time."
-- Irene Cooper, author of Found