The Work of Days

At her best, Lang's disjunctive syntax and taut, oblique episodes can be hauntingly moving. But she tends to overdo the po-mo alienation; some of the best passages in the book come when she gives her sentences and lines a bit more room to breathe. The Work of Days could be fairly classified as confessional, but there is nothing self-indulgent in the collection – unless you count its unremitting, monochromatic seriousness.

Sarah Lang begins her first book with a witty linguistic bang: "Hibiscus, hibiscus, hibiscus, rolls / of a hip, an eye remembers like a / great flowering (this is my big break)." I'm not sure there's really anything like "a big break" in poetry, but this just sings pizzazz and chutzpah.