![]() ![]() That’s not funny, but then neither is rape. No One is a very funny book about a baby who dies. ![]() When experience presents a dull beige mass, Lockwood pushes her brain into it and tosses out the profile of a hornet with abs. In a book that isn’t largely about animals or sex-topics of great import for Lockwood-there are still cats named Dr. The demented one-liners in No One are worthy of inspirational bathroom posters, and the home truths are sharp enough that reading them even once stings. The electric hurt of Lockwood’s new novel, No One Is Talking About This, is present in all of her work, which includes two books of poetry, one memoir, and more than a dozen book reviews. Her aim is, in some ways, traditional: to give voice to that which escapes sublimation, to understand the wounds incurred by simply being alive. And as chummy and rapturous as her writing is, she doesn’t work for likes. If the internet is chaotic, Lockwood is chaoser. If the internet is fast, Lockwood is faster. ![]() Patricia Lockwood-and I cannot stress this enough-is neither a dog nor a twin, but if she were, she could make you feel their struggle. No One Is Talking About This, by Patricia Lockwood, Riverhead Books, 205 pages, $25 ![]()
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