In The Book of Drought, Rob Carney skips ahead to the ending, setting his unnamed Listen-Recorder in a near-future landscape newly wrecked by drought. Instead of water: dead lakebeds. Instead of wild animals: bones. The sky is now cloudless, and the city's faucets are dry. No one has adjusted yet, but some gather in an empty river to grieve, remember, and to tell their stories, the stories that become this book. Part dystopian warning, part dry-humor protest, part mythology and song--get ready for some sad-mad beauty, but with open-eyed hope.
Winner of the 2023 X. J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, selected by Richard Blanco
In The Book of Drought, Rob Carney skips ahead to the ending, setting his unnamed Listen-Recorder in a near-future landscape newly wrecked by drought. Instead of water: dead lakebeds. Instead of wild animals: bones. The sky is now cloudless, and the city's faucets are dry. No one has adjusted yet, but some gather in an empty river to grieve, remember, and to tell their stories, the stories that become this book. Part dystopian warning, part dry-humor protest, part mythology and song--get ready for some sad-mad beauty, but with open-eyed hope.
Winner of the 2023 X. J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, selected by Richard BlancoPaperback
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