For the Love of NOX

The order of my encounter with Anne Carson’s work escapes me; what does not is the impact of her work. Decreation, Glass, God & Irony, and NOX are my favorites so far. Each book engages the reader through a variety of forms with deeply intellectual, lyrical writing. I believe the first book I encountered of hers was NOX. I stumbled across it in the bookstore and knew that I would take it home. I had never encountered a publication such as NOX. If you’re not familiar with it, the book is contained in its own sleek box, the text expanding in accordion fashion. There are two elegies within. On the left side of each pair of pages is the translation of an elegy by the Roman poet Catullus for his deceased brother. Carson translates word by word, while on the right side are poems, thoughts, musings, and artifacts about her own brother, Michael, who died abroad after living a life under a variety of names. The text as a whole is a copy of Carson’s handmade book. She describes NOX as an “epitaph in the form of a book.”

In the world of poetry, it is challenging to find a press that will print a poem that has unusual formatting. I get it. I’ve created newsletters and chapbooks, and text that does not conform to traditional justification can be time consuming and onerous to replicate. Even so, I’m drawn to books that are unconventional and/or include drawings, maps, designs, or photos in addition to the text. To see NOX out in the world in its unwieldy form, demanding that the reader grapple with exactly how to read the book while simultaneously prompting the reader to reflect on the messiness of grief, was revelatory.

The fact that Carson made a book by hand also spoke to me. After years of buying journals, I eventually took a bookmaking class and began making my own. The process changed how I kept my own journals. No longer are they just pages with lists, first drafts, and ideas, they have transformed into a space to collect items that I don’t want to lose. Taped into my journals are obituaries, printouts on garden care, ticket stubs. I’ll tape in a postcard or print out an email that I want to read again. The somewhat haphazard collection and stream of consciousness feeling of a full journal transforms it into something I enjoy creating and revisiting. I find a kinship in this process in how Carson created her own book.

When I teach creative writing, one of my mantras is that form should “inform,” and that the container the poet chooses should ideally support the essence of the poem. This is not an original idea, but for those who are new to writing poetry, it can help them learn to discern forms and reflect on if the chosen form is serving the poem. NOX is a homerun in this sense. Opening the box that contains the text presents a challenge. How does one read an accordion book? To remove it from its literal container is to remove several inches of thick paper folded upon itself again and again. It is easy to drop, hard to hold. Does one spread it out on the floor? Flip slowly through it on a desk? Leave it in the box to keep it compartmentalized? This is part of the brilliance of NOX, as grief asks the same questions of us. How do we handle it? Do we press it down and leave it stored away in a box, only opening it in private? What if we reveal our grief and it falls out into a big mess? How do we fold it back into its original form? Can we? The argument NOX makes is twofold, through both the text and how the book has been created. It spurs a conversation on grief between reader and writer, subject and matter.

The content within NOX varies. One page is a smattering of the many international stamps Carson collected from correspondence. Another contains text of how her brother’s widow took her to the “white and clean as an eggshell” church where Michael’s funeral was held. Carson shares how she was glad when her brother left from a visit to her apartment because he was the antithesis of clean. Somewhat amusingly, the photo pasted over this entry is that of a “launderama.” Of course, there’s tension in holding the emotions of recalling the relief of her brother leaving and taking his messiness with him, to the somber realization that he would never visit again.

Being privy to Carson’s handmade book is somewhat voyeuristic even though we have been given permission to read it due to its very existence. The basic human instinct of wanting to see how someone else deals with the messiness of relationships, life, and the loss of a loved one lure us in. Who of us has not had a loss of some sort, a literal or figurative death, to deal with? It becomes cathartic to know we are not alone, that someone else has felt these same feelings, that someone else has had to wrestle with unresolved situations and has allowed us to join in on the very personal. We, too, want to know why Carson’s brother went out into the world, living under a variety of names and with different women. We fill in our own unresolved relationships. But answers are not always forthcoming. How do we hold these feelings? How do we take fragments of a relationship and string them together to make some kind of sense? Can there be resolution? Are there answers to be found? Have we not made something in the process of interrogating?

Emotions in NOX span the grief spectrum, from unresolved questions, light moments, to anger and pain. With NOX, Carson not only connects the reader to this range of feelings through her experience, but has us, the reader, hold a book that challenges us on multiple levels. The textual fragments, the scenes, the language, the shape of the book expand beyond the usual expectations of a book. It provides a unique lens to an old-age question.

When reflecting on my own artistic journey, NOX represents a permission slip in a larger sense. Not only did it affirm that a non-traditional way of putting a book together is acceptable (published or not), but the concept has also carried over into my textile art, allowing me to stitch together handmade quilts in an improvisational way, letting intuition lead, as opposed to following a strict, set pattern. It is not often that a book makes such an impact, but NOX did so for me.

I’d love to hear about your experience with any of Carson’s books that moved you or inspired you. As always, thanks for being a reader.