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Evie Christie’s poetry is masterfully calculating and focused…these poems are read best in the mercurial way in which they were germinated. Discover each one slowly, and stumble upon a nostalgic tomb of a depraved suburban love wreck. The best thing about these poems is that Christie refuses to sustain the stereotype of Canadian poetry. In Gutted there are no remains, just dramatic and engaging emblems, sour wafts of cruelty, fully developed abandon and Olympic-quality regret, a miserable postcard of a worn-town life and the confident rejection of hope.
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