![]() ![]() ![]() The work is interspersed with imagery of mice, cockroaches, bunnies, and tiny vehicles, serving as allegories of drinking, the author’s tense relationship with her mother, and Tchaikovsky, too. Now my mother’s bed is moving and she cannot sleep.” The author uses the object of the title-an instrument that sounds when struck-as a slippery metaphor for her art and being, encompassing her risk-taking as a drinker to Tchaikovsky’s open-minded approach to composing The Nutcracker. Though she doesn’t play with line breaks, she often deploys a one-sentence-per-paragraph method that gives a poetic aura to her observations-e.g., “Now my mother is frail. ![]() In her latest, Fusselman ( Savage Park: A Meditation on Play, Space, and Risk for Americans Who Are Nervous, Distracted, and Afraid to Die, 2015, etc.) focuses on breaking with artistic tradition, and structurally, she tries to practice what she preaches. A recursive prose-poem contemplating addiction, dance, and the need for pathbreaking art. ![]()
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