This chapbook struck me for its beauty in hand, the weight of cover stock and page texture.
After reading the contents — biographical poetic stories of a woman having to make morgue-trips to identify two of her sons to two accidents within two years — it became obvious how the fit of form and content made the binding even more striking.
I’m not sure how to convey it’s 3-dimensions. Dan Coggins was the book designer but with a Dan Coggins working for Time magazine, it might be hard to find the right one.
Mary Maxwell’s short story appeared in This Magazine in the 90s.
It is hard to write of such stories with a critical eye. The small details the narrator notices, like the bitten back word to the undertaker who assures her the car accident was so fast, he didn’t see it coming. She sees his arm position as if to shield himself. The person who walked away heard him say no. She knows the man means well with her compassion.
She walks a fine line, not maudlin, not overly light.
The satin tie connected to the reference to the satin pillows of the casket. The stark grief fits the black and white, simplicity of the cover. The flap that comes over has the proportions of a caskets. The title broken as it is conveys how making funeral arrangements, however professional, however tactful and kind, is still a kind of brokenness of “arrangements” being fracturing. The syllables break into almost meaning sounds of “arr” of inarticulate frustration, an “ange” which is not quite angel, not quite anger, and “ments” that is not quite “meant”. The entire piece is considered.