Advance Praise
"On my first tour through Purgatory, I thought, this isn’t Purgatory, this is Hell—a place where your car keys are made of construction paper, your house explodes, where you’re trapped under arctic ice in a one-man submarine wearing itchy wool underwear, and, (my favorite), where the telescope only takes Sacagawea dollars. But, on my second trip through Purgatory (two trips aren’t enough—each of Purgatory’s self-contained poem/paragraphs glitters with facets and shifts shape every time you take it in) I saw the light: Amelia Martens hasn’t described our place of Eternal Punishment; she’s described our Testing Ground, where we’re endlessly paged to the white courtesy phone, compulsively choose door #3 (our quarreling parents), and patiently stand in line holding out our hands for our ration of sun and quiet. A tour through Purgatory is a tour through our shrinking universe, where we’re getting squeezed—oh, it hurts!—but fighting our way through to enlightenment. Kafka would have loved Purgatory, and so will you."
—Richard Cecil, author of Twenty First Century Blues
The immediacy of these poems will make you sweat, and shiver—it’ll make you look over your shoulder a bit. You are in these poems—every one of them. Martens forces you to be there, throughout. It tastes like Windex. It’s cold. You hear cowboy ballads. You see things you can’t believe, like thousands of chickens, flipping through magazines. It’s a lot like a movie. The universe grows smaller every day. It’s true. Just when you think you’re anonymous: just when you think you’ve been forgotten, Martens makes things more alive than you ever thought possible."
—Micah Ling, author of Sweetgrass
"Amelia Martens' poems in Purgatory are dazzling, strange, spiritual, funny, and moving. Shimmering and skittish she whittles an almanac of apocalypse and praise. These poems burn and shine. Martens skewed vision and lyricism delights, haunts and reveals the world."
—Catherine Bowman, author of The Plath Cabinet
