9bwuuxtImpress your friends, save big money, and read some of the most exciting indie-press literature being published today: subscribe to the Tarpaulin Sky Press 2016 roster, featuring debut authors Steven Dunn (Potted Meat, novel), Dana Green (Sometimes the Air in the Room Goes Missing, short fiction), and Elizabeth Hall (I Have Devoted My Life to the Clitoris, memoir/essay), in addition to new work by poetry icon Amy King (The Missing Museum, poetry) and the mysterious desert hermit, Kim Parko (The Grotesque Child, novel).

A blistering novel about race, poverty, and trauma in West Virginia — complete with ninjas and Bob Ross? We got that. A book-length essay on the clitoris? Check. Bizarro fictions about weapons testing and sheep that can herd themselves into watercolors? Look no further. New work from a poet who, according to John Ashbery, brings “abstractions to brilliant, jagged life.” Done. Or a novel about the weepy, goopy, bloody state of feminine being and trans-being — yeah, we got that too.

Buy all five new titles for $50 and save 40% off the cover prices — and get free shipping. (Yeah. You won’t beat that anywhere. But feel free to pay more at Amazon while supporting the Great Satan.) Read more about the authors and books, below, or just click “Add to Cart” and get on with the joy.

If you’re a book reviewer and are interested in any of our 2016 titles, email newbooks@tarpaulinsky.com and let us know.

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Steven Dunn is the author of Potted Meat, co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. Steven was born and raised in West Virginia, and after 10 years in the Navy he earned a B.A. in Creative Writing from University of Denver. He is the Reviews & Interviews Editor for Horse Less Press, and currently lives in Denver.

Potted Meat
Co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize
Novel | 5.25″x8″ | 134 pp. | Paperback | July 2016

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Potted Meat, a novel set in a decaying town in southern West Virginia, follows a young boy into adolescence as he struggles with abusive parents, poverty, alcohol addiction, and racial tensions. Using fragments as a narrative mode to highlight the terror of ellipses, Potted Meat explores the fear, power, and vulnerability of storytelling, and in doing so, investigates the peculiar tensions of the body: How we seek to escape or remain embodied during repeated trauma.

Steven Dunn’s Potted Meat is full of wonder and silence and beauty and strangeness and ugliness and sadness and truth and hope. I am so happy it is in the world. This book needs to be read.

— Laird Hunt, author of Neverhome and Kind One

Potted Meat is an extraordinary book. Here is an emerging voice that calls us to attention. I have no doubt that Steven Dunn’s writing is here, like a visceral intervention across the surface of language, simultaneously cutting to its depths, to change the world. My first attempt at offering words in this context was to write: thank you. And that is how I feel about Steven Dunn’s writing; I feel grateful: to be alive during the time in which he writes books.

— Selah Saterstrom, author of Slab and The Meat & Spirit Plan

dana-green-photoDana Green is the author of the fiction collection Sometimes the Air in the Room Goes Missing, co-winner of the Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. She received her MFA from the University of Massachusetts in Amherst and is currently a PhD candidate at the University of Denver. She lives and writes somewhere outside of Denver with her almost husband and cat.

Sometimes the Air in the Room Goes Missing

Co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize
Short Fiction | 5.25″x8″ | 124 pp. | Paperback | July 2016.

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Dana Green’s debut collection of stories, Sometimes the Air in the Room Goes Missing, explores how storytelling changes with each iteration, each explosion, each mutation. Told through multiple versions, these are stories of weapons testing, sheep that can herd themselves into watercolors, and a pregnant woman whose water breaks every day for nine months — stories told with an unexpected syntax and a sense of déjà vu: narrative as echo.

I love Dana Green’s wild mind and the beautiful flux of these stories. Here the wicked simmers with the sweet, and reading is akin to watching birds. How lucky, and how glad I am, to have this book in my hands.
— Noy Holland, author of Bird and Swim for the Little One First

Dana Green’s Sometimes the Air in the Room Goes Missing is a tour de force of deeply destabilizing investigation into language and self, languages and selves — for the multiplicities abound here. Excitingly reminiscent at times of the work of Diane Williams and Robert Walser and Russel Edson, Green’s brilliant writing is also all her own. This book is the start of something special.
— Laird Hunt, author of Neverhome and Kind One

Language becomes a beautiful problem amid the atomic explosions and nuclear families and strange symmetries and southwestern deserts and frail human bodies blasted by cancer that comprise Dana Green’s bracing debut, which reminds us every ordinary moment, every ordinary sentence, is an impending emergency.
—Lance Olsen, author of Theories of Forgetting and There

Elizabeth Hall is the author of the book-length essay, I Have Devoted My Life to the Clitoris (Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2016). She lives on a crumbling bluff in San Pedro, California, is the author of the chapbook Two Essays (eohippus labs), and plays bass in the band Pine Family.

I Have Devoted My Life to the Clitoris
Essay / Memoir | 5.25″x8″, 98 pp | Paperback | July 2016.

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Elizabeth Hall began writing I Have Devoted My Life to the Clitoris in the summer of 2010 after reading Thomas Laqueur’s Making Sex. She was particularly struck by Laqueur’s bold assertion: “More words have been shed, I suspect, about the clitoris, than about any other organ, or at least, any organ its size.” How was it possible that Hall had been reading compulsively for years and never once stumbled upon this trove of prose devoted to the clit? If Lacquer’s claim was correct, where were all these “words”? And more: what did size have to do with it? Hall set out to find all that had been written about the clit past and present. As she soon discovered, the history of the clitoris is no ordinary tale; rather, its history is marked by the act of forgetting.

In her marvelously researched and sculpted essay/memoir, Elizabeth Hall convinces me that clitoral stimulation is my birthright, a supreme act reaching back to the origins of sensation, connecting me to all my animal sisters: artist, poet, hyena, dolphin. What a thrilling world Hall constructs, her bulleted points rat-tat-tatting the patriarchy, strobing with pleasure.

— Dodie Bellamy, author of When the Sick Rule the World and Cunt Norton

The unfolding of relationships between, among many other details, Freud, terra cotta cunts, hyenas, anatomists, and Acker, mixed with a certain slant of light on a windowsill and a leg thrown open invite us into this intricately structured catalogue of clit. “I started with a question: what does the body want? And ended with: it wants.” The investigation does not stop there. Elizabeth Hall’s prose builds quietly into a denouement that is as cerebral and corporeal as it is bawdy and beautiful.

— Wendy C. Ortiz, author of Excavation: A Memoir and Hollywood Notebook

“I am never bored by a body,” says Elizabeth Hall, in this gorgeous little book about a gorgeous little organ. Hall’s restless unearthing of the clitoris’s hidden history mines discourses as varied as sexology, plastic surgery, literature and feminism to produce an eye-opening compendium, stitched together with wit, lyricism and desire. In this spirited collection of telling details and revelatory insights, the “tender button” finally gets its due.

— Janet Sarbanes, author of People of the Pancake and Army of One

“God this book is glorious. I’m so grateful to Elizabeth Hall for her devotion–scholarly and bodily– alive in this rigorous, lyrical exploration of a most under-written organ. In this far-ranging meditation and investigation, Hall moves elegantly from Marie Bonaparte to the female hyena to contemporary heroes like Kathy Acker and Holly Hughes, asking over and over again: what is it to have a body? How do we read our way into and through that body? Hall shows us how, in dizzying, thrilling detail; you will learn and laugh and wonder why it took you so long to find this book. ”

— Suzanne Scanlon, author of Her 37th Year, An Index and Promising Young Women

Amy King is the author of the poetry collection, The Missing Museum, co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. King also joins the ranks of Ann Patchett, Eleanor Roosevelt & Rachel Carson as the recipient of the 2015 Women’s National Book Association Award. She serves on the executive board of VIDA: Women in Literary Arts and is currently co-editing with Heidi Lynn Staples the anthology, Big Energy Poets of the Anthropocene: When Ecopoets Think Climate Change. She is also co-editing the anthology, Bettering American Poetry 2015, and is an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at SUNY Nassau Community College.

The Missing Museum
Co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize
Poetry | 5.25″x8″ | 114 pp. | Paperback | July 2016.

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Nothing that is complicated may ever be simplified, but rather catalogued, cherished, exposed. The Missing Museum spans art, physics & the spiritual, including poems that converse with the sublime and ethereal. They act through ekphrasis, apostrophe & alchemical conjuring. They amass, pile, and occasionally flatten as matter is beaten into text. Here is a kind of directory of the world as it rushes into extinction, in order to preserve and transform it at once.

Kim Parko is the author of Cure All (Caketrain Press, 2010) and the novel The Grotesque Child, co-winner of the Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. She lives with her husband, daughter, and the seen and unseen, in Santa Fe, New Mexico where she is an associate professor at the Institute of American Indian Arts.

The Grotesque Child
Co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize
Novel | 5.25″x8″ | 250 pp. | Paperback | July 2016

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The Grotesque Child is a story about being and being and being something else. It is about swallowing and regurgitating, conceiving and birthing. It is about orifices and orbs. It is about the viscous, weepy, goopy, mucousy, bloody state of feminine being and trans-being. It is about pain and various healers and torturers, soothers and inflictors. It is about what sleeps and hides in all the nooks and crannies of perceived existence and existence unperceived.

from The Grotesque Child

The mother ship could not bring a child to term. She searched the worlds for someone to help her with her problem. In one of the worlds, she found the midwife, Brigit, who was purported to make the most barren wombs fertile. Brigit moved onto the mother ship and stayed in a room on the edge of the mother ship’s goop chamber. The goop chamber was where the mother ship’s children should have spawned. Brigit threw herbs into the goop. She squirted tinctures into the goop. She chanted over the goop with burning incense. She advised the mother ship about exercises, diet and stress reduction, and the mother ship followed her advice diligently. The mother ship had also prayed, nightly, to no-one-in-particular. But all the mother ship’s children came out too early, too small, and barely formed. She had watched them all eject through her birthing hole and float away from her as bloody clumps without the fins to swim.

What kind of mother ship am I? cried the mother ship to Brigit. One that cannot bear children? Who has ever heard of such a travesty?

Brigit tried to comfort the mother ship, but Brigit knew that what the mother ship really needed was new seeds.

Brigit had given her own seeds away long ago.

One night the mother ship asked no-one-in-particular, Can you tell me whether or not I should have children? And if not, could you rename me as something other than the mother ship, and if I should have children, can you help me know what I should do to bear them? And the mother ship tried to interpret no-one-in-particular’s silence.

The mother ship then asked the same question to Brigit, who then took out the colorful array of cards that she always carried with her. Brigit spread the cards on a table and carefully discerned their message.

It’s clear, the midwife said to the mother ship, the cards say that you must find the grotesque child….