In a “trenchantly observed and moving debut” (John James, Kenyon Review), Anders Carlson-Wee mines nourishment and holiness from the darkest of our human origins.
Explosive and incantatory, The Low Passions traces the fringes of the American experiment through the eyes of a young drifter. Pathologically frugal, reckless, and vulnerable, the narrator of these viscerally compelling poems hops freight trains, hitchhikes, dumpster dives, and sleeps in the homes of total strangers, scavenging forgotten and hardscrabble places for tangible forms of faith.
