The Comedown

The Comedown by Justin Marks (2020) Whether it’s a single poem, a collection of poems, a confession in disguise, or a novel comprising all-of-the-above, this book—as it is in equal parts disturbing and life-affirming—keeps you guessing from the first line (“As a person I’m a fiction”) to the eerie back cover. Well, the front cover, as well—a photo that was never far from my mind—it seems to depict lifeguards on a beach, in the fog—I doubt if they can see the water’s edge—though they likely can hear cries for help. Readers might hear cries for help in the text—not me, particularly—as there’s something about the accomplishment of the whole that implies strength—and perhaps hope—and maybe even victory (no matter how misguided that might be). As I became enmeshed in this book, the words spooling out as if from a mysterious someone you’re getting to know, I initially reacted against the huge variety of formatting choices—the way words are placed on the page, and so forth—but that kneejerk rejection contrasted intriguingly with the love I felt after actually reading each section. Though, sometimes it wasn’t love—it was revulsion and fear—you know, same thing. Everything that I read makes me a different person, but some things more than others. In this case, I think, quite a lot. I’m not going to say what it’s about—on the surface, or perceived—or whether I think it is poetry as memoir, or memoir as fiction, or fiction as poetry, but it brings up a lot of questions—basic ones like, how can a mere mortal survive watching their children face the world? And how can a sane person get up in the morning? No answers, but then, I don’t trust answers—I love questions, because they lead to more questions—and that’s our infinite. If that sounds like sobriety talk, well that may be in here, too. Some of the poems/pieces/sections, taken on their own may seem slight, and sometimes obvious, but it all works together as a whole—the obvious parts and the beguiling, fitting together—and that’s its strength.