Heather Christle is the author of the poetry collections The Difficult Farm; The Trees The Trees, which won the Believer Poetry Award; What Is Amazing; and Heliopause. Her poems have appeared in the New Yorker, London Review of Books, Poetry and many other journals. She teaches creative writing at Emory University in Atlanta. The Crying Book is her first book of non-fiction.

In this wistfully lyrical collection, Christle tends to the fragments of selfhood with an ethereal, dreamlike sensibility. Speaking out with stream-of-conscious urgency, the body is exposed as half-human, half-other and held together by holes. As though gazing up through a luscious canopy of green, each poem becomes a vivid spectacle of play and patchwork, as the form itself is flawlessly consistent in mirroring the mesmeric tapestry of trees

Heather Christle is the author of the poetry collections The Difficult Farm; The Trees The Trees, which won the Believer Poetry Award; What Is Amazing; and Heliopause. Her poems have appeared in the New Yorker, London Review of Books, Poetry and many other journals. She teaches creative writing at Emory University in Atlanta. The Crying Book is her first book of non-fiction.

In this wistfully lyrical collection, Christle tends to the fragments of selfhood with an ethereal, dreamlike sensibility. Speaking out with stream-of-conscious urgency, the body is exposed as half-human, half-other and held together by holes. As though gazing up through a luscious canopy of green, each poem becomes a vivid spectacle of play and patchwork, as the form itself is flawlessly consistent in mirroring the mesmeric tapestry of trees

Heather Christle is the author of the poetry collections The Difficult Farm; The Trees The Trees, which won the Believer Poetry Award; What Is Amazing; and Heliopause. Her poems have appeared in the New Yorker, London Review of Books, Poetry and many other journals. She teaches creative writing at Emory University in Atlanta. The Crying Book is her first book of non-fiction.

In this wistfully lyrical collection, Christle tends to the fragments of selfhood with an ethereal, dreamlike sensibility. Speaking out with stream-of-conscious urgency, the body is exposed as half-human, half-other and held together by holes. As though gazing up through a luscious canopy of green, each poem becomes a vivid spectacle of play and patchwork, as the form itself is flawlessly consistent in mirroring the mesmeric tapestry of trees