here is my latest review on another amazing labor of love by Kindra M. Austin. if you haven’t read any of her work yet, you must!
Kindra Austin’s Twelve continues where Constant Muses left off, rich and intense.
After having read Constant Muses, I eagerly awaited the release of Kindra Austin’s Twelve. I expected more of the imagery of Muses, with its cigarette smoke and endless cocktails. While those common threads are there, Twelve favors the much more potent darkness of decay and memento mori. In Twelve, Austin further exposes the connection between the corporeal and spiritual that she began to explore in Muses, through an emotional dissection of the year of grieving on her mother’s death. And I felt it was a grieving ‘on’, not ‘over’: she rests upon each painful moment of remembrance and exposes it to us fully, unapologetically. It is that straightforward voice, plainly truthful, that compelled my own visceral response—and while I cannot fully describe in words how I felt, I do know that…
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