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I received a copy of A.H. Lewis’ The Small­ness of Every­thing Else for review pur­pos­es. As always, this review reflects only my hon­est thoughts on the book.

 width=The Smallness of Everything Else
by A.H. Lewis

Pub­li­ca­tion Date: 2019

Genre: Poet­ry



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My Review

A glimpse, that’s all you’re seeing.
That’s all any­one ever sees.


This com­ment on com­par­i­son cul­ture and ide­al­i­sa­tion can cer­tain­ly be applied to poet­ry, too.  And here, that glimpse is enough to assure you that this poet might just be your new favourite.

I had been lucky enough to work with Lewis pre­vi­ous­ly, as she con­tributed to the inau­gur­al issue of Nightin­gale & Spar­row.  From that expe­ri­ence, I knew I cer­tain­ly enjoy her work, and I was excit­ed to check out this collection.

Through­out The Small­ness of Every­thing Else, Lewis con­fronts life and love in our mod­ern world, along­side the many chal­lenges that come with both liv­ing and lov­ing.  It takes you into space, through the galaxy, and lands you solid­ly back on earth, sur­round­ed by feel­ing and star­ing up at the stars.

In a per­fect world, I’d read every book I review at least twice before sit­ting down to write about it. In real­i­ty, that rarely hap­pens. Despite being on a tight time­frame with this review, I had to give this book a sec­ond read, albeit a quick one.  I found that to be the best way to tru­ly take in and appre­ci­ate the scope of the col­lec­tion. Each page has an ele­ment of nuance that demands to be absorbed.

It’s impos­si­ble to not recog­nise and admire the craft in these pieces.  “note the note,” a poem from the lat­ter half of the book, is a per­son­al favourite and its form is impressive—it’s a piece I will cer­tain­ly return to.  In fact, I’m like­ly to revis­it most of the poems in this book (and, at some point, return to reread it yet again!).

So much of this book was relat­able, and almost painful­ly so. Sure­ly that is in part due to sim­i­lar­i­ties in our lives and upbring­ings as women of near­ly the same age (and in rel­a­tive­ly close proximity—opposite sides of PA!). Yet, I have a feel­ing this con­nec­tion hits on a more uni­ver­sal note, too.

“anx­i­ety” hit me the hard­est, won­der­ing how Lewis had been able to cap­ture my own feel­ings so beau­ti­ful­ly.“It’s real, and it’s all your fault.” In the con­text of the poem, it would be hard to read that line and not be met with chills.

In her fore­word, Lewis writes, “A sin­gle poem is not a con­stant state of mind.  Each poem is a snap­shot, a glimpse, into every­day life, with the flu­id­i­ty and tumult of a water­fall.” In the case of the scrap­book that is this col­lec­tion, it’s more than worth tak­ing a clos­er look.

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About the Author

A.H. Lewis is a writer and poet liv­ing in Pitts­burgh, PA. After earn­ing a B.A. in Eng­lish from Alleghe­ny Col­lege, she went on to pur­sue her pas­sion for lit­er­a­ture by cre­at­ing her free­lance edit­ing busi­ness, Hap­pi­ly Edit After, and pub­lish­ing her first book just shy of her 27th birth­day- the first undoubt­ed­ly, of many. She is a fan of all things relat­ed to sum­mer and night­time, espe­cial­ly dur­ing the clear­est of star­ry skies, and more often than not she is wear­ing all black, from her com­bat boots to her favorite lipstick.

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