. -- Kristin Sanders, HTML Giant Jenny Boully is a deeply weird writer -- in the best way. It's not just her subject here, the Peter Pan story, but the way she reconfigures it -- rips all the stuffing out of it, pops off its heads and parts, then shuffles, sexes, and reanimates it. You might expect her primary mode to be narrative, and it is, but this book's weird sweet homunculus heart is in the inquiry into and against these narratives, and the seams between real and not-real. I for one am glad that Boully sanded that safe, sane veneer right back off the story so it's become raw, confused, glorious, new. -- Ander Monson This isn't just a book about pubescent sex or sticking things "in" the other. It's a book about politics of motherhood, of aging, of growing things (babies, gourds, thimbles) inside you and expecting them not to erupt. It's about the desire to fly (Peter-bird, Wendy-bird -- are birds always young?) away from one kind of make-believe to another, which is to say it is about the form of things -- the shape things take -- girls, women, peters, tinkers, hooks and books -- and how through their amorphous (cross-genrey) ways, they can stick more deeply. -- DIAGRAM "Sewing," "pockets" and "stories" being things that don't quite exist in the Neverland, Jenny Boully's not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them sews pockets in and around the mythos of J.M. Barrie's Peter