Cvetka Lipuš is a Slovene from the Austrian state of Carinthia. This is her seventh book of poetry since 1988, and she is the recipient of a number of significant awards in both Austria and neighboring Slovenia; it is high time that her work circulated in the anglosphere. And we are off to a great start in that regard, because this collection has been rendered into luminous, inviting English by Tom Priestly of the University of Alberta; his sophisticated translation, built on intricate diction and topical accuracy, nobly and ably underscores the unifying beauty of Lipuš’s writing. Many of these poems are rigorous in their formulation. They deserve to be closely read, closely heard, as they walk us along the frontier of the unconscious. Indeed, motion is a key feature in most of the individual works. The words and images are in constant movement, not just in the simple sense of journeys but by evocations of rivers , clouds, tsunamis, navigation, orbits, the speed of light, tornadoes, trains, cosmonauts , ladders, breezes, and, yes, deaths. The motion is open-ended: begun, for whatever reason (sometimes dread), but not necessarily completed. Some of the poems take us out of ourselves completely , as when the author refers to being older than herself, getting accustomed to herself, stepping out of her memory, or, in a manner devoid of neither charm nor melancholy, checking the mailbox to see if she is there. Some of the works, such as “The Dream,” “Sleeplessness,” or “Employment,” qualify as surreal or Borgesian; “Open End” contains brilliant existentialist reflections on (auto)biography . Two of the poems stand out to this reviewer for the beauty of their representations of multigenerational families and midlife happiness : “Perpetuum Mobile” and “Dreams Limited.” Lipuš’s work is intense and philosophically inclined. It aims not at pyrotechnics or confession , or at history or politics, or at morale or morality. But it feeds the brain, in every positive sense, as well as fills the heart; this is because its ends and means are, arguably , so enmeshed and coordinated. This is poetry that is powerful and erudite (in the right, procedural and not encyclopedic way) and quiet, even patient: arguably what we are hearing is supreme, supple artistic confidence, and the silence arises from our reading, thinking, and rereading. John K. Cox North Dakota State University Benedek Totth Dead Heat Trans. Ildiko Noemi Nagy. Windsor, Ontario. Biblioasis. 2019. 251 pages. THE CHARACTERS IN Dead Heat, the debut novel by Hungarian author Benedek Totth, are absolute monsters. They are cruel in word and deed, and when they are not being cruel, they are themselves the recipients of cruelty. The novel is a rat king of banal meanness rendered in stark, simple sentences that begin to take on a de Sadeian “listicle” quality that overwhelms and affects and just as quickly disappears. We follow members of an elite high school swim team. They’re rich kids, most of them, and if they’re not rich, their friend and leader Ducky is. They smoke weed and drink and drive and run over homeless people. They feel a little guilty but mostly they just keep going. They urinate on sauna rocks and molest girls through their clothes and then toss them off to the side. This continues for several hundred pages. If it sounds like I’m moralizing, well, I might be. I personally enjoy mean art, art that pulls no punches, that is visceral and angry. I also like books that contain ideas, innovation, something new. If it’s got to be ugly on the way to being brilliant, I am all for it. But what exactly is this novel saying? That the youth of today are disaffected, violent , angry, horny, sad? I have the internet. I can go to Twitter any time I open up my phone and see that. While reading a book like this, I’m left wondering, “Okay . . . so?” We’ve had books like this for almost a hundred years now, books precisely like this, and I’m sure the general gist can be traced back further. Books in Review 104 WLT SPRING 2020 For all my complaining, however, the book has great moments. Take this passage...