Nigel Beale's review of Ken Babstock's Methodist Hatchet—Babstock's poetry, Beale writes, is "nothing that sticking a microphone in front of some stoned sophomore wouldn’t produce"—has kicked up some dust. Amanda Earl defends the book for "the pure beauty of its sound" and for Babstock's ability to "tap into areas of the subconscious which refuse obvious superficial explanation." Brian Palmu mounts a more robust defense:
I didn’t get many of the winks and tricks in Methodist Hatchet. And I’m fine with that. But the book is like a fine buffet. I don’t worry about the exotic dishes left over when my stomach’s pleasantly full from the first class palette of appetizers, entrees, desserts and aperitifs.(Photo by Max Middle.)
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