MARIGOLD AND ROSE

An unusual offering from a celebrated poet.

Poet Laureate of the United States in 2003-2004 and winner of the 2020 Nobel Prize in literature, Glück is known for—among other things—choosing her words with exquisite care. She uses everyday language to create a background for an unexpected word, and she uses context to give everyday language unexpected weight. In her latest work, she explores the acquisition of language and how it shapes our realities. Marigold and Rose are babies. They are also twins. The limits of their world would be entirely defined by Mother, Father, and Grandmother if Marigold didn’t like to read. Rose is not, herself, very interested in books, but she has a ready retort for the narrator who says, “Marigold was still reading. Of course she wasn’t reading; neither of the twins could read; they were babies. But we have inner lives, Rose thought.” In addition to being an avid reader—even though she obviously can’t read—Marigold is also a writer. “Marigold was writing a book. That she couldn’t read was an impediment. Nevertheless, the book was forming in her head. The words would come later.” Like all babies, Marigold and Rose understand more than they can easily express, and the author imbues her protagonists with a rationalism that feels as true as it is funny. Glück calls this new book “a fiction,” and that is a precisely vague choice. It’s too short to be a novel and too long to be a short story. The word novella tends to suggest plot, which this text lacks. It’s tempting to suggest that it’s a fable, and it’s true that some readers might find a straightforward meaning in how Glück differentiates her characters. Rose—the sociable one, the pretty one—is the “good baby.” Marigold turns to books because—like animals—they don’t judge her. But life is weird. Words are magic. And the moral of the story is seldom as simple as it might seem.

Wise, funny, and wonderfully odd.