Nox by Anne Carson

A review by Abigail DeutschOne Comment

Nothing could prepare you for Nox, but the title tries: It sounds like "book" and "box," and "nix" and "knocks," maybe even "knick-knack." To elegize her brother, Anne Carson has packed a study of night and nothingness in a cardboard container whose lid resembles a door, complete with the cut-out image of a keyhole. Through the keyhole, we glimpse a photograph of Carson's brother, in swimming trunks and goggles, expression unreadable. Swinging the lid upward to reveal the book within, we see that illustration again, on the cover. In Nox, doors lead to other doors, and questions to further questions, creating a confusion that alternately enchants and annoys. Soon enough, we realize Nox isn't a book at all, but a long sheet of paper folded up like an accordion.

Then we might try to pull Nox out of its box, extending it endlessly, like the scarves magicians yank out of hats. Holding the sheet upright and looking at it from the left, we see only white space, a telling absence. From...

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