When a manuscript came in from Mark Gluth, I woke up. I had read his first novel, The Late Work of Margaret Kroftis, and had been dented by it. The boWhen a manuscript came in from Mark Gluth, I woke up. I had read his first novel, The Late Work of Margaret Kroftis, and had been dented by it. The book left me unable to stomach other books for weeks, convinced that Mark had found a perfect voice—trenchant yet lyrical—to express so concisely fog-shrouded pains such as yearning, old age, artistic creation, and death. A book as powerful as Mark’s first novel was hard to come by.
In the winter of 2013, though, I read the manuscript for No Other. Mark’s second novel—which he had devoutly worked on for over five years—made me cry three times, and it’s a short book. More importantly, it haunted me further for three days and nights. Its language was even more lucid and emotional than Mark’s first book, somehow both transparent and roiling. No Other’s family, their elemental lives, and the mutative face of death and illness that surges through the text left me in a mood that I recognized from my reading of past Sator titles: I felt scorched and desirous, aching to take Mark’s book into my hands to then put it in the hands of everyone I possibly could....more