I thoroughly enjoyed Jane Candia Coleman’s odes to the American West. The collection moves fluidly between the personal and the historical, blending intimate reflection with imaginative retellings of events such as the Mormon crossings and battles that shaped the frontier. Coleman’s poems often root themselves in specific places, grounding the vast Western landscape in vivid detail and emotion.
The most affecting pieces, for me, were those that turned inward—ruminations on nature and the human form, where the feminine body becomes a vessel for history, trauma, and desire. Coleman captures how love and longing coexist within a single landscape, and how memory and myth intertwine across open horizons.
That said, No Roof But Sky is undeniably a product of its time. Written in the 1980s and early ’90s, it contains language and imagery that reflect outdated perspectives—particularly in its portrayals of Indigenous people, who are at times rendered through stereotypical or romanticized lenses as violent or mystical figures. These moments feel dated and underscore how Western narratives have long excluded or mythologized Indigenous experiences.
Still, despite these shortcomings, Coleman’s work succeeds in evoking the haunting beauty of the West—its solitude, its resilience, and that wistful sense of standing beneath an endless sky.