“I tried to be good, but I never achieved the expertise I thought would finally validate me to write about infectious life, the uneasy bonds that tie all living things together.” Daisy Lafarge, writer of poetry collection Life Without Air and novel Paul, weaves together metaphor, analysis and biography in her extended essay, Lovebug. Love and disease are constantly informing each other, and Lafarge is interested in rethinking the way we talk about them, especially disease, too often the victim of both the warring metaphor and critiques of the warring metaphor (à la Sontag). From abjection to ideas of disease as a corrective (in the vein of Malthus, but also more moderate takes), from harrowing accounts of snail parasites to a sharp exegesis of artworks (like the film Upstream Color, or Donne’s poem ‘The Flea’), Lafarge crafts a distinct text — one which allows its reader to reevaluate not only what disease is (and does and means) but what narrative is (and does and means), too. Original, engaging, inventive, and ridiculously inventive as it connects all its disparate strands coherently and clearly without avoiding its intellectual task. As a poet Lafarge is especially suited to make this account as vivid and striking as possible, fitting as it insists on the complicated beauty lurking in the ugliness of sickness. “It had always been possible to contract a virus from a kiss, but now we knew exactly how it worked. This was all nature and I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t, but also — didn’t want to, since I was still at the mercy of a lapsed evangelical attraction to conceptual underdogs, of a desire to gaze with fearful love on Job��s infected wounds.”