The world is a blinders-on march, not a free-for-all dance.
There are few writers to be found who write with the raw honesty of Jane Devin. Whether she’s on the road finding her America or working out a lost childhood and more recent bruising relationship, her writing is poetry tucked into prose.
It won’t matter if you’re male or female. Jane exposes what being human is like, with all its self-inflicted pain and unexpected joy. It’s hard to find raw honesty from writers these days. Most “honest writing” seems to come from ghost-written celebrities confessing a sin or putting their imperfections on display in a plexiglass case of repentance to warn us all against their particular brand of self-indulgent but quite curable sin.
Jane does it differently. Her demons aren’t easily exorcised. They like to rise again just to taunt. They turn and look at her reader, reminding that they’re quite capable of being your demons too.
If you’re looking for a blinders-on march, Jane won’t satisfy. But if you want a free-for-all dance to music sometimes so haunting it won’t leave you, then she’s highly recommended.
- Painting the tune