Saturn Peach

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In Saturn Peach, Lily Wang establishes a distinctive voice that is part heartbreak and part wise witness chronicling the strangeness of a technologized world. When asked to describe her book, Wang answered in her quintessential way, “There are things I never want to know but always know. Every day I live with them. Every day I live. I am like a young fruit. Like a peach, common, not the popular kind but oblate, saturn. I live and inside me this pale fruit, yellow and white. I take bites out of myself and share them with you. Maybe you taste like me. Maybe you hold this fruit and become a tree.” If ever there were a book that disarmingly – and seemingly effortlessly – encouraged its reader to become a metaphor, then Saturn Peach is it.

Lily Wang is the founder and editor of Half a Grapefruit Magazine. She is doing her MA in English and Creative Writing at the University of Toronto. Her first chapbook Everyone In Your Dream is You was published by Anstruther Press in 2018. Her work has appeared in Peach Mag, The Puritan, The Hart House Review, Bad Nudes, Hobart Pulp, and more.

Praise for Lily Wang and Saturn Peach

"One keynote of Lily Wang’s Saturn Peach is the line, 'I am a friend', from a poem in which the poet and her companions are marvellously 'A tower of sparrows, dirty and simple': a gang of co-survivors. Every poem here embodies friendship, generosity, witty warmth of feeling, the nostalgic recall of ordinary actions remembered with love. Yet dread and longing are always present: 'it’s early afternoon. the world makes a lot of sense. /.../ I wait around for the harm.' Helpless vulnerability dreams of its own absence, of a place where 'mother is always at home, and longing never reaches you.' So another keynote of this surprising, fresh, truly new poetry might be the double-meaning that opens 'flash storm': 'I can admit the truth now that it is quiet and you are with me.' The poet in Saturn Peach is 'searching for beauty / in my own mind' and knows that, in spite of fear and sorrow, 'There are / still many flowers I haven’t learned to name. / I bring them to you: my arms / full / of silence.'" – A. F. Moritz, author of The Sparrow

"This book is a lucid dream. Wang floats between head and heart with care; her voice at once tender and tough. She is in complete control of letting go. Hold onto her words. You will devour them, swallow them whole, and they will nestle pleasantly in your body for a long time after. You will dream of fruit and scorpions, of the sea and your crush. And then you will wake up and reach for this book again." – Sennah Yee, author of How Do I Look?