Elizabeth Treadwell’s is a difficult but deeply rewarding poetry. It has a precision and a tenderness all of its own.
—Nathan Thompson, Stride
This chiming, fragmentary, powerful work is in almost every sense a charm.
—Steph Burt, The Believer
Elizabeth Treadwell's writing, in which human figures appear amidst fantastically embroidered surfaces, demonstrates volubility, humor, and intelligence in spades ... Treadwell's piecework ... seems at once medieval in its miniaturized exuberance and modern in its casual entropies.
—Joyelle McSweeney, Rain Taxi
Treadwell doesn't present a self in need of empathy...[and] innovation for its own sake is alien to her. Instead, she deranges language to express dream changes and ecological emotion.
—Lightsey Darst, Rain Taxi
The extraordinary satisfaction in reading Treadwell is that she doesn't finish the ends, or attempt to resolve, knowing, perhaps, that, in the end, everything, including human attention, dissolves.... Her writing is its own beam.
—Nicole Mauro, Jacket
What is strange, then, is the way Treadwell's refusal, her backing off, functions to generate worlds whose ambiguities and erasures function, to my reading, as fully determined. I don't feel the labor of needing to fill in the gaps (perhaps because Treadwell's gaps are enormously hard to fill are, in a real sense, honest); I feel instead the way in which those gaps speak and explain their inability to be filled.
—Simon DeDeo, rhubarb is susan
Treadwell’s poetry offers egress into a beautifully felt, irresistibly complex sensibility.
—Sarah Sarai
The relation of these histories and whimsies is idiosyncratic and intimate, sweet and un- self-conscious, risky and vulnerable. It is also political.
—Michelle Detorie, Galatea Resurrects
These are complex, gendered, political, real questions, given the status of dream.
—Nicholas Manning, Galatea Resurrects
It is a permission....a radical hope.
—Lisa Cattrone, Aspasiology
—Nathan Thompson, Stride
This chiming, fragmentary, powerful work is in almost every sense a charm.
—Steph Burt, The Believer
Elizabeth Treadwell's writing, in which human figures appear amidst fantastically embroidered surfaces, demonstrates volubility, humor, and intelligence in spades ... Treadwell's piecework ... seems at once medieval in its miniaturized exuberance and modern in its casual entropies.
—Joyelle McSweeney, Rain Taxi
Treadwell doesn't present a self in need of empathy...[and] innovation for its own sake is alien to her. Instead, she deranges language to express dream changes and ecological emotion.
—Lightsey Darst, Rain Taxi
The extraordinary satisfaction in reading Treadwell is that she doesn't finish the ends, or attempt to resolve, knowing, perhaps, that, in the end, everything, including human attention, dissolves.... Her writing is its own beam.
—Nicole Mauro, Jacket
What is strange, then, is the way Treadwell's refusal, her backing off, functions to generate worlds whose ambiguities and erasures function, to my reading, as fully determined. I don't feel the labor of needing to fill in the gaps (perhaps because Treadwell's gaps are enormously hard to fill are, in a real sense, honest); I feel instead the way in which those gaps speak and explain their inability to be filled.
—Simon DeDeo, rhubarb is susan
Treadwell’s poetry offers egress into a beautifully felt, irresistibly complex sensibility.
—Sarah Sarai
The relation of these histories and whimsies is idiosyncratic and intimate, sweet and un- self-conscious, risky and vulnerable. It is also political.
—Michelle Detorie, Galatea Resurrects
These are complex, gendered, political, real questions, given the status of dream.
—Nicholas Manning, Galatea Resurrects
It is a permission....a radical hope.
—Lisa Cattrone, Aspasiology