“These are poems about what it is to share language, to share blood, the complexities, the limits, of what it is to share a connection that defies language. 'Haunt me,' Tseng implores. ‘I want to re-/ Member you.‘”—Nina MacLaughlin, Boston Globe
“A kaleidoscopic book that performs grief's tireless and ambitious work, Jennifer Tseng's poems, aptly narrowed and scalpel-shaped, concussive with enjambment and hard stops, commit to the work of excavation and salvage—but do so via the heartbreaking and heart filled collaboration with the dead and the ghosts that go on living in our words. A clear-eyed and courageous feat.”—Ocean Vuong, author of Time Is a Mother and On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
“Jennifer Tseng’s Thanks for Letting Us Know You Are Alive asks: what do we remember if we go further, and further still? Pulling from the exoskeleton of the speaker’s father’s letters, these poems worm their way through memory, language, childhood, and diaspora, creating new epistolary creatures: ‘Love rid itself / Then led me here.’ Deeply intimate, these poems pulsate with grief and terror, as well as tenderness toward the healing self. Each fragment, each line break is gorgeously considered, as each ghost unfurls with complicated longing: ‘My ghost, my guessed. / Where are you, farther?’”—Jane Wong, author of Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City and How to Not Be Afraid of Everything
“Distinguished by italics, the language lifted from these letters takes on an eerie physicality; I feel I can touch English as it swells, ripples, shines, and breathes. Thanks for Letting Us Know You Are Alive is a radiant reminder that we are all children of someone or something gone, sifting through and integrating the language the human dead leave in their wake: ‘Like you, I died became / English words . . . Your words are my sisters.’ Its commanding speaker faces with grace and verve the infinite mysteries and pressures of blood relation. This book is at once an intoxicating page-turner and an intricate lyric investigation of correspondence under global capitalism. I will cherish it.”—Emily R. Hunt, author of Company and Dark Green
“Crackling with the charge of the unsayable, Thanks for Letting Us Know You Are Alive is a richly moving collection that unseams entanglements and griefs from a father’s pained correspondence. Tseng bends, warps, and undercuts the language of these letters to build a blooming and intimate work that evokes the distances and hauntings between us and our closest relations. Through Tseng’s arresting play of language, these poems enact a stunning dance of loss and retrieval, and of the many ways in which ‘a father never ends.’”—Jenny Xie, author of Eye Level and The Rupture Tense
“Jennifer Tseng’s Thanks for Letting Us Know You Are Alive braids silence and grief, intergenerational trauma and personal memory. These poems and hymns show the many faces of language, from what could have been to what is now possible. Tseng spares no words for the neglected plant which flowers anyway. The intimate letters from a father press firmly into the page, holding worlds of duty, alarm, failure, and unbearable love.”—E. J. Koh, author of The Magical Language of Others and A Lesser Love
“The speaker of Jennifer Tseng’s Thanks for Letting Us Know You Are Alive is a speaker deeply attuned to both the harm and the healing that language can do. Drawing on language from a father/phantom’s letters, the daughter/darer of these poems reconstructs adolescence, deconstructs diaspora, and gorgeously makes song out of sorrow. These poems sing and sting. A father’s appeal becomes a daughter’s appall; university morphs into universal; Diane turns out to be Diana; to remember is to ‘member it again / again,’ to ‘dream the embers of a hooded / nation into place’; and two people can and do share a face—’Every morning I see / You mourning in the mirror.’ Jennifer Tseng reminds us of the power of address, the dangers and the liberations of the epistolary. These poems made me weep and ravenously wonder.”—Chen Chen, author of Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency