There was a part of me, of course, that wasn't surprised for a nanosecond that the judges chose Robin Coste Lewis's Voyage of the Sable Venus to win the National Book Award for poetry - because how could they have chosen anything else? (I'm biased). But to have one of one's friends win this? For her first collection? Really? This was very, very, very wonderful, and my whoop of total delight must have been heard all over North Carolina, if not back on the West Coast. Certainly in the next apartment (given that I can hear their entire social life, tonight, which does not include listening to book award ceremonies).
And I'd be dissimulating if I didn't say that it was quite a thrill to hear a shout-out to myself in the thanks, let alone to see the author picture that I took of Robin at Watts Towers scrolling past every so often on the screen ... I can't imagine any such occurrence ever occurring in the annals of American Literature ...
Wow. I'm just blown away, and so very happy for her.
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