“I can’t find / the self-discipline / domesticity / to stay put, or conversely / the galvanization to leave,” writes Danielle Hubbard on the speaker’s extramarital affair in The Electrocutionist. This unflinching honesty is the mode through which Hubbard explores shifting relationships, including, alongside the affair, a mother’s cancer diagnosis and a sibling’s coming out. By placing such different transition phases in conversation with each other, The Electrocutionist questions which changes allow us to soar and which send us plummeting to the earth.

Holding the human and the more-than-human together is a feisty, playful voice. The Canadian landscape is a site of reprieve from the messiness of human love, explored through running, cycling, swimming, and hiking; landmarks like the Assiniboine River and Mount Douglas stand as reminders for the unchangeability of change, where “sky is a perforated membrane, the sun all over the place, dripping.” Hubbard takes full advantage of the opportunities for lush imagery in these settings.

Word associations such as “Washington is tons of fun, Washingfun, washing / the dishes, the laundry, the laundering / of truths” mixes lightheartedness with the speaker’s palpable dark side. Larger-scale play, such as poems “Mono,” “Duo or Die,” and “Tri Tri Try” stringing together the three sections offers a cheeky wink to the reader.

No matter the subject or the style, Hubbard prioritizes imagery over interpretation, narrative over lyricism, and visual over cerebral clarity. This lack of moralization is a clever choice in a work dealing with such complex human interactions, encouraging the reader to take the winding trail through missteps and new beginnings, hearing the birdsong along the way.mRb