Ken Howe seems a genius at this genus, a di-jester of congestion and conjectural compression ... Cross Christopher Dewdney's cenozoic perambulations with an architectural blueprint of a Gothic cathedral, and you get something that coughs like symphonic botany. Except it is in a car on the Trans-Canada Highway driving eastbound from Regina for three days, with a lonely, loony pilot imagining the pit stops as a gasoline-scented stations of the cross. Kerouac is a back-seat haint in Howe's car-as-confessional ... You get so mesmerized on the road with Howe that when he finally pulls up 72 hours later to a motel in Dundas, Ont., you swoon out of the car, dizzy at the oxygen and wondering, with him, "whether, climbing the steps, the fixity/ of this dwelling would suffice/ to quell the ongoing motion." This second collection from Howe will cruise any lucky reader home, or somewhere, busting through hypostatic spider webs, mosquitoes be damned.
--Margaret Christakos, Globe and Mail

Look out: here is a revved Ken Howe, erudite at 200 kph, funny, liturgical, elegiac. Enjoy the unparalled ride.
--Tim Lilburn

Howe's poems mostly take on the form of pseudo-scientific glosses on various aspects of modern life, including cars, mass culture and alienating architecture. They have a solemn tone, but are played for laughs ... there's no question that he's smart, funny and eclectic. Read him when you've got the mental energy -- and patience -- to keep up.
--Barbara Carey, Toronto Star