Man-Moth & the Gospel of Possibility by Donald Levering Book Review

A misprint in the New York Times turned “mammoth” into “manmoth,” and Elizabeth Bishop made that slip into one of the most haunting poems in her first collection. Her Man-Moth was a shy, nocturnal creature who rode the subway facing the wrong way and kept a single tear in his eye. Bishop never went back to him. Decades later, Donald Levering has coaxed him out of the dark again. He’s given him parents, a voice, a pair of antennae tuned to frequencies nobody else can hear, and a cause worth broadcasting.

Spoiler-Free Plot

In the bogs of Poland, a brotherhood of monks eats ergot bread. Their visions fill up with Bosch-like chimeras, and they write down what they see in a holy text called the Gospel of Possibility. One of its strangest entries is the Man-Moth. His father is a moth who spent twenty years underground before coming up to court a woman who played the accordion. The monks broadcast their gospel on a wavelength the Vatican knows nothing about. Only one receiver on Earth can pick it up: the antennae wired into Man-Moth’s brain.

From there we follow Man-Moth through a life that’s half fable, half memoir. He fights his way out of a cocoon and won’t be trapped in a jar. He decodes cosmic static and finds jazz and fungal building plans tangled up inside it. People who fear he’ll eat their woollens drive him off. He sits beside his mother as a pandemic fever takes her. He works night shifts as a security guard at a gambling palace, dances a mid-air lindy hop at a ball, and finds an unexpected friend in a scarred volunteer firefighter. He drives south to the Yucatán in a moth boom year. All the while, a schooner called Possibility sails somewhere on the horizon, waiting for the right moment to come into harbour.

My Take On Man-Moth & the Gospel of Possibility

This collection acts a lot like its hero. It’s shy one minute and flamboyant the next, and you never quite know where it’ll land. Levering writes with a mischievous ear. In “Wobble,” the lines themselves stutter and split mid-word, copying the unlikely genetic hiccup that lets a moth and a woman have a child. In “The First Rash of the Possibility Gospel Glossolalia,” transmissions crackle in and out. Mining data from a distant planet gives way to Rahsaan Roland Kirk honking three horns at once, which gives way to a chorus of bog fungi. Reading it feels like spinning a radio dial at two in the morning, and that’s exactly the point.

Under the whimsy, though, this is a serious book about being “other.” “Coming Out” and “Ostracized” form its spine. Man-Moth gets blamed for eclipses, chased away from mirrors and lamps, shunned like a queer uncle. In one bitter twist, people will only welcome him back if he agrees to play the tame go-between who domesticates their fates. The poems draw open parallels to racism and exclusion. Levering doesn’t hide behind the fantasy here. He uses it to make the cruelty easier to see.

The quieter poems are where the book really earned its spot on my shelf. “Man-Moth’s Mother in Fever” is devastating: a son watches the woman who made him slip beneath the “eternal broth” while sterile gloves tuck her in. “Fire Man” is the warmest piece in the collection. Two people who are used to being stared at finally meet someone who doesn’t stare, and a friendship starts with a handshake between a twiggy hand and one missing fingers. And in “Facing the Wrong Way,” Man-Moth talks back to Bishop herself, gently. He argues that sitting backwards on the train isn’t pessimism at all, and that the forward-facing passenger is often the anxious one. It’s a lovely, cheeky conversation between a poet and his inspiration.

The collection isn’t flawless. It’s a performance text, written for a live show with music and visual art, and a few pieces read more like stage sketches than finished poems. The political jabs near the end may split readers, too: an “orange” mobster in one poem, an “orange despot” deposed in the finale. They pin the book firmly to its moment. The closing vision of the schooner Possibility sweeping in to fix the world feels more like a joyful curtain call than an earned ending. Still, that seems to be the spirit of the gospel, with optimism as a deliberate, almost defiant act. The helpful notes at the back explain the ergot bread, the cenotes, and the fact that a group of moths is called an “eclipse.” Newcomers to Bishop won’t feel lost.

Bishop’s Man-Moth had to do the thing he feared most. Levering’s has to keep believing in what might be, in a world that keeps telling him he isn’t possible. Watching him try is a real delight.

Age Rating

16 years and above

Content Warning

Death of a Parent, Pandemic Illness, Discrimination and Ostracism, References to Racism and Slavery, Drug Use (Hallucinogens), Mild Sexual Content, Political Themes.

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