Wild Milk is like Borscht Belt meets Leonora Carrington; it's like Donald Barthelme meets Pony Head; it’s like the Brothers Grimm meet Beckett in his swim trunks at the beach. In other words, this remarkable collection of stories is unlike anything else you’ve read.
"Essentially, this is a book about mothering. Existentially, this is a book about anxiety. Everything herein is a child—teeth, presidents, prayers, apricots, seahorses, jokes, snails . . . . Calling these stories doesn’t seem quite right—each comes alive in your hands, not like a child but like its cry." Nick Flynn
“Wild Milk is a narrative spell book; by reading it you’re conjuring madcap mothers, lice infestation, changeling children, slow moving floods, embodied jokes, and the disintegration of lucid structure into the ordinary world. These spells read as poems within dreams that have been given skin and bones and made to speak. Sabrina Orah Mark writes from a place where the accumulation of time, history, bodies, earth, and ancestral memory have created a collapse from which spare yet feral imagery and language has built itself a new and marvelous world.” Jen George
“Two blurbs at play: One blurb exclaims, Sabrina Orah Mark has reinvented the short story. The second blurb checks its watch and chimes, It’s time someone take stock of all this despair and turn our harrowing twenty-first century into a sublime affair! Wild Milk, the first blurb clears its silky throat, is a numinous journey into the theatrical landscape of family, where home is a charming wilderness and nurturing children are at the dangerous mercy of their feral parents. The second blurb topples a sturdy shelf and balances Wild Milk atop a ziggurat of Bruno Schultz, Grace Paley, Lydia Davis. A third blurb comes along all glossy and honey-lipped and reminds the first two blurbs of the sweetness and pleasure Mark’s stories arouse. These stories cured all of my sadness. Suddenly, the blue bird of happiness sweeps down from the heavens and steals Wild Milk away from the first blurb (or maybe the second, I don’t know, it’s hard to keep track of all of these imaginary personified blurbs). Then all at once, all of the words still waiting to be written cast their gaze starward at a scream of sky and long to be lifted, carried and nested into the alluring shelter of Sabrina Orah Mark’s ravishing fictions.” Amber Dermont
“Maybe this is a collage of spells arranged by Andy Kaufman to conjure a strange forest into being, or a contemporary interpretation of Dada’s joyous weirdness, or just a reincarnation of one of James Tate’s later poem run amok. Whatever it is, Wild Milk is strange, unsettling, funny and brilliant collection that manages to be both profoundly weird and mundanely thoughtful at the same time.” Josh Cook, bookseller at Porter Square Books