Mary Plummer, New York Times
“A pilgrimage of sorts through growing old and facing death—subjects that caregivers know all too well. [Lynch’s] upfront, unvarnished style is likely to resonate with many who have come face to face with life’s most important questions.”
Sean O'Brien in The Guardian (UK)
"The elegiac elements of Walking Papers are interleaved with some striking public poems on the Iraq war and the problems of ensuring good government. Lynch's poetry usually operates at the end of the spectrum where metaphor is less prominent than the possibilities of an apparent plain-spokenness."
Domenica Trevor in Ann Arbor Chronicle
"Lynch is a writer who chooses to call things by their proper names. Death is death. An ass is an ass. Love is bliss, except when it is something else entirely. And when he puts his intelligence and honesty and lurking wit to observations of human-scale profundities, he finds solace in even the harshest truths."
Brian Doyle in The Christian Century
"Lynch is almost a stealth poet. His lines are so seemingly easy and effortless that you hardly notice the quiet craft as he just bubbles along telling a tale."
John Burnside in The Scotsman
"Walking Papers is a wonderful new collection from Thomas Lynch, one of the most humane and necessary poets working today. If Lynch was on Mastermind, his specialist subject would be the hard-won understanding that life teaches, rather than the textbook "wisdom" that so many other writers cull from books, and, at times, he is daringly barefaced in his ego-less celebration of the world he has come to accept, as in the concluding lines of this book, (from a fifteen line poem called Refusing At Fifty-Two To Write Sonnets):
The future, thus confined to its contingencies,
The present moment opens like a gift:
The balding month, the grey week, the blue morning,
The hour's routine, the minute's passing glance -
All seem like godsends now. And what to make of this?
At the end the word that comes to him is Thanks. "
Keith Taylor in The Ann Arbor Observer
Always a poet to celebrate the little pleasures, he has learned a kind of gratitude for them, a humility before the smallest gifts.