"In Ghost Family, Suzanne Manizza Roszak sculpts Grimm-like poems with a razor blade. Her poetry is elegiac—suffused with the presence of her late mother—touched with the surreal, and filled with mysterious, powerful spirits. In the poet's teeming imagination, even inanimate objects come alive. Resisting 'the desolation of now,' she yearns to disappear, to 'stow away to cross the border.' What sets Ghost Family apart is its emotional depth and consistently startling language: 'smoke-billows can knit a collar for your keening bones.' An unsettling and unforgettable collection."
— Maria Terrone
"Departed people and places haven't vanished from Suzanne Manizza Roszak's poems. Instead, they remain and expand as the poet traces what is seen—or known or dreamt—through gleaming and tactile landscapes, guiding readers through rich slippages of time and place. This Ghost Family brims with ephemeral echoes, bodies, and whispers. Reading Manizza Roszak's entrancing scenes, we're invited to become part of this reverie; we hang on each word even as our narrator reminds us, 'Listen: I am / taking myself away. Listen, / I am gone.'"
— Genevieve Kaplan
"Suzanne Manizza Roszak's Ghost Family is a collection of wrenched and wrenching lyrics that come on like 'broken strand[s] of prayer,' whiffling through the haunted and 'unforgiving middle.' Each poem is a step out from under the intimidating shadow of 'the bear's great beer-gut / hanging loose over the stunned, still world,' a world that is a stage built between the loss of a mother and the speaker's own impending 'Motherless / mothering.' Ghost Family offers a 'story for braiding / and re-braiding,' and I feel spirited into that world, that narrative, and onto that stage, and I'm braiding, braiding there among its ghosts."
— John Hoppenthaler
"Suzanne Manizza Roszak knows what will fit in a poem. She knows how to fill a page to the point of breaking and yet maintain coherence. In fact, her pages, her poems become occurrence—a time to see what's possible rather than to commemorate something already packaged. These poems invoke strange disappearance and uncanny absence. They often turn at mid-point in a direction no one else could have imagined, and at their end: 'we / will see that construction is impossible / from fragile bones.'"
— Dennis Barone