In his introduction to Kate Bush's first-ever lyrics collection, novelist David Mitchell notes a surprising fact. When "Wuthering Heights" knocked ABBA's "Take a Chance On Me" out of the top slot on the U.K. singles chart in 1978, Bush became the first female artist to hit number one on that chart with a song she wrote herself.

Such a pioneering artist, and still so singular. Both of her time and eternally out of time, Bush made art rock without the indulgent lugubriousness of prog, without the irony of post-punk, without the monochrome of conventional singer-songwriters. She merged an instinctive theatricality with a rock-inspired urgency and genuine emotion. It's fitting that she joined Peter Gabriel for a famous duet on his "Don't Give Up" (1986); the former Genesis frontman may be the artist who came closest to sharing Bush's confluence of talents.

So much for what Bush represented, or sounded like...what did she say? That may not be entirely clear, even to those who consider themselves fans. Her songs are distinguished by a fascinating unpredictability: unforgettable phrases will be dropped offhandedly, while seeming non sequiturs are repeated like chants. Often, the momentum of the music is such that you get carried away without stopping to parse the lyrics.

That makes How To Be Invisible a valuable, as well as attractive, compilation. To communicate the interest of a book of lyrics, Mitchell uses the apt metaphor of a boat in drydock: it's not how the boat was meant to be seen, but once you see it, you understand the boat much better. These are songs, not poems, but seeing the words sitting quietly on the page allows you to take your time parsing them.

While the collection is essentially comprehensive, it's not chronological. Rather, Bush has arranged the lyrics to flow thematically, grouped in clusters that run to 192 pages. The volume takes its name from Bush's 2005 song of the same name, which begins, "I found a book on how to be invisible. Take a pinch of keyhole and fold yourself up."

Got that? No? That's fine, you can read the whole thing on page 177. Even when they're captured in print and placed before you for examination, Bush's lyrics rarely yield their meanings readily. Some of Mitchell's observations are helpful, to the point where one might wish for an annotated collection.

For example, did you know that "Breathing" (Never For Ever, 1980) is about a fetus after a nuclear apocalypse? The fetus narrates, ready to burst into a life of love just as all hope dies. "We've lost our chance/ We're the first and last/ After the blast/ Chips of plutonium are twinkling in every lung."

Here's another one. Have you considered "Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)" (Hounds of Love, 1985) as a song about a woman who imagines trading places with her male partner during sex? "C'mon baby, c'mon darlin'/ Let me steal this moment from you now/ Come on angel, c'mon, c'mon darling/ Let's exchange the experience."

The collection will give you a renewed appreciation for Bush's highly allegorical but forthrightly passionate meditations on themes including sex, love, birth, and God. All the big ones, as Johnny Cash might say. Instead of his concrete, plainspoken style, though, Bush is sweeping and lyrical.

In song after song, she's straining for meaning and straining for connection. In a sense, taking the music away helps you understand why she's a songwriter and not a conventional poet. Repetition and momentum are integral to her meaning, in songs like "Reaching Out" (The Sensual World, 1989) in which she encourages the listener to imagine "how the child reaches out instinctively/ To feel how fire will feel."

Reaching out for the hand
Reaching out for the hand that smacked
Reaching out for that hand to hold
Reaching out for the Star
Reaching out for the Star that explodes
Reaching out for Mama

Sometimes even lines on a page can't entirely contain or communicate her meaning. So, on "Walk Straight Down the Middle" (The Sensual World), she draws little doodles to evoke the wordless vocalizations that come in near the end. "Aerial Tal" (Before the Dawn, 2016) is a handwritten guide to "how to speak blackbird." In the final lines of "Leave It Open" (The Dreaming, 1982), letters grow and escape their lines: "Let the WEIRDNESS in/ Let the WEIRDNESS in/ Let the WEIRDNESS in."

How To Be Invisible isn't a self-help book...but that's good advice.

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