Short Take: Vulnerability never looked so invincible.
Hello, my lovely nerdlings! Today, we’re going to take a little break from my usual menu of murder, mayhem, and mockery, to look at something a little bit different: Poetry. That’s right, the nemesis of non-english-majors everywhere popped up in my inbox, along with a review request, and who am I to turn down a nicely-worded request from a publisher?
My delight at being recognized as A Real Reviewer soon turned to a bit of anxiety, however, when I realized that #1, I don’t know anything about capital-P Poetry, really, and #2, I have no idea how to review it. When I review fiction, I have a few handy criteria that I can fall back on, such as plot, characters, pacing, and so on, to determine if it’s “good” or not. Those things are easy to spot most of the time, and if I’m not certain where I land opinion-wise, the act of writing a review will usually serve as a kind of meditation, with my thoughts crystallizing as I organize them into written words.
Which is a long-winded way of saying that I’m totally out of my depth here, but willing to take a crack at it. I’ve never actually sat and read an entire book of poetry before, I don’t think. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy poetry quite a lot, but to me, it’s best digested in small amounts, letting each piece breathe for a bit, and savoring it slowly. To me, a poem is kind of like a novel, it’s complete in and of itself, and doesn’t really require a bunch of its bros hanging around to be seen as a whole.
So, not knowing what I was for, I dove in. And was immediately assaulted.
Rana Kelly has lived through a lot: a dysfunctional family, her own struggles with bipolar disorder, and any number of difficult, abusive relationships. She explores all of it through her poetry and a handful of essays in Superstition, and although I am hardly a master of real, artistic writing, I can say with all confidence that it this book not for the faint of heart.
I knew from her previous novel that Ms. Kelly’s writing is like thunderstorms and razor blades, but I was not fully prepared for the the wolves, the whisky, the anguished cries and the incredible power that I found in this little book. I don’t know many people who could look at themselves so unflinchingly, let alone, put what they see out there for all the world to consume. Yes, the balance does tend to lean heavily on the side of “my lover broke my heart” pieces, but there are also confessions of her own complicity in these things, her own anger and torment when she looks at herself, and sees only herself looking back.
It’s beautiful, and also strangely unsettling and voyeuristic, seeing someone cut themselves open, over and over and over again, performance art displayed in blood and tears and dark waters that go down forever.
So I’m rambling on here, and I imagine that there are hordes of my followers (7-8 could be a horde, right?) clamoring to know, is this book any good? Should I buy this and read it, or what?
And to that I can only say that poetry is one of the most subjective forms of art out there, but in my humble opinion, Superstition is an experience that people need to have. Rana Kelly’s utter fearlessness in looking at herself has affected me in ways I did not expect, challenging me in ways that I think I needed.
To anyone looking for just the highlights, to me, “Whisky”, “Women and Horses” and “Glasgow Is My Mother” were my favorites.
The Nerd’s Rating: FIVE HAPPY NEURONS (and a shot of something dark and smoky. Trust me, you’ll want one too.)