I always regret it when I don’t write reviews right away. Life’s been a bit busy, but I remember enough to say that I loved this collection – everything from its Kehinde Wiley cover and absolutely loaded (pun intended) title to the poems inside. “Taking Aim at a Macy’s Changing Room Mirror, I Blame Television” is an early favorite. “Watch Us Elocute” packs a punch. “Film Noir at Gallup Park, On the Edge,” “Animal Farm” and “Prayer on the Subdivision” are other favorites. Wicker’s voice just leaps off the page – sometimes to punch you, sometimes to prod you, always to make you think.
I am not sure what to call the stories Levi presents, but essays (what’s on the cover) seems wrong. They are more than vignettes. They are, perhaps, sketches of decency amidst the everyday horror of Levi’s experience at Auschwitz. In addition to the beauty evoked by Levi’s account of the surprising appearance of a violin or the astonishing decision by a prisoner to ask for his food to be saved for a day because it was Yom Kippur (and the equally astonishing decision to grant this request) is Levi’s apparent lack of bitterness. His criticisms are gentle but definitive. Perhaps it’s because he knows that the horrors have been described elsewhere. I was surprised to learn that he’d read biographies of various leading Nazis.
These stories, these as true as they can be stories (Levi acknowledges the limits of memory and perspective) areas human and detailed and as moving as language can create. Each one could become a whole novel. Instead, Levi paints his sketch and leaves the gaps and the colors and the implications for his readers to supply.
I’ve been a fan of Smith’s ever since I read his Dinosaurs in the Hood in Poetry Magazine. And his work spoke to our students as well, so we found what we could online and waited for this book, this National Book Award-nominated book to arrive. And it did. And wow. His poems, ranging from the personal to the political, will absolutely rock you back in your seat. The only thing better than reading them is hearing Smith himself read them. Second is the delight in my students’ faces when they hear someone who makes sense to them.
This one is mandatory – Dear White America
The running motif of the “bloodcell” absolutely haunts me.
I’ve been fascinated by this guy ever since I saw an exhibit about him at the Maryland Science Center. He seemed the perfect model for the adventurer who finds Victor Frankenstein on the ice and hears his story.
Still, there has to be more than that. His exploits on the ice, in terms of improvisation, are legendary. His preparation, his domestic life – not so much. Does he have the whiff of a tragic hero about him, similar to Alexander Hamilton?
Smith writes well by limiting the technical jargon and the digressions and writing a kind of adventure story himself. So much is easy to see in hindsight. I also appreciated how Smith was careful to identify where knowledge stopped and speculation began, especially as it relates to Shackleton’s finances, a mysterious letter, and his relationship with women.
Maybe Shackleton’s charisma just works on me the way Smith reports on so many people who maybe should have known better. I think Smith’s account is balanced and in the end that he applauds him, for all of his many flaws. I guess, in this age where we’re bloodthirsty to take down anyone and everyone for any flaw real or perceived, I want to applaud both Smith and Shackleton.
I think that to understand a satire, one must understand what is being satirized first. I am thinking here of things like Ulysses or Possession. While I can appreciate the artistry of each, especially the latter, I always read with the feeling that there were things I wasn’t getting. In the case of the Joyce, this feeling was reinforced by the Professor who gave us one week to read it (in the interests of expediency, I abandoned all of the support materials I’d accumulated when I’d read the book for a 10-week independent study), and I bailed out after maybe 25 pages. We were assigned to write a reflection and the Prof read mine and one other similar one out loud and said ours were the only 2 honest reflections he received. In the case of the Byatt, I read it in preparation for teaching a demonstration lesson, and I was stunned by the decision to high school students. When I asked my host teacher about her reason for selecting it, she mentioned all of the ways it mocked traditional graduate school approaches to literature. She came off sounding like some independent school English teachers do – like a wannabe college professor who couldn’t get a job or tenure so was taking it out on her high school students.
All that’s to say is that at times I found myself thinking of this novel as largely an inside joke. I wanted to read it simply because I’d never seen anything written by a Yemeni author before, but I have the feeling that I only reason I thought of it as satire was because I read the back cover. To be fair to myself, I did get a few moments and the ending is incredible in a number of ways, but in between, I suspect I was the one nodding while other readers were laughing the knowing laugh of insiders.
Though, at times, this reads too much like a dissertation, I really enjoyed this book. Souther traces the evolution of Cleveland and seeks to complicate the traditional narrative about cities by using Cleveland as an example. Cities, he argues, are neither coming back nor declining. They are, instead, doing both at the same time. An additional complication is the effort the city makes and its intended audience. Is the effort for outsiders? If outsiders, then is it tourists or businesses? If it’s ‘insiders,’ is that truly code for white and wealthy suburbanites? Is there a need to change perceptions or reality? And reality? Is there a need to change the city’s general disposition so that outsiders who visit will think more favorably of it? So that these same ‘insiders’ will be more favorably disposed toward proposed efforts to make changes? How much effort should be spent on downtown vs. neighborhoods? On Cleveland vs. Greater Cleveland?
There are a few lessons to be gleaned from the city’s history (according to Souther). Coalitions function more effectively than those with individual interests. When people and groups act according to “enlightened self-interest,” the results are better. The shift in the economy from production to consumption continues to be devastating to this day. And no one, it seems, asks the people who live in the city what they think would help improve the city, almost certainly because they do not pay enough taxes to make their insights worth due consideration. Their race also means their seats at the table are limited.
To Souther’s credit, he does not shy away from difficult topics like race and class. He names racism where he sees it, and he sees it as a recurring obstacle. He identifies a need that is familiar to me from other books about Cleveland – the need for inexpensive and well-maintained housing options in a wide variety of neighborhoods.
Since the book is a historical survey, it is not surprising that at times I wanted more depth in one area or another. And I have the familiar complaint that while many problems and their consequences are identified, little is offered by way of solutions or even success stories from other cities that we should see as models. But I’ve realized before this that this is not the responsibility of critics (who often throw in such chapters as afterthoughts).
Since I am not a native Clevelander, I was amused to find myself feeling protective of the city as I read. How dare this guy, also an outsider, think he has anything to say about Cleveland? Am I on my way to honorary ‘insider’ status? Unlike in some of our previous zip codes, we have felt welcomed here, even though we didn’t go to high school here. This, and to be honest, by this I mean ‘greater’ Cleveland, is, at long last, home.
The first thing that struck me when I picked this book up at the excellent Guide to Kulchur bookstore was the apparent contradiction in the title. “The Big Book of” sounds like the beginning of a children’s title. “Exit Strategies,” as far as I know it, is a military term. And May teases this contradiction out throughout the collection, turning often to a motif of journeys and his hometown of Detroit as he provides the kind of poems that make you both laugh and think. I had too many favorites to list them all here, so let me see what’s available online.
Ah, here’s one.
And another. . .
At least read its ending –
Aren’t graveyards and battlefields
our most efficient gardens?
Journeys begin there too if the flowers are taken
into account, and shouldn’t we always
take the flowers into account? Bring them to us.
We’ll come back to you. Peace will come to you
as a rosewood-colored road paver
in your grandmother’s town, as a trench
scraped into canvas, as a violin bow, a shovel,
an easel, a brushstroke that covers
burial mounds in grass. And love, you say,
is a constant blade, a trowel that plants
and uproots, and tomorrow
will be a tornado, you say. Then war,
a sick wind, will come to part the air,
straighten your suit,
and place fresh flowers
on all our muddy graves.
Heck, here’s his site –