Take a photo of a barcode or cover
kyatic's Reviews (974)
Thanks to Netgalley and the University of Nebraska Press for sending me an ARC in exchange for my honest review.
This was a really, really interesting book. I found the introduction particularly illuminating; like most people in the West, I would imagine, I know very very little about Sudan and its history and culture, so having the introduction to ground the poems in a rhetorical tradition was really helpful when it came to appreciating them.
There's a good mixture of subjects in this book, although the thing that struck me most was the sheer number of poems that were explicitly about Sudan and its history, the blood and tears that have been spilt in its name. There were so many poems that were essentially love songs to the land, even though the land has been so mistreated and the people have suffered so much for it. I think if you were to publish a compendium of poetry from France, for example, very few would be about the land itself. It was striking to me how the history of a place is indelibly inked on the people and the broader cultural consciousness. I would never even think about having to suffer for my own country's independence, and it was enlightening to read how it feels for those who do; how there's more than just pain there, but pride, too. I did find that a lot of poems, perhaps because they were translated by the same individual, sounded the same; it was hard to discern different authorship in many cases, with the exception of three or four very distinct voices (mostly women - this collection definitely has a gender bias, with very few female poets).
My only real bugbear with this book was that I feel the translation may have been a bit heavy-handed at times. I'm sure this is because there are concepts in Arabic which just don't translate well into English, but it made for some quite bizarre syntax and phrases; the phrase 'roaming dervish' was used in multiple poems, and it's just not something that I could parse. Much of that is my own cultural context, though, and I wouldn't say it's a bad thing; it's just something to consider for those who, like me, are coming at this poetry from a completely uneducated perspective. There are notes at the end of the book which help mitigate this.
A very interesting read, and I absolutely feel like I understand if not the history then the humanity of the poems in this collection. I haven't come out of it an expert in Sudan or Sudanese culture by any means, but it's given me a connection to the place I see in news reports that I think is absolutely vital for those who only ever see the name Sudan in connection to war and violence. The way a place is presented to us absolutely colours how we think of it, and this collection of poetry could not come at a more urgent time.
This was a really, really interesting book. I found the introduction particularly illuminating; like most people in the West, I would imagine, I know very very little about Sudan and its history and culture, so having the introduction to ground the poems in a rhetorical tradition was really helpful when it came to appreciating them.
There's a good mixture of subjects in this book, although the thing that struck me most was the sheer number of poems that were explicitly about Sudan and its history, the blood and tears that have been spilt in its name. There were so many poems that were essentially love songs to the land, even though the land has been so mistreated and the people have suffered so much for it. I think if you were to publish a compendium of poetry from France, for example, very few would be about the land itself. It was striking to me how the history of a place is indelibly inked on the people and the broader cultural consciousness. I would never even think about having to suffer for my own country's independence, and it was enlightening to read how it feels for those who do; how there's more than just pain there, but pride, too. I did find that a lot of poems, perhaps because they were translated by the same individual, sounded the same; it was hard to discern different authorship in many cases, with the exception of three or four very distinct voices (mostly women - this collection definitely has a gender bias, with very few female poets).
My only real bugbear with this book was that I feel the translation may have been a bit heavy-handed at times. I'm sure this is because there are concepts in Arabic which just don't translate well into English, but it made for some quite bizarre syntax and phrases; the phrase 'roaming dervish' was used in multiple poems, and it's just not something that I could parse. Much of that is my own cultural context, though, and I wouldn't say it's a bad thing; it's just something to consider for those who, like me, are coming at this poetry from a completely uneducated perspective. There are notes at the end of the book which help mitigate this.
A very interesting read, and I absolutely feel like I understand if not the history then the humanity of the poems in this collection. I haven't come out of it an expert in Sudan or Sudanese culture by any means, but it's given me a connection to the place I see in news reports that I think is absolutely vital for those who only ever see the name Sudan in connection to war and violence. The way a place is presented to us absolutely colours how we think of it, and this collection of poetry could not come at a more urgent time.
(Review of an ARC received via Netgalley)
Not all poetry collections work for everyone, and I'm perfectly happy to admit that this one just wasn't really for me. I mean that literally; I genuinely think that only people who have a specific diaspora experience will really connect to this one, and that's not a bad thing. It speaks beautifully to that particular experience. Nguyen's language is haunting and evocative, and some of her imagery is so visual that it was almost like watching a film. Some of it was just so abstract that I couldn't grasp it at all, though, and those poems left me wanting. I'm willing to acknowledge that this is most likely entirely a Me problem. Nguyen is an incredibly talented poet, and honestly, I would absolutely devour a novel (even a novel-in-verse!) written from the perspective of Suzi, the mouthpiece character in this collection. Give me a book by Nguyen which has a little more structure and something more tangible for me to grasp, and I'm right there.
Not all poetry collections work for everyone, and I'm perfectly happy to admit that this one just wasn't really for me. I mean that literally; I genuinely think that only people who have a specific diaspora experience will really connect to this one, and that's not a bad thing. It speaks beautifully to that particular experience. Nguyen's language is haunting and evocative, and some of her imagery is so visual that it was almost like watching a film. Some of it was just so abstract that I couldn't grasp it at all, though, and those poems left me wanting. I'm willing to acknowledge that this is most likely entirely a Me problem. Nguyen is an incredibly talented poet, and honestly, I would absolutely devour a novel (even a novel-in-verse!) written from the perspective of Suzi, the mouthpiece character in this collection. Give me a book by Nguyen which has a little more structure and something more tangible for me to grasp, and I'm right there.
It almost feels cliche at this point to describe a book as necessary or important, but this book is both of those things. It's devastating and beautiful and haunting and some of the poems in here physically hurt to read. I live in Wales and have always taken abortion access for granted; if I ever need it, it's an option available to me. Hearing the testimony of those who have had to fight for literally decades to get something I've always been allowed was troubling and - cringe - inspirational.
I am a dreadful person who dog-ears pages in books that speak to me. I think about half the pages in this book were dog-eared.
In ten years' time, this book will still stand as a historic record of those who fought to give people control over their lives and bodies, and although a part of me wishes it didn't need to exist - that people always had that measure of control - I'm so glad it does.
I am a dreadful person who dog-ears pages in books that speak to me. I think about half the pages in this book were dog-eared.
In ten years' time, this book will still stand as a historic record of those who fought to give people control over their lives and bodies, and although a part of me wishes it didn't need to exist - that people always had that measure of control - I'm so glad it does.
