In Gellar Studies, Fuhrer uses Gellar and her character personas as a mirror to expose and interpret personal experience and questions of identity, belonging, and coming to terms with childhood abuse.
All in Book Reviews
In Gellar Studies, Fuhrer uses Gellar and her character personas as a mirror to expose and interpret personal experience and questions of identity, belonging, and coming to terms with childhood abuse.
Kristin Garth’s novel, The Meadow (Alien Buddha Press), builds upon her autobiographical poetry collection of the same name. Make no mistake: The Meadow’s not salacious BDSM Twilight fan fic marketed toward mass audiences. What’s key to understanding this work is the humanity with which Garth imbues her young protagonist, Scarlet. As Scarlet explores her sexuality through lurid encounters with various characters, the reader cannot help but simultaneously sympathize and empathize with her as she attempts to reach catharsis. Furthermore, Garth paints this niche community with respect, while also fairly criticizing certain aspects of it. Readers wanting sole titillation look elsewhere.
Kim Vodicka’s (The Elvis Machine) latest poetry collection, Dear Ted, is a tsunami of words—simultaneously destroying with feminine rage and empowerment the male shitstorm women deal with every day while also honoring women survivors and those who deserve to be remembered. Mixing popular culture and open discussions of sexuality, Dear Ted eviscerates Ted Bundy and other serial killer/stalker/dater-esque men. Reading her poems becomes an act of complicity as each word or image slices male entitlement to ribbons. Even in the rare moments where the metaphorical knife briefly dulls, Vodicka’s poetic onslaught remains a continuous bloodletting experience.
If Under Your Skin is any indication of things, Matthew Standiford is a horror writer you’re going to want to keep an eye on. In his story of a young man whose bleak day-to-day life takes a surreal turn into the brutality that’s possible when you don’t have anything else to turn to. Without making his characters seem overly sympathetic, Standiford takes main character Brandon’s search for girls whose skin can be of use to his ailing, damaged girlfriend Jennifer, and tells a deeply effecting story. It’s a particularly twisted mediation on redemption and accountability, making Under Your Skin is a must-read for genre fans.
Dumb Dumb Dumb: My Mother’s Book Reviews is MST3K alumni and celebrated humorist/comedian Mary Jo Pehl at her very best. The book essentially functions as a memoir, looking back at Pehl’s relationship to her extraordinary mother. A fascinating woman and voracious, informed reader of more books than most human minds can conceive, Pehl creates a portrait of her mother as someone who you sincerely wish you could meet for yourself. Pehl’s writing here is as detailed as it is hilarious. She has always had the incredible talent for making us laugh amidst a vivid depiction of the everyday. That has never been more apparent than it is here.
Writer Kristen Renee Gorlitz and her team of collaborators have released a graphic novel entitled The Craving. Independently published through Mindweird Media, the story traces a zombie apocalypse and how it affects one couple. Before you complain about the oversaturation of zombie themed stories in literature, comics, and film, consider reading the graphic novel. Whereas Robert Kirkman’s The Walking Dead helped reinvigorate the horror subgenre and solidify modern zombie tropes, Gorlitz’s The Craving is more so concerned with character development and inverting reader expectations. This results in an intelligent and diverting story.
Linnet Phoenix’s distinctive, deceptively soft works run an intriguing gamut of styles in Rusty Stars, available now from Between Shadows Press. Some of these poems are written as though each word needed to go deeper than the page and planet, with how pointedly they must have put to that page. Others are a hectic spill of metaphor and vital word choice. The manic tone of some of these pieces run next to the more reserved poems in a race that could honestly go on forever. No, maybe not forever; but this is still a collection I won’t forget anytime soon.
“61/49” and “Heart of the Heartland” are two brilliant examples of the storytelling Dan Wright has in mind for Love Letters from the Underground, available now from Spartan Press. Dan’s poetry is well-constructed, because there is clearly an understanding of form, combined with the ability to manipulate the form to give these stories further layers. However, it is in the remarkable care for his subjects, particularly in their relationship to the often-unhappy world around them, where Wright leaves us with poems and narratives that are truly born out of the frustration or even anguish of the forgotten.
One of the most appealing things about the richly illustrated, instantly likable An A to Z of Elvis, written with an attention to staying off the beaten path by Joe Shooman, is that you don’t have to really like Elvis Presley to enjoy this book. It would probably enhance your enjoyment of the book, which takes an alphabetical trip through Elvis basics, but also deviates frequently into the many cultural connections and threads with one relation to Elvis or another. However, I think anyone who simply appreciates the butterfly effect one human being can have on history can enjoy this.
“Retrowave pulp thriller” is in the Goodreads description of this phenomenal, visceral book about sex workers, queer love, family and the unfathomable cruelty and weirdness of 1980s Los Angeles. I think that’s accurate in the most appealing fashion possible. Combining the best noir qualities with the kind of revenge drama not seen since Ms. 45, Hooker is one of the most exciting stories to come from that pulp tradition in quite some time. Sylvia Lumen makes for an impressive hero, and M Lopes da Silva gets some pretty cool ideas from the serial killer trope. Don’t miss this one.
“Our author is versed in the intersection of text and dance” reads a line from the website created to celebrate the release of Rodney A. Brown’s wonderful new book Typescenes. The book is twenty-five prose poems that you can theoretically dance to. While I can’t dance myself, there is something very musical, very singular about the way Brown seeks out a unique point where music and the lyrical written word explores the difficult, painful smaller stories that make up the larger notion of what it is to be a Black male in America. Brown offers one of the most engaging approaches to telling such stories I have ever encountered.
Probably not by design, but the work, humor, and depth of wonder and wisdom inherent in the work of Kenning Jean-Paul Garcia sometimes has the capacity to make me feel small. I’ll read something like DAWN, a wonderous, beautifully-crafted chapbook. I will love every word, every page. In the specific case of DAWN, I will read and re-read a soft, delirious dialog between two characters (I think?). However, I will also wonder just what I’m missing out there in the world. Kenning Jean-Paul Garcia has a vision and mode of embracing ideas that is apparent in every single thing he writes.
The history, deep south surroundings, and personal convictions of poet Wendy Taylor Carlisle are a collective wonder to behold. In her latest book The Mercy of Traffic, Carlisle offers a slew of poems that not only create a compelling biographical piece, but also a rather unflinching look at childhood. The way Carlisle discusses childhood in particular is one of the book’s greatest strengths. In the way she approaches poems such as “Like a Tide” and “Driving Toward Houston”, it is clear that these pieces go deeper than simply remembering an event. Everything is up to deconstruction here. Everything carries a voice that has much to say about the present, in addition to the past.
“Lovingly” can quickly become a backhanded compliment for a biography. However, it is still the best word to describe this deeply-researched biography of the gone-ridiculously-too-soon John Candy. Tracey J. Morgan has combined both a clear voice that writes interestingly with a passion for the subject matter which I cannot imagine any other fan of John Candy being able to match. These thoughts rushed along with me, as I read through the book in just a few days. If you’re a fan of John Candy, you deserve to feel as though you’re talking about this genuine legend with someone so well-informed.
Kim Vodicka is a sultry seductive poetess who crafts raw poignant poems about love addiction. The Elvis Machine from CLASH Books is a collection of reflective morning after verses and happy ending odes to pillow princesses. One rendezvous read inside The Elvis Machine and you will fall for this orgasmic love poet. Vodicka’s voice is an erotic blend Kim Addonizio, Anais Nin and Kathy Acker. This Memphis poet pens tempting carnal poems of passionate heartbreak. The Elvis Machine is filled with seductive poems that will spark an instant addiction. Vodicka’s memorable bittersweet love verses, will satisfy your poetic cravings.
The breathless, unique poems of Gina Tron’s Star 67 resemble being hurled through a particular type of darkness, punctuated by dazzling and terrifying light shows that define pieces such as “Let Me In,” “Inside The Dome,” and the intensely vivid title poem. This collection, whose title is significant to the larger scope of this remarkable book, is broken down into three distinct, yet profoundly connected, sections. I recommend reading Star 67 twice. There are two different journeys to take. One is through that darkness. The other is through a series of intensely personal and creative sketches of survival and strangeness.
Crystal Stone covers substantial ground—a mother’s death, poverty, addiction, Christianity, coming of age—with a surprisingly light hand and impressive formal range; included are prose poems, found poems, concrete poems, list poems, among others. Stone handles both form and subject matter with careful attention. Her poems are observant, descriptive, and evocative: “I’ll teach ‘em how to cook daddy’s squirrel potpie,/ rub pork ribs the right way,/mash potatoes like a man and baconwrap their vegetables tight.” The wry, frank voice is what pulls all of these poems together, what the person watching you on the train must sound like.
You don’t want to be trite, and simply say Sometimes Things (Don’t) Work Out by Estefania Munoz is an act of tremendous courage. Yet that is the most straightforward and accurate takeaway I have from this overwhelming, achingly beautiful collection of poems. The occasional stunning illustration highlights Munoz’s words, which often immerse us thousands of vivid miles beneath her depictions of grief, terror, and what motivates us to become who we want to be. With both of these elements in a single volume, depicted as they are by an essential creative mind, Sometimes Things (Don’t) Work Out is poetry that must be read and appreciated in 2019.
Troy Howarth’s third volume in the So Deadly, So Perverse series is a tome of information for film aficionados. Whereas the first two entries focused on familiar Italian Giallo films, the third one gives equal devotion to other lesser known entries and homages from different countries. Each entry includes a brief synopsis and information on home video editions. But it is in the reviews where the book really shines. Coupled with dazzling poster art and production stills, Howarth’s book will make you want to rewatch well-known films like Klute or Black Christmas or discover genre darlings like Tango of Perversion.
With the knowledge that reflection, like creation, inherits nothing, poet Aviya Kushner, in Eve and All the Wrong Men, draws note from stone and makes music of the locality that resides in looking back. While whole days go missing from reader and writer alike, Kushner’s Eve, with her extra moments, returns art to art as the past taps melancholy as its future hire. These are poems of reclaim and removal, plaintively progressive, and in each a prolonged brevity bells visions for an eyesight untethered that sees Adam absorbed into the loneliness of she who creates herself second and then watches as god is devoured by a belief that’s eating for two. If one can picture a bottle of milk as perhaps the first thing broken by a child crawling into a refrigerator, then one can believe there is a rib warmer than the others. If one has no backstory, then one can narrate an imaginary dream. So it is with if, and so it is with then. Here: If Eve, then Eve.