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Rating:  - Sorry For ONly One Star
I heard this author read recently. What struck me was how hard she was trying to "sell" these poems as she read, as if they appeal weren't apparent on their own, that they needed her acting them out like a news reporter or something. And then it struck me that the stuff just isn't any good. I bought the book afterward because I felt bad for her. But I'll admit that two days later I returned it to the store. Sorry. One star.
Rating:  - Something Off
Funny that there are two reviews here back to back about the creepy feeling one gets that this is a collection of politically correct poetry, which, in other words, means it's not a collection of poetry per se. It may be a collection of somehting else--perhaps little anecdotal race memoirs in verse--but it is not poetry. I'm glad I'm not the only one to have been disappointed by the book and quite a bit put off.
Rating: - Are Kidding Me?
Oh ok, so poetry now is anything that is about political correctness? This is artless, dull, self obsessed.
Rating: - Race Cannot Carry Poetry Alone
Here's an example of how a rush for publishers to seem multicultural can turn around and bite them in the rear. I appluad this writer for being in touch with her past and her culture, but I question the literary value of a book that feels that bald, bland, and blunt lessons in race and ethnicity is all that matters in poetry. These are flat, unimaginative, expository poems, and it makes sense--unfortunately--that our former Poet Laureate, Rita Dove, would provide an introduction to this book, considering how badly her own work became after she assumed the role of token black female poet with her terribly shameful "Rosa Parks" collection. I can't recommend this book, sorry.
Rating:  - A Long-Anticipated Collection Well Worth the Wait
I have long followed Natasha Trethewey's work in the literary magazines. Her signature style, a simplicity of syntax and vivid imagery fused with powerful voice, is one of elegance. Trethewey uses the historical, both History and personal history, as a means to bring the personal alive. Hers is not the rambling and rambunctious voice of the Confessional, and her voice rings more true because of that. A stellar student of rhetoric, Trethewey realizes that in order to bring the reader to understanding one must give the reader the means to see and feel (to encounter) and not simply confess. I am thrilled to have published poems by Ms. Trethewey in the past, including the final poem in this collection. She is one of the poets in her generation to whom I look for striking work. And time and time again, she delivers.
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