Thoughts on the first readings...in paragraphs this time!

The first two essays I read were the Johnson and Bolden essays. I really loved starting with these two because even though I found them so different, I thought they provided interesting points for comparison, since they were structured somewhat similarly. And although I hesitate to say that their content was similar, both seemed to be equally intent on adding perspective to female experiences that are frequently misunderstood, and both had to do with sex. I loved how “Binary” used the form and the number device to emphasize the physicality of the subject matter. Also, it was interesting to me how the variation in spaces between the different sections created a kind of rhythm. I would have to read more closely to determine how that rhythm was serving the content of the piece, but I do think that generally speaking it adds interest and makes me feel like I’m experiencing a form that is, again, using the page as something physical rather than simply as a medium. The variation in length among the sections in both pieces had a similar effect; in each case the section length created a kind of percussive quality. I found their voices to be quite different. Bolden’s voice to me was raw and energetically pleading, almost—it seemed more active. Johnson’s voice seemed more detached and less vulnerable, almost as if she was regarding herself and her experience from a greater distance. Now that I’m going back to the piece, I’m realizing that it may have more to do with the length and syntax of her sentences than their content, as well as her use of the present tense, which for me creates intimacy, but it’s the intimacy of a waking dream rather than the intimacy of shared experience, if that makes sense. Somehow, Bolden’s use of the past tense makes her experience feel more immediate to me. I also loved how her use of research adds texture to the piece, so that it feels more like a collage. And I found her attitude towards sex to be freshly, almost one-dimensionally (for lack of a better word) dark. I felt angry at Bolden’s doctors at the end of that piece too, but I felt equally angry at a world that idealizes sexual experience in ways that make avoiding it taboo.

I read the Alexi piece next. For me this piece drew even closer to “poem” territory than the other two, because it made greater leaps and resisted the kind of linear narrative that the other two allow. This one also felt slightly more universal rather than personal to me—but this might be just because of what I know of Alexi’s work. There is a lot more questioning here, and there’s a “you” that enters. The device of repeating the last few words of a previous section in the first sentence of the next section seemed more like a device for inspiration rather than an organizing device, which makes me feel this piece is more intent on, as Sarah mentioned in the Q&A, conveying a kind of truth about how we think and remember rather than a more traditional “meaning” (I loved that paragraph!). Even so, I had to keep reminding myself not to demand a more coherent thematic line from the piece—perhaps because it feels more like a traditional essay in terms of language and appearance than the other two did. Where Alexi makes leaps in content and subject matter and gesture, Johnson and Bolden make leaps in style and diction and form that remind you that you are not reading a traditional essay.

“Bear Stories” threw me for a loop just a little bit because I struggled somewhat to understand the intent of the piece and then decided maybe it is simply an unapologetic look at bear stories, which I liked. One of the problems that I had was that the first three stories seem somewhat tied to myth and storytelling as a subject, whereas the last two are more traditional personal narratives. I wondered whether the goal was to lend an element of myth and magic to the last two, or the opposite. I wanted to read more of the more fantastical stories, but either way I thought this would be an interesting exercise to imitate. One thing I really admired about this piece was its clean, unembellished approach to its subject matter and the fact that when I finished reading it, the image that stuck with me was simply the image of a bear (especially considering the fact that that the image in the first section was really unsettling, initially). Essentially, the writing, the storytelling, the style, and the form don’t draw attention to themselves in a way that distracts from the subject matter.

As a final thought, one thing I’ve noticed while reading all four of these is that I’m more aware than usual of the demands I put on a piece, and that one of the things that makes this form dynamic is that it forces me to continually question those demands. I’ll be interested to see whether this experience will involve developing a firmer definition of what makes a lyric essay “work,” or whether part of what distinguishes a lyric essay is that it resists those kinds of definitions entirely.  

Another question—when we talk about a lyric essay, do we assume it is non-fiction? Is that what distinguishes a lyric essay from a work of fiction? In that case, is it correct to attribute what is said to the writer, rather than to a speaker (as one would with a poem)?