Wild Embers

wild embersTitle: Wild Embers

Author: Nikita Gill

Summary: You cannot burn away
What has always been aflame

Wild Embers explores the fire that lies within every soul, weaving words around ideas of feeling at home in your own skin, allowing yourself to heal and learning to embrace your uniqueness with love from the universe.

Featuring rewritten fairytale heroines, goddess wisdom and poetry that burns with revolution, this collection is an explosion of femininity, empowerment and personal growth.

Rating: ★★★☆☆ 3/5

Review: It is a well-established fact that i have a tumultuous relationship with poetry. Some collections have struck a chord with my so deeply I’ve wept, others have left me completely baffled and unmoved. This book? This book did both, and a little more.

I read the book over several months, because my ability to finish a book has been severely hampered the last couple of years. That may have played a part in why my opinion is so divided, but if so it is a minor factor.

The first half of the book, I devoured. I was underlining and annotating almost every other poem. There was so much that resonated for me—so much that spoke to me, meant something to me, gave words to my own feelings. Several poems reminded me of songs and sentiments expressed elsewhere, and felt warm and familiar for it. I wrote the lyrics beside them, joined them in my mind and let them share space in my heart. And i love that feeling.

The second half of the book was more hit and miss for me. There were still some strong poems. Still moments where i was moved to underline and mark and make notes. There were some that were not bad, but that simply didn’t speak to me personally. And then there were some that… fell far, far short.

Unfortunately the poems that missed the mark for me missed hard. They didn’t leave me feeling nothing—they left me feeling angry and alienated. While i loved the re-written fairy tales, recasting the damsels in distress as heroes who fight for themselves, i baulked with distaste at equating womanhood to being in possession of a womb and being able to create life. I am much more than my reproductive system, and my worth and meaning will not be reduced to that alone.

There were far more poems i loved than poems i didn’t in this book. If there had just been a selection that didn’t quite hit my own emotions, I’d have given this book four stars. However, the handful of poems that I actually found disagreeable and crass weigh heavier than the pages they are printed on, and I cannot overlook them.

About Wendleberry
I'm odd.

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