The Fire Never Goes Out by ND Stevenson
Published by Harper, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
These slice of life diary entries start out chronicling life as a young artist suddenly propelled to success, but they gradually transition into an honest, relatable look at burnout, exploring your identity, and dealing with mental health issues.
Stevenson’s work has such a charm and warmth to it, and while there’s an endearing vulnerability on show throughout, the themes of gender, sexuality, and mental health are only ever really explored at surface level, due to the nature of the graphic memoir’s structure.
The Appendix by Liam Konemann
Published by 404 Ink, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Personal yet self-aware, this is a concise look at life as a trans, gay man in modern Britain. There’s a particular focus on representation within the media, the idea of “passing”, and the difficult road to acceptance and happiness.
Despite the tagline, and the more hopeful conclusion, it’s worth noting this isn’t always a joyous read. Konemann is frank in his portrayal of trans/homophobia, but his articulate, approachable, warm style certainly soften the blow.
Affirming for those who’ve experienced similar prejudice, and enlightening for those who haven’t, this is a great little read, with much to say despite its deceptive page count.
Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head by Warsan Shire
Published by Random House Trade, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
A bold, powerful, and unflinching look at race, womanhood, and identity. Shire has a real knack for striking imagery that hits you in the gut, capturing all the beauty and heartache of the immigrant experience, a longing for home, and the perils of navigating the world as a young Black woman.
Between this full-length collection and her previous pamphlet, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth, Shire is fast becoming one of my favourite poets.
In this collection of poems, Mans explores her identity and experiences at the intersection of race, gender and sexuality.
A highly contemporary twist on the haunted house archetype, this graphic novel is set in an apartment building that was once the site of an improvised terrorist bombing. The story looks at racism, Islamophobia, faith, and responses to extremism. It does so by essentially personifying hatred and xenophobia into the ghosts of those who died in the attack, and who now stalk the building’s current residents in search of revenge.
I’ve read several of Tempest’s other offerings – both poetry and nonfiction – and I wanted to continue making my way through their back catalogue. Though I still enjoyed the bold poetic voice on offer here, this was easily my least favourite of their books so far. The pieces chronicle Tempest’s emotions as they come to the end of one relationship and tentatively begin another.
With her strikingly contemporary voice, Lowe breathes new life into the sonnet, an otherwise archaic form of poetry. Switching seamlessly between poignancy and humour, the collection is primarily concerned with youth; exploring experiences from Lowe’s own childhood, that of her son, and of the students she mentored throughout her decade long teaching career. She dives into the intersection of class, race, and gender that exemplifies inner-city London; her identity as a white passing half English, half Chinese/Jamaican woman offering a unique perspective.
This collection focusses almost entirely on the tragic loss of the poet’s father. Schminkey lays bare the visceral indignity of a slow, painful death. Having always had a complicated relationship with their father (an alcoholic with a violent streak), the poems do an excellent job of exploring the fraught middle-ground between grief and resentment, posing interestingly nuanced questions: Are sympathy and care familial rights, or should they have to be earned? Does death absolve someone of their mistakes? Is it wrong to feel relieved when someone finally lets go?
Summing up the very complex character dynamic in this novel in a succinct way is tricky, so I’ll simply borrow the opening lines of the blurb: A whipsmart debut about three women—transgender and cisgender—whose lives collide after an unexpected pregnancy forces them to confront their deepest desires around gender, motherhood, and sex.
This memoir explores Belc’s experiences as a transmasculine nonbinary parent, with a particular focus on the shifting nature of identity, and the language we use to define ourselves.
In her debut collection of poetry, Ramsey blends personal reflection with incisive social commentary. There is a pleasant rhythm and flow to her style, reflective of her experience as a spoken word performer, and though the language and imagery are largely straight-forward, her unique poetic voice still shines through.
Non-binary writer and artist Alok Vaid-Menon presents readers with an eloquent, intersectional, warm, and honest rumination on their experience with gender identity.
As a queer parent, Plummer was disappointed by the lack of representation for families like theirs in her daughter’s beloved fairy tales. Thus, the idea for Wain was born: a collection of poems that reimagine the traditional folktales of Scotland from the perspective of LGBT+ characters.
This is one of those brilliant novels that completely transcends age range. Though published as a middle grade title – and indeed being accessible for younger readers – there is an intersectionality and nuance to the handling of its themes that will see it resonate just as strongly with adult readers.
Reviewing a collection of poetry is often a tricky task. The styles and themes on display are typically so wide reaching that some pieces feel less successful than others; the gems losing their power by the virtue of diminished returns. I can confidently say, however, that Don’t Call Us Dead is a phenomenally well curated selection of consistently engaging, gut-punch poems.
Callum McLaughlin 