How Much the Heart Can Hold | Book Review

How Much the Heart Can Hold by Various
Published by Sceptre, 2016
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Subtitled ‘seven stories on love’ (though there are actually eight in this paperback edition), this anthology sets out to quash the idea that love is a purely romantic notion. It does so by having each of its stories explore a different kind of love; such as unrequited love, obsessional love, familial love, and love for oneself.

I had been looking forward to picking this up for a while. After all, there are a couple of authors featured within that I already really like (Donal Ryan and Carys Bray), and some others I was keen to try. Perhaps those high expectations contributed to my prevailing lukewarm feelings, but I have to admit that I found the collection as a whole, and most of the individual stories themselves, stronger in concept than in execution.

That said, I’ll talk a little about the ones I enjoyed most. White Wine by Nikesh Shukla is a simple, readable, and timely story that shines a light on institutionalised racism. Its message is clear, without being heavy-handed: You cannot see how wrongly you are being treated by others until you love and accept yourself for who you are.

Codas by Carys Bray is about the evolving nature of familial love. Our main character, a woman in her 40s, is at the stage in life when her son is beginning to find his own feet, whilst her father is becoming more dependant with age and illness. Both still need her maternal brand of love and support, but the way it manifests towards both is changing as the cycle of life moves on.

It Was Summer by Phoebe Roy (the 8^th story exclusive to the paperback edition) uses the structure of the seasons as the backdrop to a new relationship between two men, as their love for each other ebbs and flows.

A couple of others had brilliant set-ups, but one employed a little too much magical realism for my personal taste, whilst another was too thin on plot, and far too overt with its political message (even if I agreed with it). The other three, I have to say, were entirely forgettable.

Altogether, that made for a very mixed reading experience. It’s certainly worth checking out if the overarching concept intrigues you, or if there are writers involved that you’re particularly keen to try. But I can’t say it’s a collection that is likely to stay with me.

***

If you’ve read How Much the Heart Can Hold, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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Deeper

They tell you that you’ll fall in love,
but misery’s best kept secret is that
you’ll never climb back out.

For when a heart breaks it doesn’t shatter,
instead it crumbles slowly
as it’s chipped away like sandstone.

Those restless, clawing grasps
amount to merely bloodied fingertips,
their futile grip begging to be trampled.

And down once more you must fall,
deeper and
deeper.

Your pleas for mercy
boiling in your bitter blood,
wasted in senseless echoes.

Wake Up

What will it take
for your eyes to be opened
to the chaos that thrives in our wake?

How many lives must be lost
to our greed
for the bloodshed to come to a halt?

The devil waits not by the gates to hell.
He lives in you.
He lives in me.

Wickedness whispered in susceptible ears,
hearts distorted by a blackness of spirit
rotting us from our very core.

But we have one defence that should never relent.
Love; compassion;
humanity.

Heaven is not a place on Earth,
it’s a world in which we spread only respect;
an ideal reserved for storybooks it seems.

—
I don’t often put a message with my poems but this one came from a place of true dismay, hence the simplicity of its words and meaning. There are an awful lot of things happening in the world right now that quite frankly make me feel ashamed to be part of the human race. It’s time we learned to respect each other as fellow human beings; nothing more, nothing less.

The Fall

This battered cage that hides my love is not yet ready to be opened
for if those words were to pass my lips there would be no turning back.
So basking in that sweet rapture I fool myself once more,
for to let my heart think the longing is over is easier than the truth.

I pray I fall asleep at night and dream of my salvation
for in the day I know inside it never can be so.
So easy it is to grace this paper but never for your eyes,
for the fear of what we stand to lose is greater than it all.

So I’ll smile at that familiar face and pretend it is enough
for there are worse ways to ease the pain, of that I am certain.
To hurt because of my own dread is a fate I can endure,
for I know this means you will by my side to save me from the fall.

Paradise

In the end I’ll close my eyes and drift off to a distant land
full of calm and crisp, fresh air, where those once lost will hold my hand.
Looking back I’ll smile that smile that shows I am content;
I lived a life full of nothing but love and that is time well spent.

This is when the mask will fall and the truth shall make itself known;
anger, sadness, lies and hate will also have been shown.
For I am a human – flaws and all – and no matter how I strive,
when I die my soul shall leave, battered but alive.

You see, Paradise is not a place that’s singular and clear,
nor a place for only those to whom a God is dear.
To me it is a state of mind from knowing in my heart
I did the best I could have done which means I played my part.

Light Bringer

You are a light bringer.
The candle in the dark,
the moon above the clouds.

You are a life saver.
The breath of spring time air,
the hand that grabs for mine.

You are a heart breaker.
The whisper in a crowd,
the bullet through the wind.

And yet my world maker.
My cosy winter night,
the adventure of my days.

Poetic Beginnings

It’s time to dust off my quill

Experience has taught me that poetry has never really been my thing and that my writing style is definitely best suited to prose. That said; I have attempted to foray into the former every now and then for no reason other than to satisfy my own creative curiosity and it is something I hope to try out a bit more often despite the fact that it usually ends merely in a quick retreat to the safe world of prose once more.

Whilst looking through some old files recently however, I stumbled upon an early attempt at a poem that I wrote rather a long time ago. To have kept it stashed away for so long means that at the time I produced it, I must have felt as least some faint glimmer of accomplishment that deemed it worth holding onto in the depths of my hard drive.

So in the spirit of self-improvement and with the hopes of embarking on a better relationship with poetry from now on, I have decided to post that old poem here for you to read while I cover my eyes and hope I don’t live to regret it. Be gentle, we all have to start somewhere right?

The Seasons

The leaves fall and the sickness it grows;
with a heavy heart, his wife, she knows.
Crisp autumn air, a chill in the wind;
no salvation, his destiny pinned.

His heart stops beating and the light, it ends;
the broken hearted, she gathers with friends.
The darkness of winter, it grips hold of the days;
her happiness taken in a sorrowful haze.

With spring comes a rebirth, so fresh and so new
yet joyful moments are still bitter and few.
See how life triumphs as the trees they do bloom;
hope for a future, to break free from Death’s tomb.

Golden and warm, the summer sunshine returns;
the pain of her loss when considered still burns.
But her heart it does heal, one day destined to be free;
like the songbird now resting on a blossoming tree.

A full cycle now done, the date comes back around;
a safe way to move on in her mind she has found.
A visit to the grave in that same autumn air;
as certain as seasons that she will always care.