westonheartswords's review
5.0
Mz N is a bit of an oddity in how it's framed by McLane: it is a serial (the serial, in fact), it is a poem-in-episodes. But the title page also assures us that it is not a novel, it is not a memoir, and it is not. It was these formalistic promises that enchanted me even before I began to read the episodes themselves.
And, even though the work defines itself in its front matter more by what it's not than what it is, Mz N, in its charting of a life through the internal life of the titular Mz N, feels just as wide and boundless as it feels intimate and close. There are no long lines in this work--most of them amount to only a handful of words, some even as short as a single word--and, like most works of contemporary poetry, this work only clocks in at a little over one hundred pages. But despite the visual and material terseness of Mz N, the work feels much wider and longer in the best of ways. This is most powerfully felt when McLane explodes that which many would see as mundane or common or (God forbid) cliché into their own worlds, full of energy and despair and quiet longing. I felt this sense of expansiveness of the familiar most strongly with the episode "Mz N Highschool Boyfriend."
This expansiveness is not limited to the imagery either. Mz N is a fully-realized work that is playful in its metapoetic and metaliterary framing, often funny, but just as often deep-feeling, sad, tragic, while all at once hopeful through these rises and falls, these highs and lows. In our intimacy with Mz N, we feel we are following her on a long, winding journey, that of a life. McLane's use of allusion and direct quotation--from Bāsho to Creely to Emerson to Shelley--makes the life we are following, through its literariness, all the wider and all the richer. McLane figures Mz N as a character buried in a web of intersubjectivity and connection with poets and writers of all stripes. Through Mz N we come to know others, and through others we come to know Mz N.
The work ends with the almost disturbingly abrupt line
but in its abruptness, I am only reminded of how ultimately and extremely impressive this work is. It's a powerful, sometimes painful, but always beautiful exploration of one human's life, but also an exploration of what it is to be a human connected to other humans, what it means to write with, against, and next to other humans, and what it is to love those same writings, those same humans.
I was quite sad to have to leave the world McLane had created, but I'm infinitely glad I was there at all.
And, even though the work defines itself in its front matter more by what it's not than what it is, Mz N, in its charting of a life through the internal life of the titular Mz N, feels just as wide and boundless as it feels intimate and close. There are no long lines in this work--most of them amount to only a handful of words, some even as short as a single word--and, like most works of contemporary poetry, this work only clocks in at a little over one hundred pages. But despite the visual and material terseness of Mz N, the work feels much wider and longer in the best of ways. This is most powerfully felt when McLane explodes that which many would see as mundane or common or (God forbid) cliché into their own worlds, full of energy and despair and quiet longing. I felt this sense of expansiveness of the familiar most strongly with the episode "Mz N Highschool Boyfriend."
This expansiveness is not limited to the imagery either. Mz N is a fully-realized work that is playful in its metapoetic and metaliterary framing, often funny, but just as often deep-feeling, sad, tragic, while all at once hopeful through these rises and falls, these highs and lows. In our intimacy with Mz N, we feel we are following her on a long, winding journey, that of a life. McLane's use of allusion and direct quotation--from Bāsho to Creely to Emerson to Shelley--makes the life we are following, through its literariness, all the wider and all the richer. McLane figures Mz N as a character buried in a web of intersubjectivity and connection with poets and writers of all stripes. Through Mz N we come to know others, and through others we come to know Mz N.
The work ends with the almost disturbingly abrupt line
End N.
but in its abruptness, I am only reminded of how ultimately and extremely impressive this work is. It's a powerful, sometimes painful, but always beautiful exploration of one human's life, but also an exploration of what it is to be a human connected to other humans, what it means to write with, against, and next to other humans, and what it is to love those same writings, those same humans.
I was quite sad to have to leave the world McLane had created, but I'm infinitely glad I was there at all.
robk's review
5.0
I go to the library less often than I ought. I did, however, make the trip across town the other day to pick up a recipe book for salads.
Why not use the internet, you ask? I don't know. Fate maybe. Maybe I am just old fashioned.
Whenever I go to the library, I grab more books than I could possibly read in the allotted check-out time. I then bring these books to my house filled with more books than I could possibly read in a year. I then watch television, usually.
Sometimes I forget to return the library books in time. I accrue late fees at ten cents per day per book. I could greatly simplify the entire affair and just write a check to my local library for something like 5 dollars every year. That would certainly cover it, and leave me feeling fine, like a true humanitarian.
If, however, I skipped the whole check-out process, I may miss out on the opportunity to read something truly unique, like Maureen N. McLane's latest collection of poems.
I have few criteria when perusing books at the library. I am like a kid burglarizing a candy shop. It's all good. I want it all, and I only feel a little guilty taking it all for free.
I checked this book out for the following reasons:
1.) This collection of poems was on the new books shelf. I rarely have the opportunity to read new poetry. I don't have a bookstore in my town, and the New Yorker seems somehow inappropriate to ship to Idaho. When I see a collection of poems published in the last year, I try and read it.
2.) The book looked short enough to read in a sitting or two, so I may actually get around to reading it instead of just returning it to the library unread.
3.) It was shiny.
I was intrigued by the book's apparent self-consciousness. It calls itself "A Poem-in-Episodes," declaring on the title page: (not/a novel) (not/a memoir) (not/a lyric). If I may borrow the style of the book, I asked:
What is it
it is what
it is it is
What it is is an examination of the evolution of mind through the words of Mz N. The book explores how experiences, memories, other minds create, expand, and enliven our minds. The book's persona, Mz N., takes us through time, through the awkwardness of childhood, "Mz N vehemently/ objects to the making fun of children/ who struggle every day/ to get their words/ and bodies aligned," to adulthood and back to Plato's cave and frathouses and more.
Mz N: The Serial will probably only be checked out of the Marshall Public Library a few times before it is relegated to book sale bargain bins--that's if it's lucky. I don't know why such a book ended up in Pocatello, Idaho, but I am glad it did. It's poetry that captivates as well as fiction ever could. It was a refreshing read--something new, Mz N might say contemporary, but timeless. Unique and somehow universal. It is what good poetry should be: readable, profound, exciting, daring, dangerous, insightful, aware, alive.
Why not use the internet, you ask? I don't know. Fate maybe. Maybe I am just old fashioned.
Whenever I go to the library, I grab more books than I could possibly read in the allotted check-out time. I then bring these books to my house filled with more books than I could possibly read in a year. I then watch television, usually.
Sometimes I forget to return the library books in time. I accrue late fees at ten cents per day per book. I could greatly simplify the entire affair and just write a check to my local library for something like 5 dollars every year. That would certainly cover it, and leave me feeling fine, like a true humanitarian.
If, however, I skipped the whole check-out process, I may miss out on the opportunity to read something truly unique, like Maureen N. McLane's latest collection of poems.
I have few criteria when perusing books at the library. I am like a kid burglarizing a candy shop. It's all good. I want it all, and I only feel a little guilty taking it all for free.
I checked this book out for the following reasons:
1.) This collection of poems was on the new books shelf. I rarely have the opportunity to read new poetry. I don't have a bookstore in my town, and the New Yorker seems somehow inappropriate to ship to Idaho. When I see a collection of poems published in the last year, I try and read it.
2.) The book looked short enough to read in a sitting or two, so I may actually get around to reading it instead of just returning it to the library unread.
3.) It was shiny.
I was intrigued by the book's apparent self-consciousness. It calls itself "A Poem-in-Episodes," declaring on the title page: (not/a novel) (not/a memoir) (not/a lyric). If I may borrow the style of the book, I asked:
What is it
it is what
it is it is
What it is is an examination of the evolution of mind through the words of Mz N. The book explores how experiences, memories, other minds create, expand, and enliven our minds. The book's persona, Mz N., takes us through time, through the awkwardness of childhood, "Mz N vehemently/ objects to the making fun of children/ who struggle every day/ to get their words/ and bodies aligned," to adulthood and back to Plato's cave and frathouses and more.
Mz N: The Serial will probably only be checked out of the Marshall Public Library a few times before it is relegated to book sale bargain bins--that's if it's lucky. I don't know why such a book ended up in Pocatello, Idaho, but I am glad it did. It's poetry that captivates as well as fiction ever could. It was a refreshing read--something new, Mz N might say contemporary, but timeless. Unique and somehow universal. It is what good poetry should be: readable, profound, exciting, daring, dangerous, insightful, aware, alive.
More...