A review by lukenotjohn
Vanishing Monuments by John Elizabeth Stintzi
4.5
In [a:Sarah Kay|11377|Sarah Kay|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1327230533p2/11377.jpg]'s poem, "Extended Development," she muses that, while poets and photographers may have learned the art of "capture," they must begin to learn the "art of letting go." The sentiment felt especially relevant reading Vanishing Monuments, a novel written by a poet about a photographer who, despite many attempts to let go of the vestiges of their origins, spends the bulk of the book attempting to do so with even greater finality. This book surprised me; I was not anticipating its densely beautiful language, its somewhat experimental and surrealist structure, or its complex, layered storytelling. And, to be honest, these three qualities overlapped to make it a somewhat difficult book to get through. The non-linear, sporadic timeline constantly erodes any sense of momentum the story might otherwise build, and the actual plot itself is in reality utterly mundane, despite how deeply Stinzi imbues it with powerful interior pathos. And yet, it easily earned four stars for me, because while the book made me work to enjoy it, I was glad to have put in the effort not just at the end, but all the way through.
Stinzi's language here is some of the most striking prose I've read in a long time. You can tell that they are a poet, and countless sentences here, shimmering with creative insight, could've been imported from a contemporary poem. At first, this felt overwhelming, maybe indulgent, but I came to appreciate the buffet of clever metaphors and poignantly phrased revelations that consume Alani's inner dialogue. Similarly, it took about a hundred pages to get (somewhat, never entirely) used to the stop-start rhythm of storytelling, jumping from the present plot following Alani's return to Winnipeg to various threads of memory from their upbringing, adulthood, and time in Germany as well as the surprisingly prominent scenes from their "memory palace." The sections from the latter are the most surreal and experimental in the book; readers are taken into Alani's mental map of their childhood home, populated with dozens of versions of their past selves and housing the array of traumas that have indelibly shaped their identity, no matter how badly they've tried to erase and escape them.
In many ways, Alani has lived a quietly tragic life, and I appreciated Stinzi's restraint in avoiding more boldly devastating blows that seem inevitable in another writer's hand. There is a pervasive loneliness and alienation that looms over the book, obviously related to Alani's estrangement with their mother but also with various loved ones in their lives and, most crucially, their own self. Stinzi's depiction of nonbinary gender identity here is particularly fascinating (and, obviously, not a monolithic representation of what that involves). Alani takes on a kaleidoscopic host of identities throughout their life, adopting the feminine personas of Allie, Sofia, and Hedwig (their mother) at times, binding and going as Al at others, and inhabiting Alani elsewhere. This is obviously a compelling expression of their gender identity, but it also speaks to the fracturing within Alani's sense of self, and I found the scenes in which their plurality (which almost feels like a pun on the use of non-gendered singular "they") is manifest through visions of other versions to be so striking and even eerie, as if they're being haunted by ghosts of their own self. (Spoiler: This dovetails beautifully at the end, as Alani recognizes the multiplicity of their mother as well, which seems to be a catalyst for their capacity to move towards true forgiveness.) The book is also, and even more so, a meditation on memory: the monuments we erect and destroy as a means of bearing witness, offering reminder, capturing a moment, editing it through the lens of our own experience. As someone who enjoys photography, I loved Stinzi's embrace of that motif in relation to this theme.
The remainder of the review has a few spoilers, so heads up. One thing I was really curious about was Stinzi's resistance to allowing for any seemingly satisfying closure between Alani and their mother, especially when two opportunities were explicitly raised. The nurse suggests Alani arrange for them to take their mother out of the home for a day, presumably to visit her former house one last time before it is sold, and to re-enter that space alongside Alani again...but this never happens, or is even addressed again. Similarly, we follow Alani's photographic endeavor, memorializing different parts of the house where old furniture once stood, which climaxes in them photographing their mother for the first time...only to expose the film to sunlight, rendering it blank. That moment in particular elicited a visceral reaction from me, and I wasn't sure what its motivation was, especially given that Alani seemed to reignite some tenderness towards their mother and didn't end the book wanting to forget her entirely. If you have thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them!
Stinzi's language here is some of the most striking prose I've read in a long time. You can tell that they are a poet, and countless sentences here, shimmering with creative insight, could've been imported from a contemporary poem. At first, this felt overwhelming, maybe indulgent, but I came to appreciate the buffet of clever metaphors and poignantly phrased revelations that consume Alani's inner dialogue. Similarly, it took about a hundred pages to get (somewhat, never entirely) used to the stop-start rhythm of storytelling, jumping from the present plot following Alani's return to Winnipeg to various threads of memory from their upbringing, adulthood, and time in Germany as well as the surprisingly prominent scenes from their "memory palace." The sections from the latter are the most surreal and experimental in the book; readers are taken into Alani's mental map of their childhood home, populated with dozens of versions of their past selves and housing the array of traumas that have indelibly shaped their identity, no matter how badly they've tried to erase and escape them.
In many ways, Alani has lived a quietly tragic life, and I appreciated Stinzi's restraint in avoiding more boldly devastating blows that seem inevitable in another writer's hand. There is a pervasive loneliness and alienation that looms over the book, obviously related to Alani's estrangement with their mother but also with various loved ones in their lives and, most crucially, their own self. Stinzi's depiction of nonbinary gender identity here is particularly fascinating (and, obviously, not a monolithic representation of what that involves). Alani takes on a kaleidoscopic host of identities throughout their life, adopting the feminine personas of Allie, Sofia, and Hedwig (their mother) at times, binding and going as Al at others, and inhabiting Alani elsewhere. This is obviously a compelling expression of their gender identity, but it also speaks to the fracturing within Alani's sense of self, and I found the scenes in which their plurality (which almost feels like a pun on the use of non-gendered singular "they") is manifest through visions of other versions to be so striking and even eerie, as if they're being haunted by ghosts of their own self. (Spoiler: This dovetails beautifully at the end, as Alani recognizes the multiplicity of their mother as well, which seems to be a catalyst for their capacity to move towards true forgiveness.) The book is also, and even more so, a meditation on memory: the monuments we erect and destroy as a means of bearing witness, offering reminder, capturing a moment, editing it through the lens of our own experience. As someone who enjoys photography, I loved Stinzi's embrace of that motif in relation to this theme.
The remainder of the review has a few spoilers, so heads up. One thing I was really curious about was Stinzi's resistance to allowing for any seemingly satisfying closure between Alani and their mother, especially when two opportunities were explicitly raised. The nurse suggests Alani arrange for them to take their mother out of the home for a day, presumably to visit her former house one last time before it is sold, and to re-enter that space alongside Alani again...but this never happens, or is even addressed again. Similarly, we follow Alani's photographic endeavor, memorializing different parts of the house where old furniture once stood, which climaxes in them photographing their mother for the first time...only to expose the film to sunlight, rendering it blank. That moment in particular elicited a visceral reaction from me, and I wasn't sure what its motivation was, especially given that Alani seemed to reignite some tenderness towards their mother and didn't end the book wanting to forget her entirely. If you have thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them!