A Handbook of Disappointed Fate by Anne Boyer

I bought this collection of prose by the poet Anne Boyer for myself on my recent birthday, likely because it was recommended by a display in a bookstore, as I don’t think I’ve read Anne Boyer previously and I had no prior knowledge of this book.

I like the title a lot – I think many of us (certainly many of the kind of people who continue to read this depression-blog on the regular) – feel disappointed by fate.

I don’t think a belief in fate is necessarily something that helps anyone except for those who are already in positions of power or status or general joy, and can be used by those types to justify their good fortune and to make those of us who hate our fucking lives feel like we deserve it, that the horrors and the misery are inescapable and that we should be glad our fate isn’t worse.

The concept of fate is used to create disappointment, perhaps; it is a source of succour, of relief, of balm, perhaps, only for those who revel in their lives… a belief in fate can excuse anything, any pleasure, any pain; can limit responsibility, accountability, a sense of self, a sense of place, a sense of others…

“I have been disappointed by fate.” I haven’t been disappointed by fate. I’ve been disappointed by scott manley hadley, the useless fucking loser who has ruined my life and left me dead on the inside, dead on the outside and rotting in a nightmare I honestly can’t imagine a way to escape. Lol whoops aha.

–///–

So, this is a collection of prose writing by a poet.

One of my favourite types of text.

Maybe I’ve read Boyer’s poetry before in magazines or anthologies, but I’m pretty certain I’ve never read a collection or a book by her. But having read this, I would. Sure I would. Of course I would. I’d read a book of poetry by anyone. A book of prose, too. Sure, why not? What else is there to do but read?

–///–

Some of these are essays, some are very prose poem-adjacent, and most sit somewhere in between… not quite simple non-fiction, but still never quite over that lip that sits like the skin of water between the air of poetry and the sinking weight of whatever everything-that-isn’t-poetry is called…

There is writing on the Occupy movement, writing on lots and lots of poets, on the House Un American Activities Committee, on Willie Nelson, on poetry itself, on love and sex (“you already said “on poetry itself” 😜😜😜” fuck offfffff) and also – perhaps most affectingly – lots of pieces about living with – and through breast cancer, as well as cancer and cancer treatment more generally and its cultural and sociological meanings, as well as art and actions previously made by humans in response to cancer, in response to mortality, in response to the curse of bodily existence.

–///–

There’s an excellent extended piece that consists of questions for poets to ask themselves about poetry, such as “Is it that the right relation of an artist to a city is for a city to fiddle while the artist burns?” and “Is [the trial of today] to never blame singing for the commodification of song?”…

Elsewhere, Boyer tells us, knowingly, “IT IS EASY TO GO FROM BEING A CHAIR TO BEING A POET, IT’S AS EASY AS TAKING YOUR HAND.” and memorialises – so familiarly (to me and my imagined also-unhappy readers) – “I’d basically just let myself be nothing at all, and for years then, and treated poorly, and barely rebelling against my own poor treatment” and, in another piece more directly exploring the experience of cancer, “It’s always when you can’t write that you realise your writing is more important than ever”…

The poet’s life is the poet’s life, whether it’s happening successfully somewhere in the middle of the North American continent (surely not even Americans from the more-normal (i.e. coastal) bits know exactly where “Kansas City” is..? (look, I’m also embarrassingly from the charmless middle of a charmless(?) country, so can say things like that, maybe?)) or unsuccessfully wherever I am this week, y’know…

There’s also a great piece about reading called ‘Take Up And Read’ which I recommend you check out online.

It’s a great collection – articulate, amusing, serious, intellectual, human. Sometimes it is a little beyond my meager intellect (I don’t think anyone actually intelligent would have allowed themselves to become as consistently unhappy as I have lol whoops aha), but I have intellect enough to understand my own lackz so won’t decry the text when I am at fault.

A great read – order direct from Ugly Duckling Press via this link