In Tender Data Monica McClure breaks down and breaks into various identities, each of them hashtagged in the discourses of their time and place, whether macha or chiflada, couture or fast fashion, acephale or technocrat: "I want to be so skinny people ask if I'm dying." Down the blood-red lanes of gender-making, class warfare, and vexed relationships goes the unstable subject, hailed yet hailing back. Nobody comes out looking good. The slippery self, surveilled yet ready with her mask, performs a peep show—booth opens wide, yet somehow the dancer isn't there. She's in character. She's "cut off the head to let the humors hose through.
Way too highbrow for me. To be honest, I'm getting a little tired of the schtick of, "I've lived a super rough, gritty life, which I'll show you by talking about cocaine and abortions and using the word 'cunt' a lot. Now let me casually mention Euclidean theory, neoliberal discourse, and Simone Weil. Isn't it crazy that someone can be both crude and intellectual? By the way, I live in Brooklyn." One star for how much I enjoyed it, the other star for the poem called "Straight Dudes," which reads as follows: "Why are you still here"
Tender Data is intimate, detailed, endless. There's so much contained in it. It felt like a wild journey, peering into the lives of various girls, sometimes trainwrecks. In the end I realize, these might all be the same girl. Lives are more mercurial than a stereotyped figure. I relate to it -- not just the mercurial existence, but also the minutae of the writing -- abortions, adderall, walking in the park, in bed, the glow of VH1 in the background, fucking, art openings, sadness, vanity...
"Let me be this cyborg with a bad bad libido"
That line caught me. I felt it. I also really admired the poem "Straight Dudes" on page 124.
Tender Data features glyphs, photographs, drawings. They thread throughout the book, flank some poems, and decorate the interiors of lines. The book itself is a lovely object -- cover art by Kim Keever capturing the misty (but not mundane) multifarious existences that spell themselves out in the book.
This book is shocking in how it can be read at different levels, from the funny (until it's not) to the much deeper net of references and ideas that go into the poems. Dozens of personas, encapsulated under a single intimist "I", intertwine speaking (texting?) volumes about how personality is a conceptual nonsense. Or maybe it's just made up of infinite iterations and contradictions (cf. Trisha Low's fantastic The Compleat Purge).
Towards the end Pirandello is cited along with his birthplace that in the peom is called "Chaos", which is in fact the translation of "Càvusu", the small fraction of Agrigento where he was born. The randomness of recognising such a specific bit of information from my background was the most surprising bit, and it really made me want to go back and find more and more intertextuality in these long, sometimes ranting poems. If the emotional and physical are not enough, look at the cerebral, and viceversa – you can find it all here.
Along with Joshua Clover's Red Epic, my favorite book of poetry from last year. McClure's line turns are propulsive and continually interesting. However, the voicing is so consistent that halfway through even the most burning lines feel like they're read from underneath a sheet of ice. The poems are better read in isolation. But it's all well-written; this isn't an alt-lit, get by on online personality and barely be able to write kind of book. Themes: abortion, New York, race, sex.
Beautiful book, very clever turns of phrase that bely the desperation of a contemporary girl grappling with it all. For me, I feel the book really started with the titular poem on page 65, and then really took off with the "chiflada" section on page 83. Definitely want to read her newest book.
This was not what I thought it would be. Extremely vulgar but without the better turn of words to make the vulgarity more poetic. I would have loved this at 19, but now I find it repetitive and too obtuse for my taste. There were some really beautiful passages, but two few "Ah, yes I know that exact feeling" moments for it to be worth it for me. I'm disappointed because this had such good reviews. Although, you get the idea these are meant to be read aloud, more spontaneous, and that might give them more power.
My bible. A must read for a 21st century poet, students' of the craft, scholars, cheerleaders, b-boys, lost souls, aging feminists, lonely teenage dream girls, those who want to catch their breathe or lose it every moment.
Honestly one of the best books written in the last 10 years. I am serious.
I didn't care for this. She's certainly a talented writer but I found the collection to be overly materialistic. It was like hanging out with obnoxious hipsters and not being able to get away. It felt juvenile. I'll be interested to see where she goes.