Review for A History of My Brief Body: Reading is Fundamental

With April being national poetry month, it feels correct to talk about Billy-Ray Belcourt’s A History of My Brief Body, the most poetic memoir I’ve ever read. To be fair, I haven’t read many memoirs and most of them have been about women in politics, but I think it’s fair to say that Belcourt (Driftpile Cree Nation) is like no other in both genres.

There is so much to say about this book, as Belcourt reminds his readers at the end that every bit of it is meant to be as complex as possible. If you were to look at my Libby app, under this novel you’d see more highlighted text than I have ever done before and, truthfully, I could’ve gone full Alexis Rose and highlighted every single word on the page because each one feels (and probably is) imperative. On a base level, obviously, this is a story about Belcourt’s life and the labyrinth that comes with the compounded identities he navigates. However, my favourite aspect about the book is how he not only uses other influential scholars like José Esteban Muñoz and Judith Butler to emphasize his words, but also uses space within the book to detail what life looks like for the community around him. It’s a genuine, gorgeous, and stark reminder that a life is not comprised of one person alone and is just as much a reflection of the world around them. Or, at least, that was the message I got from it.

Another one of my favourite themes throughout is Belcourt’s use of language. Its use is twofold, as I read it. First, even in times when he is not directly speaking about English, his use of it is equivalent to the theory readings I used to read in university, especially with his use of feminist and queer theorists buttressed by footnotes and a notes section at the end. This, then, is supported further by Belcourt’s affinity to infuse poetic tone into everyday language: a type of writing that does not reveal itself on the first read. For most sentences, I found myself needing to re-read them more than once, which is why a book of less than 150 pages took me over a week to read. Second, Belcourt also has moments throughout his chapters that speak directly to his relationship with the English language, how it is both something that was forced on him throughout generations of assimilation and one of his only tools to find joy through the works of poetry he writes. He also writes this much more beautifully and intelligently than I ever could, so a rumination like that is something I would certainly recommend you read straight from the author's pen.

It is an incredible memoir, and if you are settler, then I’d also recommend picking it up simply for the moments in which he speaks directly to us. It is a blunt reminder of our shortcomings, and in true Paris is Burning fashion, they are critiques we need to hear to become better in our movement towards decolonization. After a memoir that does everything from detailing the intricacies of an Indigiqueer life, to pleading with Indigenous youth to stay here and “keep on loving,” to writing a beautiful section towards romance or the lack thereof in his life, Belcourt delivers us a perspective that is not gentle, nor simple, about where he stands in his opinions of “Canada.” It hurts a little to read, but if you read the heartbreak of previous chapters and walk away with feelings hurt because a marginalized person was honest about his feelings, then I suggest you read it again and pay better attention.

I loved reading this memoir. The moment I heard Billy-Ray Belcourt speak in his guest appearance on the All My Relations podcast, and his rapport with Joshua Whitehead, Matika Wilbur, and Adrienne Keene was so clear, I knew I needed to read his work. He has the kind of mind and is the kind of person that I feel lucky to live at the same time as, and I’m so excited to keep reading his works in the future.