Review for Obit: Poetry, A Space for Living Death

To begin this review, I must preface it by saying that I had every intention of trying to read this collection of poetry quickly and upload my review of it sooner. I saw that it was less than 100 pages and figured it would be a work that flowed smoothly and easily, but fortunately was very, very wrong. Victoria Chang’s collection, Obit, is mostly a series of short poems styled after the obituary section in newspapers. The creative intellect of it lies in how Chang takes this form, dedicated to people, and shifts it towards the abstract: dedications to time, to happiness, grief, words, voice mail, teeth, and subject matter amongst a plethora of others. The only poems with a real name such as a regular obituary would reflect are a few with her own, the first of which starts with: “CHANG – Victoria. Died unknowingly on June 24, 2009 on the I-405 freeway.” The same poem is repeated all over the cover which would make it seem as if it is the most important piece of the collection, but I tend to think that there isn’t a single work, word, or punctuation mark within this compilation that isn’t crucial.

The reason Chang’s collection stood out and took me so long to finish was because the heaviness of death is something that hasn’t really left me. As someone who lost one of my closest family members in the last year, her words often caused a need for frequent breaks. I obviously haven’t really figured out the whole grieving thing yet, and it’s clear that this body of work is a fully realized conception of what death and grief look like for Chang. It’s big, bold, and strong and though it inspired me and gave insight towards the parts of life after death that feel shameful, it was also something I didn’t see coming. Nonetheless, it was something I (and probably most folks) needed. Surprisingly enough, I don’t often cry with books. Movies? I’ll cry at the slightest implication of hurt, but I think books pull just as much intellect from me as they do emotions and stop tears from flowing. However, Chang’s collection, and particularly the first poem titled “Optimism” left me unhinged in a puddle of overwhelm on my bed. I hope this doesn’t scare anyone away from reading this collection, though. If emotions and sentimentality are twin pillars of fear for you, I would say that Chang is or was likely one of those people as well, and her words might be the perfect gateway for an emotionally blocked-off person to wade into the waters of feeling again.

In the middle of the work, part two of four, Chang also features an experimental poetic section that begins with a quote from Sylvia Plath’s “Nick and the Candlestick.” It reads “I am a miner. The light turns blue.” And somehow, she takes these eight words and expands them into a symphony of images and art that simultaneously make absolutely no sense and full clarity to me. This matches her abilities throughout the work in taking massive concepts, the most important hurdles one can face, and condensing them in into an eggshell, or a flowerpot; something smaller we can consume without choking. She takes a language like death’s that is untouchable to some, like me, and illustrates different avenues within it that I couldn’t put the words to before reading this. She proves that, in a work about death, poetry provides a space for it to come alive in some way.

It is a brilliant body of work with no wonder as to why it is shortlisted for the International Griffin Poetry Prize. With expert use of imagery and metaphor, Chang has not only shown how much of a force of literary genius she is but has also led in an incredible example of heart and vulnerability that I feel changed from in the best way possible.