The Emily Valentine Poems

by Zoe Whittall

The Emily Valentine Poems is an innovative book that
challenges the impossible notions of femininity that permeate our
culture. The texts within include self-portraits, prose poems, fake fan
letters, and confessional lyric snapshots. These are pharmaceutically
enhanced tributes to the hangovers of twenty-something love and to the
pop icons from an unconventional 1980s childhood. With The Emily Valentine Poems , Zoe Whittall provides us with the perfect soundtrack for the culturally literate rebel in all of us.
“Zoe Whittall’s poems are snake bite cures masquerading as candy.” —RM Vaughan
"Whittall's big sense of humour is the under-coat on all these poems
but it doesn't take much reminding that the serious side of Zoe Whittall
is stone cold." —Michael Dennis

Genres: Poetry, Canada, LGBT, Queer

88 pages, Paperback

First published October 1, 2006

About the author

Zoe Whittall's latest novel, The Best Kind of People, spent 26 consecutive weeks on the Globe bestseller list, was shortlisted for the Giller Prize, was Indigo Best Book of the Year, Heather's Pick, Globe and Mail Best Book, Toronto Life Best Book of 2016, Walrus Magazine Best Book of 2016 . The film/TV rights have been optioned by Sarah Polley who will write and direct. She has two previous novels and three collections of poetry, and has written for the televisions shows Degrassi, Schitt's Creek, and The Baroness Von Sketch Show. She won the KM Hunter award for literature, and a Lamda Literary award for her second novel, Holding Still for as Long as Possible. Her debut, Bottle Rocket Hearts, was named one of the top ten novels of the decade by CBC Canada Reads, and one of the Best Books of 2007 by The Globe and Mail and Quill & Quire magazine. She has published three books of poetry, Precordial Thump, (exile, 08) The Best Ten Minutes of Your Life (McGilligan Books, 01) and The Emily Valentine Poems (Snare Books, 06.) The Globe and Mail called her "the cockiest, brashest, funniest, toughest, most life-affirming, elegant, scruffy, no-holds-barred writer to emerge from Montreal since Mordecai Richler…”. She was born in South Durham, Quebec, resided in Montreal during the early 1990s and has lived in Toronto since 1997.

Reviews

[Magdelanye · Rating 3 out of 5]

Is fame a parasitic crippling disease or is that just something un-famous people say to make themselves feel okay about their anonymity? p61

ZW has certainly shot out of anonymity and into the writers circuit. (I'm very much looking forward to seeing her at our summer festival) For me, her last novel redeems all the disappointment I felt in Bottle Rocket Hearts (don't get me going) I was intrigued to find this book gazing at me from its provocative cover in the library; surprised to discover it was published 10 years ago, though marked as new on the shelf.

There is some poetry as we know it and many pieces that I hesitate to call poetry, more like postcard pieces, word collages and wild associations; you could call it poetry if you want.

When it's dark, and we are in vague despair, we look for the light at the end of her cigarette to direct us to the door. p33

[Maggie Gordon · Rating 3 out of 5]

Enjoyable, but I don't find that the poems are making much of a lasting impression on me. Perhaps I needed to read this when it was originally published as some of the topics (critiques of femininity) are more common now. Still an enjoyable work though!

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Despite being divided into four parts and tracing different narratives, there is a consistency The Emily Valentine Poems, a universality that captures the shared experience of people of a certain age (twenty-something) in a certain place (Toronto, Vancouver...) at a certain time (late 90s, early 2000s). The poems of The Emily Valentine Poems are instantly recognizable to anyone who was that age in that place at that time (or thereabouts, thenabouts...), ultimately leaving the reader feeling melancholic and nostalgic, ruminating over "the one that got away" or "the one they let get away"...

The four parts of The Emily Valentine Poems are "Linda Lovelace Died Today", "Of Sub-Cortical Bottlenecks", "Scraps Against the Screen", and "Denial Chaser"...

from "Linda Lovelace Died Today"...

1. I read a poem about tranquilizers and love. I conjure my old roommate, Jane, whom I loved for 38 days. She had a mouth like a test tube.

She used to carry around enough pills to kill herself, incase the mood struck her en route. But everyone went to her for advice. She told me the solution to my anxiety was to have a little more wine with dinner.

2. I would steal her copy of Diagnosis and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV and read it under the covers; waking early to put it back on the shelf between the bible and the Pat Califia.

3. In the loft's bathroom with walls that don't meet the ceiling, I would splash cold water on my pallid face and look into the round mirror
a sublingual daydream.

4. The two stages of grief are

1) sadness
2) drinking

5. She looked across the table at me once and said, "If you keep staring at me like that, I'm going to come." I realized that after her hot, low voice, Jane's next attractive quality was her sociopathic potential. How often are you able to get that close to the apple? I left Jane's apartment quickly with my belongings in orange milk crates. Her eyes were pinhole perfect watching me. She was dangerous like a slow grind on a last-call dance floor. Swivelled hips in circle eights.

- Her Eyelashes Were Long Perfect Wings Carrying the Weight of Her Eyes, pg. 19

*

I wake up dizzy. Dry mouth in a full bathtub.

The dryer catches fire and fills the house with smoke. Once the windows are open, the sparks smothered, the cat digs her nail under mine.

Swell with me.

Linda Lovelace died today.

Kate calls: "I didn't ask you to be in my porn because you have a real career now, not because you're fat."

"Huh? My dryer is on fire. I have to go."

Sheets stained, hot knots of oxygen.

I call Kate back. "Linda Lovelace made Deep Throat at gunpoint. I overheard someone saying that on the bus and they were laughing."

I open each window, phone cradled in my soft neck, palms against wooden ledge painted over so many times it feels like I'm leaning on a pile of phonebooks, breathing in air instead of gagging on the smoke.

There is a man outside picking up bottles. He is singing Loretta Lynn. I expect him to spit but instead he stares.

- Linda Lovelace Died Today, pg. 23

from "Of Sub-Cortical Bottlenecks"...

In Vancouver for a family wedding
I am foot sore lost
in the bridal shop,
lungs heavy.

Everyone asks me,
"Where's your boyfriend?"
and I say,
"In 1989."

- Dirt Road Wedding, pg. 31

*

In a 1994 writing class I wrote a first-person story based on my life at the time. It was fast, flawed, inorganic and riddled with a cherubic innocence. The characters swore too much, wore an excess of eyeliner, believed in love and revolution, purity and possibility, 5 classmates, pencil nubs chewed, eyes narrowing, agreed that the main character was a sociopath. I cried all the way home, to prove that I wasn't.

- Hall Building Prose Massacre, pg. 34

from "Scraps Against the Screen"...

June 6th. 1985
Dear Judy Blume,

I'd just like to start by saying that I am the biggest fan of yours that ever was. I started with Superfudge in Grade 2 and have read everything you've ever written, with the exception of a certain very important chapter in FOREVER which the school library has cut out. Can you please send me that chapter, you know, the one where they do it? I think it's only fair, as I am your biggest fan, and should get some perks.

Forever yours,
Zoe

- pg. 55

*

Dear Boy George,

When I told my mother I was going to marry you as soon as I was old enough to take the bus to Montreal by myself and go see you at your concert, she said that probably would never happen. And it didn't. Please explain.

My love forever,
Zoe

- pg. 56

from"Denial Chaser"...

1. On re-discovering my love of pot :

Did I just ! brush my teeth ! for an hour?
I remember this feeling from recess!

2. On discovering how to love myself again :

my red bra falls out of my purse and onto the counter at the Portuguese bakery where I buy my coffee on the mornings after. The bakery is between our houses exactly. The woman with the stubby band-aid makes me a latte without flinching.

3. On re-discovering self-esteem on January 2 :

Having .23 in my chequing
.47 cents in my savings
and a two day old coke hangover
is no reason to feel as bad about myself
as I do right now

- On Discovering, pg. 67

*

Under these circumstances
I'd like to pretend
the drinks you pour me
are
apostrophes
housed in triples disguised as doubles
back against boxes of empties
surprising you by the pulse
of the industrial dishwasher

- Denial Chaser, pg. 69

[Zoe]

Clearly shamelessly self-promoting. I wrote this and I don't entirely hate it yet.

[Paris Semansky · Rating 5 out of 5]

My first apartment in Toronto was a big, clean basement apartment on Dundas at Crawford, near Ossington. It had low ceilings and a family of stomping elephants (children) above. For the first few months (maybe a year?), I only had a mattress on the floor, my clothes, and two piles: one for books and one for my heels. It was an unsettling aesthetic.

Later, when I had furniture, I did dishes so infrequently that two friends came over once while I was at work to do them (a low-key intervention) and another time, I covered a different pile of dishes with a towel to hide them from my visiting dad.

Being in my twenties in Toronto living in Little Portugal meant going to concerts at small clubs on weeknights, dancing at the Boat in Kensington till close, laundry at the Hollywood Coin Laundry, a lot of cigarettes (sorry dad), and every type of hangover. It was also when I made my biggest leaps professionally, when I leaned into important friendships, made hard and good (and terrible) choices, and started the process of becoming a Torontonian.

All this preamble to say, I never thought I'd get a chance to read that experience so directly reflected back to me. Then I read two volumes of poetry by Zoe Whittall - THE EMILY VALENTINE POEMS and PRECORDIAL THUMP - and there it all was: the same neighbourhood and laundromat, Elliott Smith and Pink Moon, heartbreak and late nights. Many different specifics, but still my own rumbly fumbly time on the page, to the soundtrack of the Weakerthans. What a ride. And what a treat.

Whittall's voice is so specific and engaging, direct, unflinching, irreverent, and I'm so glad she also writes novels because I finished both volumes wanting more.

[Michelle · Rating 4 out of 5]

An interesting collection of poems that vary in structure. I enjoy the different ways the poems are structured in this piece compared to other poets. The writing in Whittal's poems is much different than her novels, it was nice to see the differences in her strengths and voice. This was one of her earlier published pieces and I can see the way she has evolved in her writing.

[Kate · Rating 4 out of 5]

Smart, quippy poetry with lots of Vancouver and Toronto cameos! loved it

[Eliza Moss-Horwitz · Rating 5 out of 5]

My favorite book of poetry!

[Mary · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Go ask Alice Munro”
These poems may seem a tad dated, but they are still unconventional, acerbic and insightful.

[Bella · Rating 4 out of 5]

does she have ocd ?

[altate · Rating 5 out of 5]

loooooved

[Tara McGowan-Ross · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not to be that guy but this reminds me ever so much of the first collection I put out when I was 24, and for that I am awarding it an extra star. Sorry to Zoe for not giving this a real review.

[beau · Rating 3 out of 5]

How to Break Up

Clasp your hands. She is not a precious stone. Remember you did not like holding hands because of the height difference. Buy ripe fruit with few bruises. Hum a sad song quickly. Bathe in vinegar. Lather in shea butter. Buy a new pen. When people ask you on dates, say yes, don't pretend you can't hear them. If you miss her, it only means you miss her. Remember that you won't ever remember it right. Remember that you knew, long before you really knew, that it wasn't meant to last. Spend your last ten dollars. Take-Out. Hair dye. Remember that you learned the definitions of "need" and "want" in grade 9 economics class from the teacher who was always drunk. Watch CSI Miami and cheer on Horatio. Go Horatio, you can love again Horatio. Nobody is thinking of you right now. Nobody is thinking of her, except you. Point your toes when you sit on the bus and your feet won't touch the ground. Buy ingredients and put them together. Bathe in lavender. Disengage. Remember that you don't remember. Hold your own hand.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love to see/hear Whittall read her writing in person. it adds a layer that allows me to connect. But mostly this is an author that I want to like more than I actually do. Its not for lack of talent - it is just that I somehow don't connect to the stories she writes. They are so personal and real but somehow I feel a distance from them.

***
liked it better this second time around - only just now read it same month last year - what is it about may and this book..
I am not sure but somehow my slight sense of irritation with life allowed me to enjoy this collection more.

[Kate · Rating 4 out of 5]

So fantastic. My favorite poem in here is Pink Sheets but the whole book is vexingly beautiful, beautifully vexing.

[Calista · Rating 4 out of 5]

Zoe is funny and her writerly ways leave me wanting more.