Death Styles

by Joyelle McSweeney

A record of daily bewilderments and accidental concessions to hope after a momentous loss.


In this follow-up to her award-winning collection, Toxicon and Arachne, Joyelle McSweeney proposes a link between style and survival, even in the gravest of circumstances. Setting herself the task of writing a poem a day and accepting a single icon as her starting point, however unlikely—River Phoenix, Mary Magdalene, a backyard skunk—McSweeney follows each inspiration to the point of exhaustion and makes it through each difficult day.  In frank, mesmeric lyrics, Death Styles navigates the opposing forces of survival and grief, finding a way to press against death’s interface, to step the wrong way out of the grave.

Genres: Poetry

111 pages, Kindle Edition

Published April 2, 2024

About the author

Joyelle McSweeney is a poet, playwright, novelist, critic, and professor at the University of Notre Dame. She graduated magna cum laude from Harvard before earning an MPhil from Oxford and an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop.

With Johannes Göransson, McSweeney founded and edits Action Books, an international press for poetry and translation. The press focuses on modern and contemporary works from Latin America, Asia, the US and Europe, including such major authors as Hiromi Itō, Kim Hyesoon, Aase Berg and Raul Zurita. Action Books seeks to move poetry and poetics from other literary cultures into the center of US poetry discussions and undermine the nationalist rubrics under which literature is marketed and discussed. In addition to the University of Notre Dame, McSweeney has taught in the MFA program at the University of Alabama and as a Visiting Associate Professor of Poetry at the Iowa Writers Workshop.

Reviews

[Jared Joseph · Rating 5 out of 5]

O ancestor I object.

[Joseph Schreiber · Rating 5 out of 5]

For this poetic exercise in writing grief and finding a way back into writing at all, following the death of her infant daughter, McSweeney set three rules for herself: (1) to write daily, (2) accept any influence that presented itself as an artifact of the present tense, however incidental, embarrassing or fleeting, and (3) follow that inspiration as far as it would take her. The result is a collection that is inspiring in its constraints and moving in an appreciation of the motivation driving it. Repetition is essential to McSweeney's approach to grief, arising from her desire to be able to repeat the brief sequence of days she had with her newborn, even if the ending was the same. It makes sense. Repetition of phrases, sounds, and meanings allows for poetry that is often fun and life-giving, other times angry and dark.
Longer review to come.

[Catie Markesich · Rating 2 out of 5]

I admire the intention of this book of poetry- daily writings to help process and move forward from the death of her infant child, taking inspiration in any forms that they came. Perhaps I’m just not intelligent enough to be able to piece her words and phrases together to make any real sense of it all, but that was my experience. There was one or two poems that I could make some sense out of, but otherwise, it kind of seemed like she would write whatever words came to her mind, regardless of whether or not they all came together to make a poem that made any sort of sense. It’s also so possible that I just can’t relate and if I could, that these poems would mean a lot more to me. I am sad, though, because the inspiration for this book is great.

[Anastasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

A poet’s exploration of reconciling grief over the loss of her child with the human instinct to survive catastrophe and continue on. I loved the wordplay and the roll-off-your-tongue language in many of the poems (works very well with being read aloud). A very painful, sometimes laborious read but ultimately very hopeful, surprisingly humorous, and, in the end, defiant.

[Lindsey Hadden · Rating 4 out of 5]

A hard read, but beautiful. Going though grief and depression and trying to move forward when there’s nothing to look forward to (in 2020) and taking so much notice of the mundane is something that I wish I couldn’t relate to. But that’s what this was and each poem hit hard. Thank you, Joyelle McSweeney, for sharing so much of yourself.

[Alexander Pyles · Rating 4 out of 5]

Going to be chewing on this one for a bit. Complex and raw, McSweeney doesn't let up in each of her poems, which are both "incidental" yet also poignant.

Her line from the afterword is going to stick with me for a long time:

"Repetition, I have come to understand is the shape of trauma makes of time."

[Aaron · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another gem of a collection from Joyelle McSweeney, loaded with grimy puns and linguistic hooks and barbs meant to exorcise / exercise the pain reflex. Perhaps not as easy an entry point as Toxicon & Ariachne, which had an almost mythic weight and hit harder than pretty much anything you’ll find in poetry — but this is still a worthy successor, the product of a forced writing exercise in following one’s muse, whatever it happens to be that day, wherever it happens to lead, for as long as the poet can bear it. By nature this lends a repetitious quality to the poems, and a bit more length to each one as they lope along in strange circles and loop back to similar themes. As a result, I read this very slowly. Maybe a poem every 2 weeks, until the Terminator 2 poem about the truck crashing into the LA River felt like the propulsive push I needed to tear through the remaining third and reach the grand terminus, the exhausted endpoint at which the whole of the thing comes into focus and the full weight slams down (guided by the explanation in the Afterword).

Not for dabblers, perhaps, nor the meek. For the rest of us, this is the real stuff of life… and the real stuff of death, and every interstitial state in between, where we brood on both and come out dazed and raw. Works for me.

[Barton Smock · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don’t know how it is that I know I’m not a great father. I’m not sure what I language. I bathe my 15 year old son or I tell my other sons to do it because my back hurts. This is enough non-fiction to be true.

‘like a star you fail to hide behind your signal’

‘the sea doesn’t even wait around to hear itself’

To write toward Joyelle McSweeney’s Death Styles feels rude. Loss is boring. This isn’t about loss. What a surging patience. What a hidden stoking of the white fire that depletes nothingness. What an interrogation of the silence that silences the math of quietude. This work is such that it might bring about, or deliver?, time. Time can’t have kids, but can’t keep itself from trying. Time gifts itself a lengthy privacy. I don’t know what time is to you, but do know what you are to time. Is there an aftermath of during? A before-death of being? I want to cry and do. I don’t want to cry and do. McSweeney watches what looks. Inventories the constant. What a locating work. Disorientation is in the right place at the right…well, fuck. Keep this work close. It goes the extra subtraction.

[Jamjun Rorsoongnern · Rating 5 out of 5]

Joyelle McSweeney’s necropastoral style in this collection beautifully captures the complex relationship between decay and vibrant life, which resonates so deeply with my memories of South Bend . Having her as my poetry professor during my MFA adds a personal layer to my experience of the work, filling me with a bittersweet nostalgia for a place that’s both toxic and teeming with wild, blossoming love. McSweeney’s ability to weave these themes together is stunning, making you reflect on the beauty that can emerge from the most unlikely places—just like she writes! Love her and this collection immensely

[Eli Eli · Rating 3 out of 5]

"repetition, i have come to understand, is the shape trauma makes of time." mcsweeney wrote her poems following the unexpected death of her new child, and she made a practice of writing every day, about anything, for as long as she could stand to write the poem. this is really inspiring as a writer, the idea of forcing yourself to deal not with the big stuff but the small, and the way it plays on itself over and over releasing the same experiences or feelings. unfortunately i did not really understand the poems lol but i did enjoy the concept

[Courtney LeBlanc · Rating 4 out of 5]

A collection of poems there were written one a day.

from 8.14.20 River Phoenix: "What I'm waiting for: someone to shout instructions from the sky // through some barely imaginable instrument. // I've cleared out all my hearing for this // but no voice comes."

from 9.2.20 Daughter Style: "it's so American to hurt you like this / for the sake of your own white teeth // to send the old pair back / to order the next size up / to study your toes, how they line up / shell-pink and auspicious / as Romanovs in snow"

[Minty · Rating 5 out of 5]

Joyelle McSweeney communicates the breadth of loss in only about a hundred pages of poetry. There's anger, regret, yearning, and of course, grief. She follows the scope of her emotions after losing a baby in Death Styles, and does so vivid language, extended metaphors, and motifs. Once she introduces a concept, it stays with her until she can grieve it. This is true for her child, but is also true with many other ideas in the book.

[Taylor Franson-Thiel · Rating 5 out of 5]

McSweeney, in a time of immense grief, forced herself to follow rules. To see poems to their very end and to discount nothing as inspiration.

The result is this magnificent collection full of heart, dry wit, playful language, stunning images, and honest reflections on what we stick to when grief sticks to us.

This is a fascinating and beautiful collection. A lot for poets to learn from.

[Jack Alexander Lawrence · Rating 3 out of 5]

McSweeney is a deft poet, and her knack for colliding imagery, even off the cuff, makes Death Styles compelling enough.

By its very nature though, it lacks the truly spectacular constructions of Toxicon & Arachne.

"They invented tragedy then threw the whole world through it...//...so much attention lavished in such strange directions"

[Stacie · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was lost most of the time. It wasn’t until I read the endpiece, and that these poems were written in the grief of losing a baby, did I understand that the author, too, was lost in grief. Still I didn’t get most of the poems so 3 stars. Read for poetry with Pat, but we skipped the discussion this time around due to life.

[Kris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Poignant and heartbreaking at times. Single lines conveying pain of loss. Short 1-3 page poems/prose, vivid, colorful, sticky language. I didn't grasp everything I read, but I grasped enough. Can't fathom losing a child.

[Jesse Hilson · Rating 5 out of 5]

I want to say more elsewhere but this was such a beautiful recharge of language’s batteries for me. I haven’t really read poetry in a while, nor written it, which follows from the inspiration of reading it, but now I have.

[Charlie · Rating 5 out of 5]

like seeing double/misreading a billboard as something absurd or violent or beautiful/mistaking a pair of black boots for my cat when my cat is hundreds miles away

[gold cs · Rating 5 out of 5]

more freaky poems from joyelle about loving suffering and suffering love

[Marissa Cooper · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mother has fed us once again.

[jess liu · Rating 5 out of 5]

Everything is laced together / & nothing drains away, /nothing drains away. / But does it have to be this beautiful.

[Issy Broadbent · Rating 5 out of 5]

So sad so beautiful

[Maddelyn · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fuck me, what a project.

[anon · Rating 2 out of 5]

admire the conceit and the grief which is palpable throughout the whole book, but I got a little lost/bored in the conceit's constraints. still respect it

[madelyn dawson · Rating 4 out of 5]

on reread i imagine this could fundamentally change me

[Charis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Gripping, lively images and sonic play. Heartfelt, tragic, but still doesn't take itself too seriously. One of the most engaging books of poetry I've read recently.

[Justin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maybe someday I'll write an essay about this volume of incredibly powerful poems and the surfeit of excellence assonance and electrifying internal rhythm, but right now I'm still recovering.

[shroomlight]

look angel:
pass over, or don't i don't care
i'll just stand here on the threshold
feel the wind you bear in your ratwings
rinse my hair

[Marc Nash · Rating 4 out of 5]

Video review https://youtu.be/Hzu93GcDO2w

[Viviews · Rating 5 out of 5]

heard joyelle read medea <3