Between the thorns of the Brothers Grimm and the labyrinthine chambers of Angela Carter, Emily Corwin's first full-length collection of poems is red of tooth, claw, and lipstick. Within this vivid cycle of fabulism and erotica, of witches and absent princes, metamorphosis and dreamscapes, Corwin's work is a grimoire, a map for the territories of the unconscious. Love and madness conspire, and the modern kisses sleeping memories awake...
tenderling is crisp and fresh in its prowess and language. I got so sucked into the voice of these poems that I almost missed my exit on the subway--I was so involved in the brambles, the chiffon, the abracadabra of these poems that take the contemporary girl and her longing to new yet familiar places via myth and tale.
Exactly what I want from poetry. tenderling is dark, sweet, modern, earthy, full of body horror and wicked images. A perfect little collection of short and striking poems
I love the concept and the imagery, but I'm starting to think that poetry in general just isn't for me. I just feel so dumb every time I attempt to read poetry.
tenderling is a promise that exceedes itself. It lulls you in with honeysuckle horrorshow imagery as gentle and terrible as the first time you were earnest in your pillowtalk. tenderling scares and soothes, chilling your spine and bringing a hot, gentle sweat to your brow. Other reviews have made frequent call backs to the Grimm brothers' fairy tales, and it is an apt comparison. Here there is beauty. Here there is danger.
Just as fairy stories stay with you by utilizing fantastical settings and imagery to engage in very real and imediate concerns so does tenderling. Within these pages it's okay to be broken. It's okay to not be enough. Corwin helps you to accept how you are stronger for it.
As the book progresses, so to does the intensity, first cresting with "bestiary" and again with "pretty pretty princess vs. the underworld." Between and beyond is the space where nightmares are helpful friends and there's nothing more fearsome than the vulnerability of being loved.
The cyclonic forces of these poems reach out from their pages. They take you hard by the wrist. They invite you to dance and play.