Accidentally, I started this book at the back and immediately was confronted with a fairly savage and sneering attack on haiku and tanka. I always find it odd when writers feel the need to tear down a genre/form that is outside their sphere of experience, and from the cursory description Sansom gives of these forms it seems clear that he has little knowledge of what he is so derisive of. In fact, this book is very rooted in British influences, which makes a nice change from the avalanche of books which are US centric, but then again, it could still be broader and more inclusive. Bluntly, it could be a bit humbler.
It *is* refreshing to read something that is irreverent about poetry, while still taking it seriously as a form. Still, while I enjoy teasing and witty putdowns as much as the next passive aggressive two-faced bitch, I find too much of this attitude in a book can tend to lapse into an exercise in the author showing off their cleverness, instead of paying attention to subtleties and depths in the bigger picture.
There we go - I've only just started it and I'm already arguing with the silent author. Must be a book worth reading.
Update:
The author provides one of the best and fullest explanations of metre I've yet read. He then goes on to cast aspersions on what seems like every form of poetry out there. Yes, sometimes this is funny, but overall I was left with a bitter aftertaste and the sudden wilting of any desire to actually write anything. A useful and informed read, with some fabulous thoughts on poetry, but sadly marred by what came across as a general undercurrent of distaste.