how to be a good girl mingles diaries, poems, drafts, fragments, literary/cultural criticism, & love letters to unfurl hybrid interrogations of femininity, fucking, & surviving trauma. as the text journeys from the ice age to climate crisis & devours figures & texts as expansive as levinas, plath, the ronettes, after-school-specials, fairy tales, & the romantics (among others). how to be a good girl dismantles contemporary formulations of womanhood to ask: how far will one woman go in her longing to be fathomed as good, & what pound of flesh must be paid to live through this.
I find it hilarious that one review characterized this book as "borderline pornographic with ejaculate flying everywhere", when in reality, the book is a nuanced examination of "goodness" as a learned construct. One that dictates the boundaries of desire, speech and physical presence. It thrives in the gray areas, documenting how our survival mechanisms often evolve into limitations, and proving that self-knowledge is not always synonymous with freedom.
Jamie Hood deconstructs the "Good Girl" archetype, seeing it less as a passive patriarchal cage and more as an active performance opted into for protection. She challenges the literary obsession with violence as a character-defining moment, arguing instead that it is a "narrative refusal". Ultimately, she refuses to perform the "triumph over tragedy" trope, denying a cis-het audience the satisfaction of a sanitized or perfect healing process.
To describe this text as "borderline pornographic" is, as I've said, hilarious, but it’s also a damning indictment of your own reading comprehension. While the fragmented prose may not be for everyone, dismissing the book as something "written for men" simply because of the author's background in sex work is perhaps the most reductive and tragic misinterpretation possible.
A beautiful voice, perhaps best described as poetic diaries? I can’t say I fully comprehended each line but this is a wonderfully inventive and touching work. It blurs the lines of genre effortlessly and I felt a deep emotional pulling throughout.
Hood is able to mix together a swirling mass of confusion regarding womanhood, breakups, sex work, and love into a neat package full of erotic and touching poems that seem blown to bits in their erratic freeform spacing. Deeply confessional, sometimes bordering social commentary in the theory it pulls from, and at times meandering in the best of ways that mimics the mind as it breaks the fourth wall and contemplates nature of the work itself.
This was an absolute pleasure to read and ruminate on.
I don't know what constitutes "good" poetry vs bad, but I do know that this collection spoke to me in ways no other poetry book has. I read it twice, back to back, because it was so good. It felt familiar, at times intense, beautiful, inspiring. I've literally been gushing about this book to anyone who'll listen.
my best read of the year, i think. read this read this read this !!! (also something really funny is that the only negative reviews of this ie less than 3 stars are from men)
Jamie Hood’s How to Be a Good Girl is one of those poetry collections that delivers a powerful impact in the best way. It breaks the conventional rules, which is precisely what makes it effective. Hood employs a stream-of-consciousness style that feels both raw and meticulously crafted. It’s messy, honest, and sharp, like someone telling you a truth you didn’t know you needed to hear.
What truly resonates is the emotional honesty. Hood doesn't hold back; she writes with intensity and vulnerability that makes you feel deeply. The poems are painful, beautiful, and profoundly human. If you appreciate poetry that defies conventions and strikes at the emotional core, this debut is definitely worth your time!
Jaime's verse is both an education (this book contains so many authors & works I made note of to explore) and an invitation into her life/world. At times, how to be a good girl made me feel like a bad girl, someone who has just stumbled upon her roommate's or lover's journal/diary and has quickly decided to have a peak, carelessly thumbing through an assumed sacred space. But actually that's inaccurate as this book requires time to fully ingest. That this was all written and assembled during a global pandemic and while the author was under or unemployed is awe inspiring. A gentle nudge for other writers to just finish the damn book already. It is recommended you clear out a place for this book by your bedside for early morning mind wanderings or leave it your purse/tote bag for solo park or beach trips.
Jamie Hood opens how to be a good girl as spring opens a bud, "readying its loveliness," but not without acknowledging the often cruel landscaping such loveliness may undergo. "shall the poem delete its own production" is a question to which this book says no, and even absolutely not! Instead the poems live in a gnarly, knotty garden of girlness. The poems are naturally natural occurrences, speaking in numerous dialects of desire and fluent in each one.
Wow, so I started this book a year or so ago, and couldn't get myself to finish it. It was all too sad for me. Beautiful and re-assuring and full up of very sad love, but I think it wasn't what I needed at that time. It reminded me of my own poetry too much, and frankly, like the girl I used to be in college, and living in New York.
I returned to it this year as a cheap attempt to make finishing my 10 book goal of 2024 easier. I was still in the first section of the book- where all the entries are half dairy/ half poem/ half prose. It was all sad gross sex and desperation and self-effacement. Girlhood as an impossible paradox. A making small of oneself. Stuff of many feminist texts but with a good sense of humor. Good balance of the sacred and profane and humanity and all that. Goddesses recontextualized, the writings of Woolf, and lyrics of Mitchell and Bush commented upon. Standard faire feminist subject matter, really. I understood it but didn't want to dwell there. Tide shifted in part II, a long poem which I loved. I found it had a more definitive melody which made it easier to read for me. It inspired me to write my own poem honestly.
Then the end came... the protagonist falls in love. And I find myself almost crying at my desk. Not to get all- 'things happen for a reason', but I kind of wonder if I was meant to read this book this way, stretched out over time. If I was meant to return to it when I too had fallen in love. I wonder if I would have felt the same way about its ending or not.
It's a very self-conscious book, in a way that can be both frustrating and yet utterly beautiful. It does a very good job of capturing what it feels like to kind of just want to be your own thing, and yet to be entranced/entrapped by the systems we have in society - there's a particularly heartfelt moment as a writer where she talks about free verse versus formalism, and about how she appreciates the formal and yet expects that she might never write that way; and similarly, I feel, this is an underlying current about womanhood here. It's something I've been thinking about with relation to my own transness, to whatever extent that may be—I'm not interested in your idea about what it means to be non-binary; I'm interested in finding out how I am going to be myself. And yet, I can't help but return to how society views me, how I interact with society, how that decides or modulates (to whatever extent) what my desires are.
The book also emerges from this difficult questioning, the questioning of these sort of juxtaposed positions and the eternal soul-searching of what being a "good girl" or what being a good writer, etc. mean, into this beautiful ending section of a new hope and love. There's an earlier passage where Hood denies being a cynic, and I think it's beautiful that she ends the book here at a place where even in spite of it all we allow ourselves to hope, where we *choose* to hope and (after some meta-thought) *choose* to include that hope at the end of the book.
How to Be a Good Girl is a raw, fearless, and genre defying exploration of womanhood, vulnerability, and self-construction. Jamie Hood fuses diary, criticism, poetry, and cultural commentary into a single, searing narrative that dismantles the expectations of femininity and the moral performance of being “good.”
Her writing moves with the precision of a poet and the intensity of a confessionalist. From personal trauma to philosophical inquiry, Hood creates a tapestry that is as emotionally intimate as it is intellectually expansive. The book’s reissue by Vintage underscores its continued relevance a text that still resonates with readers navigating identity, queerness, power, and pain in a post-pandemic world.
How to Be a Good Girl isn’t just literature it’s self examination in motion, a reclaiming of voice through vulnerability. It’s a book that speaks to those ready to break free from silence and expectation.
how to be a good girl is sticky, emotional, honest, and horny...really hittin all the big ones!!
Hood's first text plays with format using an almost stream of consciousness model injected with care and attention of a passionate writer's painstaking adjustments. The result is somehow perfectly edited and completely raw. I could absolutely read this text ten times (and I will) and come out with ten different experiences. Hood's voice is honest, vulnerable, and biting while grappling with everything from love, to rejection, trauma, change, and even bits of pandemic life, just barely allowing the amber to set on these preserved moments she graciously shares with us.
Jamie is kind and funny and so smart, and you should buy her first book immediately.
The writing was really beautiful and imaginative, sometimes scintillatingly brilliant, but the content was none of that. The title is tongue-in-cheek as our author is a prostitute who loves her work, loves sex, and also, in one essay, falls in love with one man. I read it over such a long period of time that I’m not absolutely sure, yet it seemed to me that she didn’t write about anything other than sex and the insights it provides about oneself and others. The book simply had no appeal for me. It was borderline pornographic with ejaculate flying everywhere, much to her delight. i’ve heard that prostitutes understand and provide what men like. Perhaps this book is written for men. It doesn’t seem to provide any insight into personal growth or anything else.
Rating: 3/5 y’all I was so disappointed by this one. She’s not a bad author and her writing style I think is just not my thing, idk, but I was really really hoping this would be better than it was. The formatting made my head hurt and it was hard to stay focused on it for a majority of the time I spent reading. There are a couple of poems I really liked in this book but most of them I had to reread to understand. Reading this made me feel like I was dumb or something. I don’t think I’m super smart but this actually made my brain hurt. Especially with all the reviews I’ve read of this book I was expecting it to knock it out of the park or however the saying goes.
“to what extent is my need to be imagined as good merely a proof that more of my self is bound up in the attention of & legitimation by others than is usual or useful” (One of the many many lines I underlined lol - this was such an interesting and unique read)
First “cool girl” and now “good girl”; oh how we as a society love to limit a woman's agency and potential!!! To Hood, the phase “good girl” can be both the highest form of praise and the most hurtful form of degradation. It’s so disheartening how many of the expectations placed upon women are derived from the eroticization of our helplessness.
i loved this. i hated this. i read it in a day. it’s bad poetry (she’s a bad girl) also it’s good poetry (she’s a good girl). (“am i a bad girl; a bad poet—both; or; neither”) i liked the part about if her mouth were full of mfas. i liked the works consulted at the end. sylvia plath is a little too present & that’s part of the point. everything is a little too abstract & that’s part of the point. thank u jamie hood
3.5 stars! hm. i really loved certain passages/motifs (page 34-36… HELLO) and some ugly things were reflected back at me that i had never seen on a page before. I just wish it wasn’t largely propped up by covid-speak; much emotional heft was entirely negated within two concluding passages … not to say they weren’t lovely, but it was kind of like watching a beautiful painting be made and then turning one of the many colors to gray
I did not understand a lot of what was said. The stream-of-consciousness and the formatting had me mystified, but I believe in Jamie Hood's work and did not try to remember what words like "teleological" mean; I just went with it. This book is delightful and distressing, and its existence fills me with hope and awe.
“anything may seem to have been an act of god/ if u are filled w enough need/ as i am” are some of my favorites lines in this book & speak to a lot of its larger themes abt desire & longing. I love the way outside texts are used throughout the book especially the parts about the waves by virginia woolf & ariel by plath. this is a very good book!!
soaring, exaulting, achingly gorgeous. jamie hood i love your work very much and i hope you keep making it forever and ever. i should’ve done the double feature with trauma plot because instead i have the secret history between them and that’s really killing the vibe. i’ll do them back to back soon.
I loved it. This book was beautiful, gutting, and ultimately so gorgeously hopeful. I tried to really make it last & enjoy all of it (it’s great to read in a lux lil bubble bath) but I couldn’t stop picking it up. I can’t wait to read it many more times.
this text captured feelings i have never had in such a way that i swear I've known them my whole life. it is lucid, sensitive, brutal, and handed me my own guts. thank you jamie, ive never been moved more by poetry.
“I adore an overgrown garden” beautiful to walk through, picking up and putting down, sniffing and rubbing, an ecstasy to be found in the very act of searching “if blue were not blue how could love be love”
Loved the beginning and felt this was the first poetry book in a long time that I understood, appreciated, and wanted to keep reading. Then it got depressing, self-pitying, and focused on sex and men. No thanks.