" Plasticville is about the bliss of collecting, invention, and valuing the bits and pieces of popular detritus that constitute our lives. . . . Trinidad's warm intelligence makes poetry deft and true, dazzling and vulnerable, plastic and classic."—Molly Peacock
There is very little I didn't enjoy and appreciate about Trinidad's homage to mid-century childhood. His poems are all reflections and memories of Barbie dolls, 45 records, and vintage television shows.
Trinidad collects Barbies, so there are many poems that lean into the Barbie saga. Trinidad actually leans into the accessories that accompanied Barbie and reminds us how rare some of those original pieces can be, many of which were lost in sand boxes or mangled by the Hoover vacuum by Mom.
There are a couple of poems that celebrate Jacqueline Susann's literary contributions, and I will always love me some 'Valley of the Dolls" cultural references.
Trinidad toys (pun intended) around with form, including sonnets, centos, list poems, and traditional rhyme and none of it ever feels forced. Some of his poems can take up an incredible amount of page space, more than a couple stretch more than 10 pages, but he uses tight lines that read quickly, and his poem, "Every Night, Byron" (a Susann reference) is one of my favorites and is 28 pages of the reflections on life by his dog, Byron. I honestly smiled and laughed at times. Who doesn't love a snarky dog?
Marilyn Monroe, Greta Garbo, and Elizabeth Taylor, as well as references to Judy Garland and Toto (of course, Trinidad's dog is a Cairn Terrier) are also represented in poetry.
The intricately collected pieces of pop culture that David Trinidad mined for this collection of unique poems and essays is impressive. The book reads like a catalogue of toys, books, songs and experiences of a generation that was the first to fall in love with objects produced for mass entertainment. It’s a quick read, and if the reader were not aware of the also intricate poetic forms that Trinidad collects here, it would be easy to dismiss as a folly. The pieces that resonate, though, are the ones where the form and content converge for higher meaning. For example, “Accessories” (3) is a master list poem that subtly comments on gender roles in American society and how our children are engendered with them. “Chatty Cathy Villanelle” (45) is one of the finest examples of form literally mimicking content, transforming the repetitive speech of the pull toy into poignant lines about identity and fantasy play. Some of the poems presuppose that the reader be versed in popular culture (for example, only someone who knew all the characters of the “Clue” game could figure out the narrator of the poem by the same name is Mrs. Peacock), but all of the pieces here are fascinating studies of formalism and meter, regardless of their seemingly fluffy subject matter. It’s a perfect juxtaposition of two art forms that are perceived to be at opposite ends of a spectrum: poetry and pop
Frankenstein, Godzilla, The Blob, Phantom of the Opera, The Wolf Man, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Children of the Damned, Them, Queen of Outer Space, Creature from the Black
Lagoon, Curse of the Cat People, The Mum- my, The Green Slime, The Brain that Wouldn't Die, Invaders from Mars, It! The Terror from Beyond Space, Dr. Cyclops, Freaks, The Fly,
Bride of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man, The Mole People, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Mothra, The Incredible Shrinking Man, Dracula, The Crawling Hand,
Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman, King Kong, Tarantula, 13 Ghosts, The Thing.