I’ve never had a great appreciation for prose and poetry—verse novels, yes. Plays like Sophocles’ and Shakespeare’s? Yes. But, just simply prose and poetry? No.
I tried my best really. My interest sparked in my creative writing class and I fell in love with how few words could deliver a sucker punch of emotions. It became a belief that each and every word has to be perfectly chosen and never wasted in order to create the desired imagery. And so, I began reading, starting off with Lang Leav’s Memories. Everybody was gushing over her works, calling it a combination of brilliance and beauty—and yes, there were some supremely beautiful ones…but the total of them can be counted with the fingers of one hand. The others were simply generic. Words you hear in songs, words you read in novels. They weren’t anything new.
Now, we’re at my second book of prose and poetry: Kate Tempest’s Everything Speaks in its Own Way. I can’t say I adore the usage of ‘coz’ because it simply killed the beauty in whichever prose and poetry it’s used in this in this book. However, I’m pleased that this book has a collection majorly better than Lang Leav’s. The base ideas for both Memories and Everything Speaks in its Own Way are generic, but Tempest expands them better. Don’t get me wrong—I think that some of the prose and poetry in this collection is bad, but ‘Cannibal Kids’? ‘Dogs’? They’re great, they’re beautiful and utterly brilliant.
I still don’t love prose and poetry, but as of now, I’m definitely not opposed to continue reading more. Hopefully, I’ll come across a collection that wows me from the first page to the last one day.