The Eyes of a Flounder, by Laura Hamblin

FlounderMy response to Laura Hamblin’s collection, The Eyes of a Flounder, has been varied and downright disparate. I cannot review this collection of poems as a whole, for each is a standalone work. Some made me want to sing. Others made me scoff, or roll my eyes. A few, I would stand by themselves in a corner and surround with pylons and warning signs. For all that she writes about the Mormon experience, I found neither inspiration nor useful social commentary in her more culturally-charged pieces.

In the most personal of experience, we often find universal truths revealed, and in many of Hamblin’s poems, I feel the pull to such a connection, but not being of her universe, much of her work fell flat for me. She gives powerful and toothy voice to an aspect of LDS womanhood to which I can not relate, such as her repeated portrayals of “The Next Weird Sister.” They were not only alien, but even unpalatable to me.

Those to which I could not relate aside, I must say that I found many of her poems compelling. I desperately hope that “Twenty-three Miles South of Canada” was written about the Pacific Northwest (even specifically Mt. Baker or Mt. Shuksan, my favorite mountains and ‘other temples’), as it really resonates with, encapsulates, and expresses my very own feelings of the place.

Even those poems in which I found some hook, some common truth to draw me in, Hamblin’s lack of art in their execution left them hobbled. Too often subtlety and art are misreplaced with mute arbitrary obscurity in the form of random line breaks and omitted details. I can feel that her soul has more to sing, but her literal voice weighs it down greatly. I can not help but wonder if her stylistic shortcomings are not symptomatic of, or resultant from, the very angst that seems to fuel her muse.

However, that “more” her soul would sing is still evident and available to the reader. Where she lacks art, even, one may find wisdom or insight to be gleaned. Her piece, “The Difference between Loneliness and Solitude,” is just seeded with desperately true, evocative juxtapositions. She also spins a bitingly true turn of phrase in the last lines of “Cabeza de Vaca in Wal-Mart: Adventures in the Interior of America” where she nails the crux of the invasive dangers of modern life, saying “…we end in / citizenship forged / in the trials of abundance.”

If I could get away with it, I would review each poem alone, for they are, in their merits, as individual as any family full of children. As it stands, with them all together in the same binding, I can give neither a clearly favorable nor a decidedly disapproving review. If pressed on the point, I would suggest that readers let this one pass them by, as the pearls of wisdom and tight turns of phrase are vastly outweighed by bitterness and poor execution. I must say, though, that while her writing was often lacking, Hamblin is clearly an artist working at perfecting her craft, and I liked some of her ideas enough to look forward to a more mature expression of them.

The Eyes of a Flounder, by Laura Hamblin. Published by Signature Books.

Cover art used by permission.

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