Well, here it is. I ended up having mixed feelings about this book, but a promise to write a review is a promise to write a review so here it is, for what it’s worth!

I requested a copy of “Selected Unpublished Blog Entries of a Mexican Panda Express Employee” from the Muumuu House publishing company pretty much on a whim, but a whim that kind of makes sense. I want to try my hand at book reviews. I have a blog. I care about blogs, and writing, and the Internet, all of which this slim volume seemed to promise as content. I enjoy supporting independent publishing endeavors. Tao Lin and Tao-Lin associated people and things has confused, frightened, and delighted me for the past 5 years or so.

The list, potentially, goes on. But I digress. The beginning and end of the story is that I’m writing a book review on Megan Boyle’s “Selected Unpublished Blog Entries” and it’s happening now.

So on to SUBEMPEE, my chosen initials of shortening. The book contains (mainly) chronologically dated poems that constitute the ‘unpublished blog entries’ of said narrator. This had the effect, when initially scanned piecemeal, of me wading through my own drafts in G-mail, where all of my “unpublished writing” and random musings get done. Eerie! And then I did what you’re of course supposed to do and read the volume beginning to end, which left more of the flavor of “themes” in my mouth.

The themes undergirding SUBEMPEE are themes that I would call “the genuine unmasked pre-occupations of a slightly privileged, slightly depressed, artistically inclined 20-something who is still in college.” These are things like: Food. Sex. The Internet.  Communication. The body. Self-image. Drinking. Family. And potentially, the intersection of many of said themes at the same time.  And for those of you that find this platform self-absorbed? Hear Boyle(’s narrator): “I like reading things that other people might describe as ‘self-indulgent’. What other people define as ‘self-indulgence’ just feels like honesty to me.” And I am inclined to agree, up to a point.  Self-indulgence is good, so long as you are pushing yourself. It is good, though I prefer, for myself, to temper it with intellectual pursuit. But self-indulgence is, to me, so much of art that I see no clear reason to separate the two other than a chosen snobbery; or aesthetic preference. Then again I have an insanely high propensity to enjoy much more than the average person a) contemporary art installations and b) Joanna Newsom, so everything I say must be taken in line with my particular proclivities. But all I’m saying is that self-indulgence and stark choices works when “done right” in art, especially by those who are talented enough to let their visions shine through. So is Boyle talented enough to pull this type of self-indulgence off?

Let us see. Boyle impresses, in the literal sense – she is pushing you to see and feel her particular experiences, with the distinct quality of not having fully processed them yet herself. A wildly earthbound sensibility and dedication to offering things up at face value is the name of the game with most of these poems here, which I find refreshing. For instance, the aptly named “Everyone I’ve Had Sex With” is a compendium of just that. “My Family on Thanksgiving and Most Holidays:” Descriptions of just that. Even “I Am Kind of a Disgusting Person” is the LITERAL ticking-off of specific hygiene practices that make the narrator feel this way. Mixed in with absolutely ludicrous phrases from her ramblings in other poems, phrases like “I want to fall backwards into a pit of bioluminescent Pokemon,” and I was honestly laughing my way through these ridiculous yet honest confessions of someone who is in no way claiming to have their shit together, but likes to have fun with words and phrases.

After reading SUBEMPEE, I can confidently say that Megan Boyle has done a few things, intentionally or not. She has spoken in a voice that defines part of this generation, unfortunate or not: that apathetic, G-chatting, sitting in your bed and eating generation that refreshes social networking sites all day and occasionally drinks too much at night. Whether you choose to focus on the banalities of this sort of daily life or not, I cannot deny the legitimacy of an author choosing to do so in their writing. To silence that voice would be unnecessary; but to question whether it can push further seems within our right.

That being said, I enjoy seeing the hint of a promise in a first work, and I’m hoping to see stronger and heavier material if there is to be a next round of Megan Boyle poetry. I found myself laughing at certain lines, and really sympathizing with certain lines, but underlining other phrases and noting things like “she is depressed,” or “I see how this could be a metaphor but I don’t feel like bothering.” Boyle has put in only part of the legwork. She has above-average writing capabilities, and this book is resonated with me in an enjoyable way. However this doesn’t change the fact that I would have liked to see her push further to synthesize these prose poems, or edit them more. I’d hope to see a follow-up work from this writer that can push beyond apathy, so well documented in this volume, in order to come into something different and new. But for now, I will leave you with the last line of the last poem, “Lies I have told:”

‘I don’t want to have kids’
pretty sure I do, even though I don’t really like or understand them.
seems too lonely not to have them

Seems too lonely on the written landscape without exploratory voices like Boyle’s. Hang in there and fight the good fight!