The first time I read this book by Lang Leav, it was feverishly. When I reached the last page, I felt a little dizzy, overwhelmed, almost disoriented. It was as though someone had sunk a hook deep inside of me and fished out all of the feelings I have been eating, and proceeded to weave them into sentences and verses that held coherence. Unlike many of the digested feelings.
At first sight, one may mistake this as a collection of love poems or poems written to past lovers. But for me it reads as the internal ebbs and flows of a person throughout many different kinds of relationships; from unrequited love to crushes, to the end of a love. This is a collection of poems written to herself and for herself, in order to understand what lies at her very core. Even the poems addressed to another. The beauty of Leav’s collection is that I don’t feel the need to uncover the details of these stories. The feelings evoked are enough.
I’ve now read many of these poems again and again. Some make me smile, some make me pensive. Others fill up my heart with warmth. Some break my heart, while silent tears slip out. The real credit to Leav is that all of them make me feel something. Even if it is just that feeling you get from knowing that someone has managed to articulate the stream of torrential, internal babble that you have been carrying around. And that’s no small thing. Leav’s work is a masterful revelation to me. The following piece, though not from this book, is my favourite. It is touching and heartbreaking. It stills me.
And definitely get yourself a copy of Love & Misadventure. It’s the book that becomes your diary, your best friend, your blankie.