Heresy is billed as a book of poetry, but this does a disservice to both poetry and Heresy. The book is more a book of thought forms than of poems or essays: each piece has a distinct shape and flavor, and those pieces that are unpalatable are intentionally so. Anything in Heresy that seems sweet has the toxic sweetness of anti-freeze. Anything in Heresy that seems bitter has the delicious bitterness and faint aroma of almonds.
From the uncomfortably excessive introduction to the unconventional typesetting, nothing about Heresy is an easy read. We are invited to bear witness to the titular heresy and contemplate our reactions as readers. If we are disgusted, what does that spur us to do? If we are not, how did we arrive at such complacency?
Recommending Heresy is not a simple binary. Those without the religious context will likely struggle to understand the genesis of Haward’s rage. Those with the religious context will likely struggle to understand the extent of his jagged generosity. Put a copy ofHeresy to your ear and shake it: you will hear shards of broken glass grinding together. You’ll need to decide for yourself whether to open the cover, pick out a piece, and begin to chew.
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