With lyrical intensity, Brandi George invites the reader into a Midwestern countryside filled with violence and possession, weakness and strength, a world reminiscent of Dorothy Allison’s Bastard Out of Carolina. And just like Allison’s protagonist, the first-person speaker of Gog is boiling inside as she becomes a fury that refuses self-pity:
from “The Shadow of My Black Dress”:
I’ll travel back in time, Mother,
hold your hand when
the giant lobster hovers
over your bed, clicking its pincers.
But I’m not sorry. I wore your wedding dress
to a séance, which was not really
speaking with the dead, but dancing
on your antique table. I haven’t slept since you
called an exorcist for me. Just
so you know: if that man you brought
home from the bar takes
off his hat, I’ll load my rifle. And Angel
of Death: blow me.
from “Why the Working Class Won’t Save Us”:
… Bitch, ice queen, feminazi. Every woman
in my family has been raped. My belated protection:
petrifaction, the tree’s innermost ring drained
of sap, black lipstick and necklace-dagger…
© Brandi George, Gog, Black Lawrence Press, 2015
