New Monsters is a lyrical exploration of what it means to be a woman transitioning from one stage of life to another, with poems exploring sexuality, identity, femininity, and the pain and joy of unfolding to a larger and more authentic version of yourself.
Andrea Eames is the literary descendant of Angela Carter and Erica Jong. In New Monsters, Eames uses her deep knowledge of myth and legend to cross the tumultuous terrain of mental health and female sexuality. This is a collection rich in metaphor and magic.”Allyson Whipple,
author of Come Into the World Like That and We’re Smaller Than We Think We Are
New Monsters is not for the timid. A study in the feminine as much as the poet, Eames’ new collection is fearless, revealing women in our full, unfettered beauty. Within these pages, we are ravenous and angry, raw and polished, simultaneously ourselves and our search for something larger – much like the collection itself.
Ever lyrical, Eames’ poetry here is unflinching in its urgency, angry when denied. Reading it, one can’t help but think of an object becoming subject, the embrace of wholeness – twisted and dangerous, possibly, but absolutely necessary and absolutely engaging.
This collection is a challenge. Let us take it. Let us, as Eames has written, embrace the monsters we are, the monsters we crave, and the monsters we wish to become.”Sarah Hackley, author of The Things We Lose
In New Monsters, Andrea Eames gives her readers an occasion to trespass on poems she has keenly cultivated from the wildest weeds of qualm and misadventure. This second collection is more potently tender, more infused with hunger, and even more outrageous in its demands of us than her debut, The Making of Stones. Please meet this “mesh bag made for carrying oranges,” head on, with all of your prurience; let it pulse, flagrantly, with the lushness and anticipation of a waiting lover. In lines like, “Once you are real, you are ugly/ and abandoned,” and “I will eat my five cranberries/ and I will keep them down,” Eames crafts a “new way of seeing” the encumbrances of the body. Her sometimes raw, always salient, language of mourning reminds us of our own propensity to assuage the monsters who make us feel “dumb and animal.” However, Eames does more than describe and illustrate and pronounce, she bravely offers up herself as sacrifice. What her poems want most is for us to engage without looking away, to bring our full selves, again and again, to each and every reading of them.”Jenna Opperman, author of Shattering Is Gradual