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dolcezzina21's review
4.0
Her darkest yet...Stephanie writes like the stroke of a brush and paints such a vivid portrait of apocalypse from within your soul and body and out in the world. The pain, loneliness, and strife are front and center. I found myself grimacing from the detailed images her words created in my mind. She brought death and doom to life!
robinsversion's review
3.0
Too repetitive in form and function, with long, sprawling descriptions that were much too distracting and seemed to serve more for the author to show off their (faux) skill than actually help craft the poems. Felt more like walls of text in much need of an editor to tear some down and pop some windows in, than poetry.
rock_n_reads's review
4.0
I consider myself a “newbie” when it comes to reading and reviewing poetry, as most of my reading consists of prose. However, over this past year I’ve ventured into some horror-themed poetry collections. So, when I was offered a copy of The Apocalyptic Mannequin for review, I happily accepted, for two main reasons. Number one: I’ve heard nothing but praise for the author’s work. The second reason was simply to broaden my horizons as a reader and step slightly out of my comfort zone.
Because I’m newer to poetry, I don’t feel completely solid about my opinions when it comes to reviews, but here’s what I can tell you about this collection—the writing is gorgeous and descriptive, even while being centered on such a terrifying topic as the apocalypse. All of the poems, no matter whether short or long in length, conjure up some strong mental imagery for the reader. Stephanie Wytovich does an amazing job of making one truly “see” what they’re reading. Some of the descriptions are so well written that I could nearly taste or feel what she was writing about in that moment.
As usual with collections, I’ve selected my “Top 5” pieces to share with you. In this collection, my favorites are:
“Only What Could Be Carried”
“Abandonment”
“There’s No Air Left”
“Beneath the Rubble, They’re Watching”
“Marionette Disorder”
If you’re a fan of horror-themed poetry, especially apocalyptic horror, I’d recommend this collection. I’m looking forward to reading more of this author’s work in the future.
Note: I received a copy of this collection from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
Because I’m newer to poetry, I don’t feel completely solid about my opinions when it comes to reviews, but here’s what I can tell you about this collection—the writing is gorgeous and descriptive, even while being centered on such a terrifying topic as the apocalypse. All of the poems, no matter whether short or long in length, conjure up some strong mental imagery for the reader. Stephanie Wytovich does an amazing job of making one truly “see” what they’re reading. Some of the descriptions are so well written that I could nearly taste or feel what she was writing about in that moment.
As usual with collections, I’ve selected my “Top 5” pieces to share with you. In this collection, my favorites are:
“Only What Could Be Carried”
“Abandonment”
“There’s No Air Left”
“Beneath the Rubble, They’re Watching”
“Marionette Disorder”
If you’re a fan of horror-themed poetry, especially apocalyptic horror, I’d recommend this collection. I’m looking forward to reading more of this author’s work in the future.
Note: I received a copy of this collection from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
howlinglibraries's review
4.0
But now in this clearing, now against these odds,
the maiden becomes the mother becomes the crone becomes
the night, and all those left hanging, all those left burned,
will rise and dance in her glory, this the second coming,
the rebirth of Eve.
Having experienced small doses of Wytovich's writing here and there in anthologies I've picked up along the way, I knew I was in for a treat and so I've been meaning to read one of her full works for some time, and I have to say, The Apocalyptic Mannequin did not disappoint!
Horror poetry is in and of itself an unpredictable bag, and I find this to be more and more true, the more of it I read. Often, the horror is mingled with, if not outright buried by, metaphors and commentary, and while there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, it was a bit refreshing to pick up a collection that laid on the terror and macabre so thoroughly. (Don't get me wrong, though, there are plenty of poems in this collection that cut deeper than the surface, reminding us that no action is without consequence, and regaling us with the co-morbidities of simply being a woman in our society.)
This is not a collection for weak stomachs, and I found myself unsettled time and time again by the sheer violence and gruesomeness of many of the descriptions (which I mean as the utmost compliment, naturally). If you enjoy horror, poetry, or both combined, I strongly recommend you pick up this collection. If you're one of the handful of people I've seen insinuate that poetry can't be horrific, well... I believe Stephanie M. Wytovich would like to have a few words with you.
Thank you so much to the publisher for providing me with this ARC in exchange for an honest review!
evavroslin's review
5.0
*** Review copy received from the publisher for review consideration ***
I used to feel (and perhaps still feel a bit) self-conscious about reviewing poetry, because my thought is that I’m generally not good at it or that I’m going to leave out something crucial, and mostly that I’m not going to offer a substantive or long enough review. I challenged myself to change this with the new poetry collection from Stephanie M. Wytovich, Apocalyptic Mannequin. The first poem is a cathartic ode to me, a collection of our collective anxieties rolled up into one, specifically this question of ‘what does it all mean?’ and ‘what will matter in the end?’
Throughout the poems herein, there is a strong undercurrent of desperation, or clawing to survive, of wanting to insulate ourselves from the on-going, non-stop 24/7 cycle of updates, media, internet, and knowing in general.
Wytovich puts her fears of destruction on the page, of everything just burning down despite our best efforts to preserve sanity and normalcy. The ‘apocalyptic’ part of the title permeates throughout each poem, each piece of the stitched together narratives, which reminded me of a quilt-like quality.
The energy and rawness of all of Wytovich’s collections to date courses through the veins of this book, her confrontations of death as vivid as ever, but this time, with a different understanding—an external weight that hangs over all of us, this sickening inevitability, and the reactions of the people in the poems, I felt a deeper sense of gravity and connection.
The visceral, in-your-face-ness of the writing runs strongly through this collection like a raging river, demanding to be looked at and confronted. Rather than it adding to my anxiety, I processed it as a cathartic release of all the fears and pains I hold inside. “Viral” had the simultaneous effect of questioning how parents could do so much harm, while juxtaposing images of comfort, which I found interesting. It’s an affront to the notion that childhood used to seem to safe, the issues plaguing us now and how everything that has had to change as a result having stripped away the innocence.
Illness and decay, the ravages of combustible bodies, and exploring the relief to evaporate rather than face the collective weight of what we have in front of us that grows heavier each day were all fascinating themes that resonated with me. Wytovich also hearkens to the notion of disposability when bodies became corpses, which has sickening relevance even today.
The evocativeness and lush descriptions of her words echoed inside my chest and throat, phrases like “…all those charcoal-kissed butterflies drowning in the open, their wings heavy, weighed down with the arms of night.” Wytovich doesn’t simply write the poems. She paints them on a landscape of darkness that spills inside and throughout the reader’s innermost core.
She also calls to mind the theme of women being under increasing attack. The death threats, the toxic, polluting, overbearing male energy that threatens and causes pain with every step it takes has become a mutated entity we have always feared. It is vicious, deceptive, fast-striking, ruinous, and devastating. On a daily basis, women face this choking down the air of silenced throats, ‘to collect the bones left by angry men from beaten women,’ and how we make it through burial grounds every day whether we like it or not.
One of Wytovich’s most distinctive strengths for me has always been her uncanny ability to take what is pulsing in my chest, in my veins, and in the fiber of my being, and to put it to words. She has the ability to articulate that which I feel and want to speak but cannot. She conjures the strength of collecting women’s energy, of not just being complacent to the status quo. Every attempt to police women’s bodies and being that has gone on far too long is wrapped here in an embroiled, eloquent fury. However, she imbues the reader with bursts of a hopeful, feminine energy that is throbbing, pounding, and rising. This collection is a much-needed beacon of hope, of a collective pooling together of women’s strength, calling on spirits from past and present to help us forge our path.
There are many water-themed poems, even one that focuses on transformation and breathing underwater, of survival. Explorations of aftermath leap off the page toward the halfway point of the collection. Themes of entrapment, of broken reflections, inevitability, loss, no chance to breathe, and reacting purely on adrenaline, flow through the pieces.
Toward the end of the volume, Wytovich features narratives that sliced into the primitive core of my womanhood, putting names to things I dare not speak. She captures so well the nihilistic and self-destructive, self-hating energy, the complexities of wanting to erase that self and contending with the evidence left behind, the scraps of scars. Death, graves, bones and decay feature heavily, as with the author’s other works.
With each successive collection, Wytovich excels in leaps and bounds, suffusing her distinctive energy within each of these books, maintaining the conjured rawness that makes these so uniquely her own and so incredibly meaningful for the reader.
This image gave me much-needed hope: “Beware the consequences of a fire too bright, of sleeping witches woken.” It is putting men on notice, making the statement that we are not going to be doormats and accept the negative actions against us anymore. We have mobilized. You are starting to face consequences, and now have no choice but to be accountable for centuries of getting away with ripping us apart and continuing patriarchy. Although there are still many strides that need to happen, it feels as though there is a momentum now that wasn’t there previously.
If you’re new to Wytovich’s poetry and want to read more, I suggest starting with Mourning Jewelry, Sheet Music to My Acoustic Nightmare, or An Exorcism of Angels. Whatever I have read from her, including the amazing debut novel she released a few years ago, The Eighth, it has always affected me profoundly, and spoken to me on the deepest levels.
I challenge more readers to explore her work, for though it is not easy to confront the themes and images included, it is exhilarating, heart-breaking, and meaningful all at the same time. Wytovich is a witch goddess who weaves together shadows, cobwebs, skulls, and pain. She is more than an author–she is a force of nature overflowing with incredible power.
I used to feel (and perhaps still feel a bit) self-conscious about reviewing poetry, because my thought is that I’m generally not good at it or that I’m going to leave out something crucial, and mostly that I’m not going to offer a substantive or long enough review. I challenged myself to change this with the new poetry collection from Stephanie M. Wytovich, Apocalyptic Mannequin. The first poem is a cathartic ode to me, a collection of our collective anxieties rolled up into one, specifically this question of ‘what does it all mean?’ and ‘what will matter in the end?’
Throughout the poems herein, there is a strong undercurrent of desperation, or clawing to survive, of wanting to insulate ourselves from the on-going, non-stop 24/7 cycle of updates, media, internet, and knowing in general.
Wytovich puts her fears of destruction on the page, of everything just burning down despite our best efforts to preserve sanity and normalcy. The ‘apocalyptic’ part of the title permeates throughout each poem, each piece of the stitched together narratives, which reminded me of a quilt-like quality.
The energy and rawness of all of Wytovich’s collections to date courses through the veins of this book, her confrontations of death as vivid as ever, but this time, with a different understanding—an external weight that hangs over all of us, this sickening inevitability, and the reactions of the people in the poems, I felt a deeper sense of gravity and connection.
The visceral, in-your-face-ness of the writing runs strongly through this collection like a raging river, demanding to be looked at and confronted. Rather than it adding to my anxiety, I processed it as a cathartic release of all the fears and pains I hold inside. “Viral” had the simultaneous effect of questioning how parents could do so much harm, while juxtaposing images of comfort, which I found interesting. It’s an affront to the notion that childhood used to seem to safe, the issues plaguing us now and how everything that has had to change as a result having stripped away the innocence.
Illness and decay, the ravages of combustible bodies, and exploring the relief to evaporate rather than face the collective weight of what we have in front of us that grows heavier each day were all fascinating themes that resonated with me. Wytovich also hearkens to the notion of disposability when bodies became corpses, which has sickening relevance even today.
The evocativeness and lush descriptions of her words echoed inside my chest and throat, phrases like “…all those charcoal-kissed butterflies drowning in the open, their wings heavy, weighed down with the arms of night.” Wytovich doesn’t simply write the poems. She paints them on a landscape of darkness that spills inside and throughout the reader’s innermost core.
She also calls to mind the theme of women being under increasing attack. The death threats, the toxic, polluting, overbearing male energy that threatens and causes pain with every step it takes has become a mutated entity we have always feared. It is vicious, deceptive, fast-striking, ruinous, and devastating. On a daily basis, women face this choking down the air of silenced throats, ‘to collect the bones left by angry men from beaten women,’ and how we make it through burial grounds every day whether we like it or not.
One of Wytovich’s most distinctive strengths for me has always been her uncanny ability to take what is pulsing in my chest, in my veins, and in the fiber of my being, and to put it to words. She has the ability to articulate that which I feel and want to speak but cannot. She conjures the strength of collecting women’s energy, of not just being complacent to the status quo. Every attempt to police women’s bodies and being that has gone on far too long is wrapped here in an embroiled, eloquent fury. However, she imbues the reader with bursts of a hopeful, feminine energy that is throbbing, pounding, and rising. This collection is a much-needed beacon of hope, of a collective pooling together of women’s strength, calling on spirits from past and present to help us forge our path.
There are many water-themed poems, even one that focuses on transformation and breathing underwater, of survival. Explorations of aftermath leap off the page toward the halfway point of the collection. Themes of entrapment, of broken reflections, inevitability, loss, no chance to breathe, and reacting purely on adrenaline, flow through the pieces.
Toward the end of the volume, Wytovich features narratives that sliced into the primitive core of my womanhood, putting names to things I dare not speak. She captures so well the nihilistic and self-destructive, self-hating energy, the complexities of wanting to erase that self and contending with the evidence left behind, the scraps of scars. Death, graves, bones and decay feature heavily, as with the author’s other works.
With each successive collection, Wytovich excels in leaps and bounds, suffusing her distinctive energy within each of these books, maintaining the conjured rawness that makes these so uniquely her own and so incredibly meaningful for the reader.
This image gave me much-needed hope: “Beware the consequences of a fire too bright, of sleeping witches woken.” It is putting men on notice, making the statement that we are not going to be doormats and accept the negative actions against us anymore. We have mobilized. You are starting to face consequences, and now have no choice but to be accountable for centuries of getting away with ripping us apart and continuing patriarchy. Although there are still many strides that need to happen, it feels as though there is a momentum now that wasn’t there previously.
If you’re new to Wytovich’s poetry and want to read more, I suggest starting with Mourning Jewelry, Sheet Music to My Acoustic Nightmare, or An Exorcism of Angels. Whatever I have read from her, including the amazing debut novel she released a few years ago, The Eighth, it has always affected me profoundly, and spoken to me on the deepest levels.
I challenge more readers to explore her work, for though it is not easy to confront the themes and images included, it is exhilarating, heart-breaking, and meaningful all at the same time. Wytovich is a witch goddess who weaves together shadows, cobwebs, skulls, and pain. She is more than an author–she is a force of nature overflowing with incredible power.
spookishmommy's review
4.0
I didnt plan to read this all in one night but it was so fun, I couldn't put it down.
nicobellfiction's review
5.0
We’re in the middle of coronovirus social distancing. I’m keeping myself and my family tucked away in our home, and I figured this would be the perfect time to catch on some light reading. Enter The Apocalyptic Mannequin. I’ve had my eye on this collection of poems since it started swirling around social media, and when I got a chance to review it, I jumped at the opportunity. What followed was a heavy experience through the end of days like none other.
Wytovich is a master of horror poetry. Her prose drips off the page with a deep visceral connection to readers. Perhaps it’s because of the current virus, but these poems tugged at my deepest fears and created an eerie landscape of humanity at the end of its reign. This reads much like a warning with strong feminist vibes. Our narrator is plagued by a nuclear disaster which leaves the Earth in ruins and people struggling to find a new way of existence as the power goes out, the survivors become savage, and everyone begins to fend for themselves. The poem that impacted me the most was “Saints Don’t Spread Their Legs.” Here’s a brief excerpt from that piece:
I stopped drinking holy water at fourteen,
told my father that the knives in my back made it hard to sleep,
how the visions in my head brought locusts in my room,
their chirps a reminder that with spread legs and evil thoughts,
my body, my chapel was constantly being watched ( Wytovich 46).
Brilliant, yes?
The structure and composition of the poems read more like a novel, which is great for anyone intimidated by poetry. There’s a familiar storytelling prose connecting each piece and weaving you from start to finish. Once you begin, you won’t be able to set it down. If you’ve never read horror poetry, this is the place to start.
Wytovich is a master of horror poetry. Her prose drips off the page with a deep visceral connection to readers. Perhaps it’s because of the current virus, but these poems tugged at my deepest fears and created an eerie landscape of humanity at the end of its reign. This reads much like a warning with strong feminist vibes. Our narrator is plagued by a nuclear disaster which leaves the Earth in ruins and people struggling to find a new way of existence as the power goes out, the survivors become savage, and everyone begins to fend for themselves. The poem that impacted me the most was “Saints Don’t Spread Their Legs.” Here’s a brief excerpt from that piece:
I stopped drinking holy water at fourteen,
told my father that the knives in my back made it hard to sleep,
how the visions in my head brought locusts in my room,
their chirps a reminder that with spread legs and evil thoughts,
my body, my chapel was constantly being watched ( Wytovich 46).
Brilliant, yes?
The structure and composition of the poems read more like a novel, which is great for anyone intimidated by poetry. There’s a familiar storytelling prose connecting each piece and weaving you from start to finish. Once you begin, you won’t be able to set it down. If you’ve never read horror poetry, this is the place to start.
lauriereadslohf's review
4.0
I haven’t read a lot of poetry in my life. Back in high school my best friend foisted a book of romantic poems on me and all I can remember is that they made me want to cry and it scared me away from poetry for a long while. They were so depressing and sad and they made me hate love for a little bit. Back in the mid 00’s I read a horror poetry chapbook and remember thinking it was okay (but not really my thing) and that’s about as far my knowledge goes. If you’re looking for a poetry expert, I am not your person. But I do know what scares me and this book contained some amazing imagery that will give me nightmares for a long time to come.
Wytovich creates a bleak world devastated by plague, chemicals, ruination and all of the painful truths about humanity that are likely to occur when life as we know it is over forever. It contains beautifully written and frightening visions of an apocalyptic future. Each poem is a little glimpse into a bleak nightmare world.
If I had to pick my favorite line, it would be this one.
“I pray to Lucifer that whatever Hell he’s building, he
Finishes it soon.”
In so few words she gets right to the pain and needless suffering of it all. Love it.
And this one is a close second.:
I am made solely of teeth.
I simply love that imagery.
I refuse to pick a favorite poem because I honestly found something haunting in all of them.
This collection basically scared the shit out of me because I am terrified for the future of the planet we continue to poison and this book didn’t help ease my fears, haha! If you are worried about the state of our world this collection might not make you feel better about that end of it but it may comfort you to know that you are not alone!
Wytovich creates a bleak world devastated by plague, chemicals, ruination and all of the painful truths about humanity that are likely to occur when life as we know it is over forever. It contains beautifully written and frightening visions of an apocalyptic future. Each poem is a little glimpse into a bleak nightmare world.
If I had to pick my favorite line, it would be this one.
“I pray to Lucifer that whatever Hell he’s building, he
Finishes it soon.”
In so few words she gets right to the pain and needless suffering of it all. Love it.
And this one is a close second.:
I am made solely of teeth.
I simply love that imagery.
I refuse to pick a favorite poem because I honestly found something haunting in all of them.
This collection basically scared the shit out of me because I am terrified for the future of the planet we continue to poison and this book didn’t help ease my fears, haha! If you are worried about the state of our world this collection might not make you feel better about that end of it but it may comfort you to know that you are not alone!
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