Elly Bookman’s award-winning poetry collection, Love Sick Century, has garnered significant praise for its profound exploration of contemporary anxieties and emotional landscapes. But what exactly does it mean to be “love sick” in the context of this powerful book, and why is it resonating so deeply with readers today?
Critics and fellow poets have lauded Love Sick Century for its unflinching gaze into the heart of modern life, marked by both beauty and brutality. Adrian Blevins describes the book’s brilliance as stemming from “the gorgeous precision of its grieving,” highlighting Bookman’s rare ability to see “the awful truths inside the worst of us.” This isn’t simply about romantic heartbreak; it’s a broader, more encompassing sense of unease and sorrow that permeates our current era. Blevins emphasizes the “simmering quality” of Bookman’s poetry, where the speaker confronts the horrors of “our current moment”—”dozens dead again”—with a deeply personal and affecting vulnerability. This personal wound transforms into the “beautiful song” that defines the collection.
Matthew Dickman echoes this sentiment, calling Love Sick Century “a heartbreaker of a book. Heartbreaking because it is so tender and true. Heartbreaking because it is of this world and this century.” He suggests that we are all, to some extent, “a little love sick,” overwhelmed by “the fever of being a person” in today’s world. Bookman’s poetry, in this view, serves as vital “medicine,” offering a way to understand and process these overwhelming feelings.
Ashley Capps, in her foreword, delves deeper into the thematic undercurrents of Love Sick Century. She points out the pervasive “sinister shadow of the late capitalist war machine” that looms over the collection. The poem “Privilege,” with its imagery of sunbathing beneath fighter jets practicing combat, exemplifies this unsettling juxtaposition of everyday life and looming threats. Capps astutely observes the “discomfiting malaise” that pervades the poems, a cynicism born not of indifference but of “profound tenderness.” This tenderness, remarkably, coexists with the harsh realities Bookman confronts—airstrikes, active shooter drills, and the constant presence of threat.
Despite the weighty themes, Love Sick Century is not devoid of beauty and wonder. Capps highlights poems like “Vivarium,” where the speaker attempts to encourage her pet frogs to mate with a thunderstorm soundtrack, and “Clamor,” which finds a moment of delicate beauty in a soap bubble amidst the “bombardment of television war news.” Even in “Nocturne,” the speaker’s hypervigilance extends to an appreciation for the hidden artistry in everyday objects, recognizing the human touch even in mass-produced items like firefly-colored bulbs.
Ultimately, “love sick” in Love Sick Century transcends simple romantic longing. It embodies a broader contemporary condition: a deep-seated unease, a grief for the state of the world, and a poignant awareness of both its harshness and its lingering beauty. Bookman’s poems act as both a “distress signal and emergency response,” offering solace and understanding in a world that often feels overwhelming. Through her “unfailing eye for beauty, mercy, and wonder,” Elly Bookman provides a powerful and necessary voice for our times, making Love Sick Century an essential read for anyone seeking to understand the complexities of being human in the 21st century.
