YA novel 'The Poet X' is an elegiac meditation on poesy and religion
Five minutes after opening The Poet X, the YA debut from poet Elizabeth Acevedo, I set the book down and , 鈥淩eading #ThePoetX without a pen is an exercise in futility. You will want to underline something astonishing on every single page.鈥�
That feeling never went away. Expect to use up multiple pens on this novel in verse, an elegiac meditation on poesy and religion.
Xiomara Batista, sometimes 鈥淴,鈥� is the only daughter of strict Dominican immigrants. She was born a fighter 鈥� feet first, fists waving, given a name that means 鈥渙ne who is ready for war鈥� 鈥� and she鈥檚 been battling ever since.
As a woman in NYC and an agnostic in a devout Catholic household, Xiomara is always on the defensive. Everyone looks at this tough, beautiful girl with a curvy figure, but no one actually sees her. Both she and her twin brother, Xavier, whom she calls 鈥淭win,鈥� struggle to hide their true selves within the family鈥檚 small Harlem apartment.
The dominant message seems to be, your words do not matter and your voice should not be heard. For a poet, that dog won鈥檛 hunt. Words and a right hook are Xiomara鈥檚 weapons of choice; she uses her hands when her voice has been silenced.
Not long into the fall term, Xiomara鈥檚 English teacher invites her to join the Spoken Word Poetry Club and compete in local slam competitions. This turns out to be a borderline spiritual experience. Practicing at home, X finds poetry to be a place she can finally 鈥渓et [her] body take up all the space it wants.鈥�
Throughout the novel, Xiomara ruminates about where she fits, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Her body, she says, 鈥渢akes up more room than [my] voice.鈥�
鈥淓ven with my Amazon frame, / I feel too small for all that鈥檚 inside me,鈥� she confesses. (Check out Acevedo performing this poem .) Much later, Xiomara writes, 鈥淚 think about all the things we could be / if we were never told our bodies were not built for them.鈥�
Poetry gives X back her voice, but it鈥檚 an Eden apple: the poetry club meets on the same night as confirmation class, which X鈥檚 mother is forcing her to take.
Se帽ora Batista sees herself as a modern Hannah. Childless for many years, the Batistas view twins as a divine gift and have upended their lives in honor of it. Gregarious, skirt-chasing Papi became quiet, solemn, borderline invisible (鈥渁 converted man-whore鈥�). Mami, already pious, became even more fervent (鈥渢he only man Mami wanted was nailed to a cross. 鈥� / I don鈥檛 think Mami鈥檚 ever forgiven Papi / for making her cheat on Jesus.鈥�).
Yet Mami cannot seem to grasp that neither X is a Samuel; these two are not on loan from the Lord, not destined for the godliest of lives. For a deep-thinking doubter like Xiomara, confirmation class is just another exercise in biting her tongue and unraveling it later via verse.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not any one thing / that makes me wonder / about the capital G.O.D. / About a holy trinity / that don鈥檛 include the mother,鈥� she writes. 鈥淚t鈥檚 all the things.鈥�
How does the church fit into a woman鈥檚 life, she wonders, 鈥渨hen I鈥檓 told girls / Shouldn鈥檛. Shouldn鈥檛. Shouldn鈥檛. / When I鈥檓 told / To wait. To stop. To obey.鈥� Later on, she rails against being told 鈥渢o have faith / in the father聽聽聽聽 the son / in men聽聽聽聽 and men are the first ones / to make me feel so small.鈥�
What do you do when your parents鈥� number one priority doesn鈥檛 even crack your top 20? Did a young Samuel also strain against parental expectation? Xiomara, gasping for breath in Mami鈥檚 straitjacket of criticism and zealotry, casts about for answers.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 the point of God giving me life / if I can鈥檛 live it as my own?鈥� she writes. 鈥淲hy does listening to his commandments / so often mean I need to shut down my own voice?鈥�
Meanwhile, she falls for a guy in her school, Aman, who recognizes her intellect and loves to hear her poems. Their relationship provides some of the sweetest, keenest lines:
鈥淓very time I think about Aman / poems build inside me / like I鈥檝e been gifted a box of metaphor Legos / that I stack and stack and stack. / I keep waiting for someone to knock them over,鈥� she swoons, despite Mami鈥檚 voice in her head screaming sin, lust, devil, whore, unholy.
And later, she thinks, 鈥淚 wanted to tell her [X鈥檚 best friend] that if Aman were a poem / he鈥檇 be written slumped across the page, / sharp lines, and a witty punch line / written on a bodega brown paper bag.鈥�
鈥淭he Poet X鈥� has its share of heavy stuff, to be sure. (There鈥檚 also a fair amount of lovely PG-13 content.) But in every devastating moment, every existential wrestle, Acevedo sows seeds of beauty and growth. Xiomara digs deep to reclaim her identity and her voice, in spite of her rough circumstances.
鈥淢aybe,鈥� she ponders, 鈥渢he only thing that has to make sense / about being somebody鈥檚 friend / is that you help them be their best selves / on any given day. That you give them a home / when they don鈥檛 want to be in their own.鈥�
Within the verses of 鈥淭he Poet X,鈥� by turns lean and lush, Acevedo builds that home for her readers. Don鈥檛 miss this one.
