Imagine opening a book of poetry and feeling like you've stumbled into a never-ending art gallery where some enthusiastic curator has gone excessively avant-garde—only to realize you've entered Sally Wen Mao's Oculus, published in 2019. This collection from the Chinese-American poet had the audacity to win the 2019 James Laughlin Award. It's supposedly a potpourri of historical insight, modern technology, and cultural critique, but does it really hit the mark? Let's see how this collection manages to ruffle some feathers.
First, let’s talk about the who and the what. Mao is unapologetically political with her punchy language and vivid scenarios, pulling no punches on subjects from Anna May Wong to re-imagined tech dystopias. The title even hints at modern technology and surveillance — it’s about as subtle as a neon sign. But why does everyone pile on accolades for a poet riding the coattails of popular media critique? Mao relies heavily on the intrepid journey of her imagination, transporting readers to places they either applaud or question. It's a commentary on identity within a multicultural America, causing ripples in the liberal hive mind. If Bernie Sanders had a poetry collection, this might be it.
Take the poem “Resurrection,” a melancholic ode to Wong, the first Chinese-American movie star. Mao details her pain-filled journey through Hollywood, facing stereotypes and discrimination. We get it—Hollywood wasn’t exactly a bastion of equal representation. Yet, do we need another literary device to remind us of the industry’s cracked past? By resurrecting voices from history, the poet almost veers into territory reminiscent of Marxist revivals, as if each word signals a clapback at today’s society.
Mao's poetry dances around technology like a kid who's just discovered TikTok. In “Oculus,” the Ghost of Technology Past whispers through virtual reality environments and social media debates. While spectacular in its originality, is it necessary? Does it contribute to debates or just distract with its neon paint from the massive data-collecting machine? A line here applauds technology's wonders, only to slap it with a metaphorical wet newspaper in the next—creating a love-hate relationship that leaves conservatives shaking their heads in bemusement.
Why should one be lulled into a poetic slumber reading endless verses about future worlds filled with digital dust? It's been done. Even George Orwell might say 'enough already!' The idea of promoting an agenda through thinly veiled metaphors about dystopian futures works only if it presents fresh wisdom, and Oculus barely adds zest to the mix. Instead, it thrives in creating chaotic places where readers flit between thought and vision without really landing anywhere.
But then there's the element of culture, the sacred topic of identity politics. While liberals might get teary-eyed embracing diverse cultural discussions, Mao does so with relentless energy that occasionally feels like preaching to the choir. Yes, cultural identity is important. But does spending an entire book ruminating over such topics move discussions forward for everyone? Or just reinforce echo chambers already filled with loud opinions?
Poetry should provoke thought without sending the reader into a dizzying spiral of overused themes that have become society’s squeaky wheel. Mao's work often treads into topics with feet encased in concrete ideology, rather than attempting to cross the great, albeit widening, cultural divide. Instead of focusing on universal truths that unite, it illuminates familiar divides.
Some praise Oculus for its bravery and originality. Yet, what’s truly daring about crafting narratives that arguably come pre-packed with modern media acclaim? The most you might say about Oculus is that it has succeeded in capturing the attention of a generation teetering on the edge of the digital abyss, but what original insights does it offer to those already swimming in the murky depths?
It's time to pause, reflect, and ask the bigger question: Is Oculus merely an echo of modern social justice dialogues penned in the cadence of a poetic voice? It leaves readers caught somewhere between an eager nod and a skeptical shoulder shrug. Perhaps, Mao succeeds in prompting a critical analysis of our surroundings, but isn’t contemplation without direction merely clearing the path for cultural reminiscing without reason? Why read another collection of poems that saturate the market like a predictable political campaign? The answer to this lays somewhere between the lines, possibly buried by the weight of yet another line wrapped in pretension.
Rest assured, Oculus may not provide the unifying balm that contemporary society desperately needs. It thrives in its own domain, a landscape shaped by the author’s unique perceptions and avant-garde flair. Whether that makes it groundbreaking art—or just artful pandering—depends on your outlook. Conservatives may skim through, raising their eyebrows but finding little that's truly new or bridge-building.