I have never reviewed poetry on Dystopic. I must admit, I feel slightly ill-equipped to do so – I don’t think I’ve written about a poem in a critical sense since university, and I graduated over a decade ago – but when Richard Doyle introduced me to his pamphlet of science and science fiction themed poetry, I was immediately intrigued. And with the compelling title The death of the sentence, I knew Doyle had to be the first poet to feature on my humble blog.

The pamphlet contains twenty poems, many of which are saturated in Doyle’s creative anguish. The arduous process of editing, the torment of writer’s block, the desperation for success, the sheer exhaustion of self-motivation – any creators reading this pamphlet will feel the palpable agony that comes off the page when Doyle writes about his struggles, particularly with, ‘The novel I could never write’.

The internal turmoil demonstrated within this particular poem is an all too familiar one for me, as he writes, ‘All I have is the germ of a concept. The merest speck.’ The torture of trying to squeeze more out of an idea that isn’t working is almost knowingly self-destructive, as is the inability to let go of it – even once you know it won’t go anywhere. The poem ends defeated and pained, ‘And so, inevitably, my thoughts start to tumble upon themselves.’ The memories of my own failed projects returned sharply when reading this, and although I felt comforted not to be alone in this pain, I was also reminded that I will put myself through this again. And again. And again. Oh, the joys of being a writer.

‘How to unwrite your novel’ is a reassuring, simple and rousing piece on the necessities of strict editing. The opening two lines, ‘Start with an opening sentence. Demolish it.’, were liberating to read, signifying the joy that can be had when you work up the courage to kill your darlings. Also, the inevitability of stomping on something you once believed was perfect is surprisingly cathartic. Pride has no place in editing.

Similarly, the final poem of the pamphlet, ‘The sentence falls into a black hole’ is a beautifully written piece about the destruction of words, and its first line gives the pamphlet its namesake, ‘I give you the death of the sentence, witness its falling, vanishing to the point of destruction.’ In his poems that are centred around the writing process, Doyle still weaves elements of science fiction into them, with lines such as, ‘dream of the sentence shining and collapsing into the maw of the black hole.’ I love the idea of imagination being represented with physicality as a star, it seems so fitting.

But there are also poems in the collection that are solely science fiction in theme. For instance, ‘Space Hum XVII’, which was a particular favourite of mine. It contained what I personally believe to be the best lines of the entire pamphlet:

‘untie the tangled light-
years, tremble as they fall
scatter dust behind you’.

‘Pushbike Passion’ is another captivating sci-fi piece, mesmerising for its minimalistic style and entrancing rhythm that reminded me of Hemingway. And of course ‘The Dystopia Factory’, a glorious piece on interstellar battlegrounds (and may I add, a title I wish I had created myself).

This thoughtful, delicate (and occasionally traumatising) pamphlet was deeply introspective yet wonderfully unintimidating for my first poetry review. Simple in style yet steeped in emotion, I recommend The death of the sentence for poetry newbs and aficionados alike. It was a little inconsistent thematically, and I found myself bouncing between certain poems when I reread it as the order didn’t quite flow for me, but it is definitely a collection I will be returning to. Really looking forward to seeing what Doyle writes next – whether he sets it in the stars or at the writing desk.

You can buy The death of the sentence now on many different platforms as an ebook. For updates on Richard Doyle’s future works, find him on Goodreads.

A collection of experimental writing.

Given that The death of the sentence is only a few pages long, Richard Doyle packs an enormous amount into this collection. Featuring both poetry and prose the reader can dip in and find much to ponder.

My favourite piece was My novel as it made me think about the books I’ve read and to see if I could think of a work to fit each of Richard Doyle’s categories so that reading The death of the sentence became an interactive experience.

Richard Doyle’s writing techniques are fascinating. His use of repetition in alive, for example, creates a feeling of history repeating itself whilst providing an oxymoronic intimate distance between the two voices. So much of what is written can be interpreted on many levels giving the reader cause to think. Pushbike Passion may well have a literal sense with a bicycle tyre puncture, but the impression of emotional hurt, possibly even of religious iconography, gives many layers to appreciate and this is true of the pieces across the collection.

Underpinning all the writing in The death of the sentence is a sensation of unfulfilled desire and ambition that I think would resonate with any aspiring writer as well as with readers. It is as if Richard Doyle feels he has not achieved his potential. Add in the many literary references, with images of the galaxies and nature, and there is a profound sense of the universal insignificance of humankind that I found affecting and thought provoking.

I am aware that my comments are very much my own personal responses to The death of the sentence and I think this is what makes it work so well. Richard Doyle’s writing is obviously personal to him but it affords the reader an opportunity to consider their own life and their role in the world. I found The death of the sentence very interesting.

The torment of writing

In this pamphlet Doyle negotiates the problematic process of writing. As a poet, I relate to the challenge of making marks on a blank page — as he explores potential themes for a novel, material for prose and found poems.

As the title suggests, punctuation seems out of reach, playing fast and loose with first drafts. The final poem, ‘The sentence falls into a black hole’, leaves the reader grasping for shape and sense as it ends:

and we are left
with nothing but our mem-

The collection is quirky, each page offering a different slant. In ‘The poem that brought me hope’ the reader encounters images of positivity: the word ‘shine’ is repeated throughout. Doyle commands the poem to ‘be bold. Be courageous. Topple your enemies with your passion. Spread peace with your presence.’ There’s a sense of progress…

Only for that to be dashed in ‘The only novel I could ever write’. The narrator writes ‘by stealth / In stolen moments’ referring to ‘a book of fragments, episodes, anecdotes, jottings, / ramblings, scramblings’. Which of us hasn’t got notebooks and files filled with these very things? Waiting for an idea to crystallise?

In ‘the sound of one poet wrestling’, images of the struggle to write creatively are rhythmic and traumatic:

sumo, clouds fading
zoom, a chasm, a schism

Its lovely end line — ‘a crown of jasmine blossom’ — suggests a goal achieved, writing success.

Doyle refers to Louis MacNeice’s poem ‘Snow’ in ‘At the ‘Snow and Roses’’. The would-be poet enters a bookshop. He finds solace in a sonnet and stimulus in sound, poetry texts and the colours of pink and white. There’s a beautiful list of objects, including ‘wind chimes and starcharts, jars of gobstoppers and mint humbugs’ and ending with ‘snowglobes of the bookshop’:

I pick one up and
shake it to see myself walking in through the door.

Perhaps now there’s a chance of some inspiration, some success?

The poems dart from the experience of half starts and almost completed self-expression to failure, the killing of darlings and frustration. There’s an eloquent sense of pain, problems with motivation, writer’s block: the all too familiar torment of writing.