The Spellbook of Fruits and Flowers by Christine Butterworth-McDermott
Reviewed by Izzy Astuto
Fomite Press, 2023
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In her luscious fourth poetry collection, The Spellbook of Fruits and Flowers, Christine Butterworth-McDermott explores her past and current relationships through the lens of different flora and fruits. The book delves into the symbolism behind these beautiful objects, demonstrating the darker side of a blossom as innocent as jasmine.
One of the most common fruits used for its imagery, the pomegranate, appears in the first poem of the collection, titled “I Hear You’re Sick of Pomegranates.” Perhaps the pomegranate’s inclusion at this stage, as well as the poem’s tongue in cheek title, is a sign of adolescence, signifying how typical it would be to compare a first love to a fruit as symbolically rich as the pomegranate. The tone, too, is accusatory and rough, saying, “You know that—even as you use / such empty words as tiresome, familiar, / predictable. You know that you would take / the fruit greedily, piece by piece, / and devour it, / if it were only offered by some soft hand.” Page by page, the speaker’s maturity increases, learning and adapting with each rotten fruit and wilted flower. By the final poem, Butterworth-McDermott’s reflections on her life and symbols have visibly ripened since the start, and it’s fascinating to watch her growth in this text.
One of Butterworth-McDermott’s strongest poetic skills is utilizing unique formatting to add an extra layer of storytelling to each piece. Many of the poems feel like spells (appropriate with the title) or chants of sorts. This may be seen the most in “Rue (The Thoughts of One Ophelia),” an ode to Hamlet’s tragic lover. The speaker’s perspective is up for interpretation. “God of Gods, you unmake me / every day I have been on / my knees and praying.” Readers are left to decide for ourselves whether this is written from our narrator, portrayed as Ophelia, or Ophelia herself. The syncopated words imitate the cries of Hamlet’s lead bereaved woman, driven to madness by her lover’s denial. The speaker, as well, mourns a lover who, though unkind, she had devoted herself to like some god.
In “In The Orangery” Butterworth-McDermott’s delicate wording paired with the simple slashes between lines mirror the act of peeling an orange. With lines like, “to be cloaked in rind / skin over skin over pulp / aching, aching / for the slow / sticky / peel back / honeyfed,” I feel myself taking time with each phrase while reading, being careful to not break the orange peel. Additions like “honeyfed” create a lyricality in the verses that otherwise would not exist, forming a world not entirely our own, almost dreamlike, for the poems to exist in.
Each poem in The Spellbook of Fruits and Flowers transports readers into the middle of one of the speaker’s tumultuous relationships. In “The Crabapple in the Hollow” we watch as the speaker is tossed aside, like the titular crabapple, left to rot and mold over years of decay. She is mocked later for ever believing in the romance. “While I was sleeping, he brought his friends and danced / on my grave, spilling wine until the ground was soaked. / My bones were thirsty, so they drank…” Her betrayals are framed like fables here, a book of warnings to dissuade others from falling into the same traps.
“Ungardening” feels similar, as the speaker disassociates from herself to escape the burdens of womanhood; namely in this piece, her period. Throughout the piece we experience the speaker struggle with her internal turmoils and her pain feels almost visceral. She writes, “…how wonderful / it would be to become scentless, singular / in a vase of Lucite, only appearing / to be water. How wonderful / to remain untouched, no specks / of red staining my white dress.”
Time and time again, a coping mechanism that feels almost second nature for her is dehumanization to escape the struggles of human life and connection. Life as these inanimate objects may not be for most, but we watch the speaker pushed again and again into their positions, such as in “Carp.” Detailing the lotus seeds’ long lifespans, the speaker takes on their fate, swimming “in the muddy water of dark / attachment, pool in want and need.” When poisoned by the trials of messy relationships, slipping into the headspace of a beautiful, untainted bud has its charms.
By the end of the book, this approach of turning into intimate objects is juxtaposed with poems that read more as anecdotes of contemporary daily life. Now, instead of becoming the titular fruit and flowers, the speaker instead gets to experience them. Instead of shrinking herself down into a pretty ornament, the speaker is able to take up enough space in her own life to just exist, no metaphors attached. No longer are the pieces whispered tales over the fire or gossip between friends. The language instead becomes more motherly, giving advice after reflecting on her experiences, such as in “After the Vineyard is Lost.” Our narrator doesn’t feel as directly involved in these stories of her life anymore, perfectly demonstrated by the lines:
Oh, my girl,
I give these words back to you
to remember when you think
your heart is breaking.
The final poem of the book, “Texas February, with Yellow Flowers” allows Butterworth-McDermott to finally reap her labor and enjoy its fruits. She recognizes that times can never be perfect— “The unlucky gardenias have turned black. / I know when pruned, their insides / will be brown.” Nonetheless, “After the snowstorm, we eat spice cake.” Nonetheless, “In these winds, / we bend rather than break, wintersweet.”
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Izzy Astuto (he/they) is a writer majoring in Creative Writing at Emerson College, with a specific interest in screenwriting. His work has previously been published by Hearth and Coffin, Sage Cigarettes, and Renesme Literary, amongst others. He currently works as an intern for Sundress Publications, and a reader for journals such as hand picked poetry, PRISM international, and Alien Magazine. You can find more of their work on their website, at https://izzyastuto.weebly.com/. Their Instagram is @izzyastuto2.0 and Twitter is @adivine_tragedy.
ID: Cover of The Spellbook of Fruits and Flowers by Christine Butterworth-McDermott. The cover painting shows a woman holding a peeled fruit in pale hands with a green vine curving towards her.
Psaltery & Lyre 