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The Plays You Hope to Make

Lavinia Moves to New York by Christine Stoddard
Underground Voices, 2017

 

Christine Stoddard’s chapbook Lavinia Moves to New York is an interesting study in race, identity, and performance. In the opening poem, “The Theatre Department,” the idea of performance, roles, and costuming is laid in naturally and effectively. On a first read, it feels literal or simple, like listening to someone tell a story as they recall it. On a second read, it becomes clear that this is an integral and complicated part of the overall text, establishing the focus on how race, gender, and place of origin can leave people feeling typecast in their own lives.

Stoddard captures genuine emotion by examining the struggles and frustrations that come from not “looking the part.” In the opening poem, Stoddard writes, “You read scripts and fall in love with characters not written for you,” demonstrating a passion for theatre as well as a feeling of alienation from the key figures in that world. These two drives run through the chapbook, creating an arc that runs like a kind of Bildungsroman, the central character initially wanting to find herself and feel successful in her quest for self-expression. As she moves on though, she comes to recognize the complicated nature of her dreams and her approach to art.

Stoddard astutely uses the second person to bring in emotion without seeming disposably confessional. In “One Suitcase,” lines like “These plays never have any black characters / except for the occasional Mammy or Uncle Tom. / These are not the plays you hope to make” give readers a sense of disappointment but also push them to engage on a cerebral level. These lines effectively capitalize on the operating metaphor of performance, both seeing the way that limiting roles impacts the theatre and considering the impact of these restrictions on careers and creative outlets. This kind of density demonstrates a level of craftsmanship that’s hard to achieve but easy to appreciate.

The serious subject matter is effectively broken up with self-effacing humor. In the poem “Apartment Hunting,” we see a snippet of conversation that captures the awkwardness and tension that create nervous but enjoyable laughter: “Lavinia,’ said Theo one morning while lighting a joint, / ‘It’s been nice, but you have to find an apartment. / Craigslist that shit, girl. It’s not that sketch.” The spare but immediate description and strong voice give a sense of both humor and place, letting readers enjoy the lines and enter into the world that Stoddard captures. This is not just a transcription; it is a reflection.

There’s a good deal to admire about the chapbook. From the deft incorporation of humor to the thoughtful use of the intersections between theater, racial dynamics, and gender assumptions, Stoddard rewards readers in both subtle and direct ways. It’s a chapbook that pleases readers on a casual perusal and upon a deeper examination.

 

Zeke Jarvis is an associate professor at Eureka College. His work has appeared in PositMoon City Review, and Thrice Fiction. His books include So Anyway…, In A Family Way, and the forthcoming Lifelong Learning.

 

Issue 10 >