A Book of Smalls

Elizabeth St. Jacques is a writer and poet living in Sault Ste. Marie,
Ontario.

This is indeed a book of smalls, with pieces that range from a mere one
sentence to three-and-a-half pages in length. While the author calls
these miniature presentations “pieces,” they might also be described
as prose poetry. Whatever classification one cares to apply, one thing
is certain: these 82 gems will leave you reflecting.

The book opens strongly, with a half-page piece in which the author
appeals for some small sign of recognition in a bustling city crowd. In
a straightforward style, the terse sentences of her subdued plea
emphasize the lack of individual importance, and surely speak on behalf
of most readers.

“See—That’s Me” also prepares the stage for a wide range of
painful, joyful, and humorous observations easily overlooked but for the
acute, searching eye. There is a Zen quality to this author’s work
that complements the theme, as she highlights the more meaningful side
of the humblest of the humble, and often surprises us with the freshness
and depth of her compassion. Take, for example, “College Street”:
“I mourned, I did not mourn. I was appalled by a sodden broken box as
though it were an animal struck by a car.” Boyington holds her
audience by making liberal use of similes, metaphors, imagery, and
symbolism, and by keeping sentences short. Consequently, the reader
feels quite at home here, as if the author were speaking directly to him
or her.

While there are some truly beautiful insights—some moving you to
tears—others can horrify or leave you groaning. I much preferred the
more tender offerings, such as “Mr. X Was Alone, Thinking,” which
vividly describes the torment of loneliness, and the humorous and
satirical pieces, for which Boyington has a special talent (for a
howlingly good laugh, be sure to read “The Man in the Horrible
Shirt”).

Yes, a book of smalls, but only in size; inside are little whirlwinds
that draw you into their inner eye and hold you there for a long time.