reviews

For full enjoyment of John Dempsey�s Steps to the Madhouse, a reader needs a solid evening ahead, with one�s ingestible vice of choice close by -- because while the cover is elegant and simple, Dempsey�s work is decidedly not. Instead, it is ornate and gritty and sometimes too real. Not much of the author�s mania for madness is omitted. At 169 pages, this book is a unique test of mental strength.

The title is quite apt, conveying a neurotic�s descent into the underworld, while revealing a prurient fascination with weirdness, delusion and paranoia. Dempsey�s skill lies in the
immediacy of his characters and an effective use of end-words in a lot of his poems, a contrast to his rather brusque attitude towards clear expression. By comparison, �Amsterdam Notes� stands out for its sense of control. This work is a distinctly unrestrained, even compulsive act of exorcism.

Dempsey fashions a noir-ish narrative and mood that is ably served by the rawness of his style. In poem after poem, the author continually re-examines the issues that drive this work, and admirably demonstrates a wicked nonchalance with the conventional tenets of poetry, preferring to strike out
on his own. This work is a clear message from a writer willing to disregard the rules.

Steps to the Madhouse is a casual revelation of life�s folly. Any reader would hesitate before crossing the threshold and stepping into this particular insanity.

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Steps to the Madhouse
Reviewed by Eva Almeida - ebook-reviews.net

I hear that voice in my head.

"Yo, Kristi, you need to do an objective, unbiased review of Mr. Dempsey's book. You want your zine to be deemed professional, right?"

"Oh, suuuuure."

"Well, quit salivating like a fool, get your lips off his ass, and say something meaningful and intelligent."

"Okay. Mr. Dempsey is a poetic god."

"Smartass."

"Yup."

And so begins my review of Steps to the Madhouse by John Dempsey. I am reading the book as I write this, bouncing back and forth between the two. Did I have any expectations when I dove into his poetry? Of course I did. Everyone does. If they say they don't, trust me, they're full of shit. Well, I was not let down. I expected to be knocked on my ass by the raw intensity of his words, to have my jaw hang open in wonder, say to myself, "What the fuck?? Why can't I write like this??"

Let me forewarn you though. If you have even half and ounce of pretension in your body, do not purchase this book. Hell, don't even bother with the rest of this review. You'll just think me a fucked-up deluded sycophant anyways. (Hmm, I like that. Has a good ring to it.) But then, aren't we all at some point? Ok, let's see, who else would this offend...Oh yeah, all you feminists, humorless morons, trust-fund babies, diva poets and all around elitist jack-offs should piss off right about now and go suckle on the tit of boring, overblown "real poetry" and drink it's cold, spoilt milk. Okay, I digress.

Back to Mr. Demspey. You can tell while reading his poems that he has been rejected many times. I know why, but still I'm confounded. I'm sure a lot of people can't handle his manic intensity. I, myself, am dizzy and drunk on his words. Ah, beautiful. I am thrilled to be promoting his book here. I've only bought two books of poetry in my life, Charles Bukowski's "Love is a Dog From Hell," and this. Right now it's only available in PDF format, but Mr. Dempsey assures me he is working hard on getting it published in actual, physical book form. Which, for someone as old-school as me, is an event I look forward to.

Mr. Dempsey brings to mind a younger, coked-up, fucked-up (fucked-up in what sense is debabtable and up to you, dear reader, to figure out) Bukowski. He's wordier than Buk, but it is an asset not an hindrance. He has an obvious love affair with parentheses and uses them to great affect. These little nuggets give it that extra oomph, you can just hear him whisper them in your ear or screaming them if you're slow and not quite getting the picure.

As I read his book, I remember all the shit I should be doing, important shit, but I can't seem to take my eyes away. It's all frantic and I find my heart racing, my mind zooming like a meth-head, or paranoid like a pot-head, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Damn, he's good.

All right, I have just finished the book, and my mind is just swimming. I know my muse is just itching to get writing. Good poetry will do that to it everytime. Damn, I will be reading this book over and over again, and when it comes out in hardcover, I'll be buying that, also.

So all in all, this is an excellent collection of writings. And yeah, I'm biased and unobjective, but hey, this is my zine, right? If you've made it this far into the review you either already know Mr. Dempsey's work and nodding your head in agreement, or you are simply humoring me. Either way, I recommend buying this book. It's the best $5.99 I ever spent. Bar fucking none.

(c) Kristi Swadley 2003

Steps to the Madhouse
Reviewed by Kristi Swadley - Lil's Experimental Zine