You know when you read something and think, ‘damn, I wish I’d written that’? Well, that’s how I feel about Burnt Ice Cream by Candi Martin.
I loved this collection of poetry. In fact, it feels like I can’t review it properly because it resonated so deeply. I’m not biased. I’ve never met Candi Martin and, to my shame, I hadn’t heard of her work until my editor forwarded the details of this book. But it’s hard to separate your worldview from your reading. Maybe that’s why I jumped on this one, because it appeared to be firmly in my wheelhouse.
The poems in this collection are informed by the author’s own life and those of the people she has worked with in pastoral and teaching roles across education, health and social care. I’ve written about the themes that tie this book together before: social inclusion, access to opportunity, cultural capital. My first two novels, The Raven Wheel and Strong Stuff, are both fairly angry books.
My third has languished – complete but suffering with major self-esteem issues – for two years, primarily because I’m paralysed with indecision over whether or not it should see the light of day. It’s another attempt at gritty social realism, and I’m honestly not sure whether people want to read that because the world is already too depressing. But people absolutely will want to read Burnt Ice Cream because it is so much more than kitchen sink drama.
Candi Martin
Not only is this beautifully crafted poetry which speaks to the simmering injustices that tear the fabric of society apart, it is also life-affirming and soul-lifting. Alongside the rage, there is so much love. I read this book on a train journey from Sheffield to Stoke and, by the time I arrived, I was in bits. It’s important to note, however, that I wasn’t in need of scooping up off the floor because I was devastated. I was emotional because I honestly couldn’t remember feeling so connected to a book in such a positive way.
With the medication I’m on, making me cry is no mean feat. But even my stone-cold zombie heart zapped into life thanks to the pulse of celebration running through this collection. Celebration of women, of motherhood, of nature, of resistance, of rage and of love. Lancashire Parkin, Magick Bun, Protection and Last Day at School are the final poems in this collection and bloody hell, Candi, I stood no chance of getting off that train in anything like approaching one piece.
I will give my review copy of Burnt Ice Cream to a local library because it needs to be shared, but I will also buy a replacement copy because I need it in my life. I urge you all to do the same. It doesn’t matter whether, like me, you descend from Lancashire Witches, just ‘Carry it all with you, kids. / Pass it down.’
Burnt Ice Cream, published by Written Off Publishing, is available to buy. For more information, click here.
