A Review of Ravyne Hawke’s Best Stories
She’s new to me but I’m getting to know her with every word read.
Ravyne first came to my attention when her review of my cosseted stories appeared in my notifications queue. I wish I’d stumbled across her work sooner. She has a dark streak which I favour.
Pondering My Womb punched me exactly there, in the redundant space where mine still is but I’ve not had any use for since my one (and only child) was born. An NHS consultant advised me against a hysterectomy as it was a major and unnecessary operation. He could end my childbearing years at the age of forty-two with a few procedures.
In my mid-twenties, my body had demanded I have a child, and both my mind and my heart responded with a longing for someone who would always be part of me. I later came to dream of and then attained parts of the lifestyle Ravyne chose.
Her poem expresses, with great eloquence, her choice of not becoming a mother twice, which enabled her to pursue the life she wanted. I am angry. Societal programming meant she and many women are forced to feel shame because they are going against what is expected of them.
This skilled writer also reveals, in her commentary, the possibility of bearing a child was ended to save her life. The kick in the gut came for me because, unlike me, she didn’t rejoice at the lack of what supposedly makes a woman a woman. She felt a longing for her losses which crept into the last few lines.
Ravyne’s first curation winning poem, The Mourning of You, grabbed my attention from the first line and held me enthralled by the story she wove expertly. Her and her family’s loss must have been devastating at the time and the mourning, I can only imagine, will last a lifetime.
The lightness in Ravyne’s third poem is in stark contrast to the loss and pain she created in her second. This Haiku/Senryu Haibun Compilation felt like I was with her and her friend, on that warm summer’s day on the bank of the slow-moving river. A friendship spanning many years from carefree to burdened, they take the day to reminisce. They don’t know when they’ll meet again. Put me in mind of my friends and the distance between us.
Moving onto Ravyne’s microfiction brought a deliciously dark treat of suspense, demons, and death. I appreciate her skilled storytelling and superb endings.
Ravyne’s early physical development brought unwanted attention from older boys, and even men, who thought it would be okay to draw further attention to her discomfort. She hated her twelve-year-old womanly body.
That boys and men thought they had the right to make a girl’s life a nightmare, even for her sister’s boyfriend to molest her, because of her breasts and curves is unconscionable.
Her extreme hatred of her body continued with boys at school teasing her at the age of fourteen. Her love of her mother’s cooking was both a pleasure and a curse.
Years of binging and purging ensued for ten years causing terrible damage to her insides. Extreme exercise regimes and an addiction to sex also raised their ugly heads.
The bulimia had to stop but her sneaky addiction gene found another option; binge eating then fasting. But she still hated her body and chose to hide it under the guise of a Goth. Her attitude being; if invisibility wasn’t possible, she’d be outrageous!
Thirty years later, this incredibly honest writer has come to terms, thanks to therapy and mindfulness, with her body dysmorphic disorder. She has a healthy relationship with food. She is now able to help herself change her negative perspectives into positives, should they raise their despicable heads again.
Ravyne’s second personal essay on mental health is light worlds away from the first. Her mocking of too much joy which is as likely as too much depression to put her back in the hospital, is tempered by her final sentence. I’ll let you, dear reader, find out what it is for yourself.
I’ve long been curious about drugs other than booze and marijuana. I’m not much of a conspiracy theorist either, but I do believe that our governments prefer us drunk or hungover so they can better control us. The UK PM opening pubs recently, and ill-advisedly, being a prime example. Ravyne’s article has made my mind up to take my son’s offer of being with me when I try them out.
I think Ravyne chose her last two favourites well. They are feelgood and magical. Although some people don’t believe there is technically such a thing as an empath only people who are empathetic, surely someone who can see and feel people’s auras must be a magical being. I believe in magic and Ravyne Hawke.
The words I’ve read and reviewed have opened up new experiences, battles won against the darkness, and revealed a natural-born storyteller.
I’m horrified by what this, now strong woman, has done to herself over her lifetime. Yet, I am equally admiring of her learning and changing, to heal herself, and sharing her knowledge with us.
She put those little shits of boys and men in their boxes and now, by acknowledging their existence, they are not permitted to interfere with her hard-won acceptance. Acceptance of herself and her precious life and beautiful, dark way with words.
Ravyne, your words are powerful and artful. I am honoured for you to have found me and reviewed my favourite work.
I value getting to know you through your magical poetry, fabulous fiction, heartbreaking personal essays, and illuminating articles.
Karen Madej is an English language coach and writer. She’d very much like to change the way the world works because it is broken after centuries of being plundered by hetero-patriarchs.