Milk And Honey Rupi Kaur Analysis

[Gordon Neal]

AnthonyDoerr's All the Light We Cannot See is a sweeping, sensory story of two young people in very different places during World War II. Its many layers make for prime book club discussion--and if that time period appeals to club readers, there is no shortage of excellent novels that explore this subject.

The Nightingale is a long novel, but its fast pace will make readers page furiously through to the end. Kristin Hannah tells the story of two French sisters struggling through the Nazi occupation in very different ways. The challenges they face, the hard choices they have to make, and their relationship as both sisters and friends will prove excellent fodder for book club talk.

Kate Atkinson's Life After Life is not strictly a World War II novel; it tells the story of Ursula, a woman who lives her life on repeat. Continually dying and being reborn in the English countryside on February 11, 1910, Ursula lives each life slightly differently: she dies at birth; she drowns as a child; she lives to shoot Hitler. Though her lives vary, she is repeatedly thrown back into London during the Luftwaffe bombings--and Atkinson's depictions of the horrors of this terrifying time of the war are as powerful as any nonfiction account of the Blitz. The touch of science fiction here promises to make a discussion of the time period all the more interesting.

For those seeking a complement to the European focus of the majority of World War II novels, The Gods of Heavenly Punishment offers a story of the Pacific theater, set in Tokyo before and after the firebombing of the city in 1945. Jennifer Cody Epstein's ability to move between the large details of history and the very mundane details of everyday life in a war-stricken land bring this story to life in an incredible way. --Kerry McHugh, blogger at Entomology of a Bookworm

Rupi Kaur's milk and honey is a collection of prose and poetry that explores themes of silence, abuse, womanhood, family, connections and personal power. Kaur divides the work into four sections--hurting, loving, breaking, and healing--that mirror the poet's growth. In the section "the hurting," Kaur explores the idea of otherness within oneself, how one cannot be at home in one's own body and how so many experiences affirm that to be a woman is undesirable and alien. Her trauma related to alcoholic family members, abuse and rape shape the poet's fraught psyche, leaving a sense of insecurity and confusion that permeates every page. This confusion is directed both toward understanding her place in the world as an individual and her relationships with others.

One of Kaur's overarching themes is the act of silencing women, which furthers a woman's sense of otherness. In childhood the poet witnesses her father "shov[ing] the word hush/ between her [mother's] lips" and shaming her into silence when she tries to speak at the dinner table. These acts of almost casual abuse teach the poet that women are not allowed to have voices unless granted by others. In the poem titled "the idea of shrinking is hereditary" she struggles to realize her own self-worth:

While deeply personal, Kaur's words have a larger affect on her audience. She confronts taboos and questions figures of authority through the juxtaposition of domestic scenes and of abuse, rendered in both word and line drawings. Acting as a witness, she questions the relationships she observes and participates in within a home environment, including that of her parents:

Even in the sections "the loving" and "the breaking," Kaur is not yet secure in herself. The poet continues to struggle to find her own worth and looks to others to give her power. In "the loving," she is consumed by love, or what she thinks is love, with an unnamed lover:

In this, her lover tries to suppress her identity, leading to the next section, "the breaking," where she struggles to reclaim herself. This is where readers begin to see Kaur's strength. While all of her poems come from a place of vulnerability, in these last sections her words begin to feel sublime, impressing upon readers a sense of power, even as she shares moments of feeling powerless.

Throughout milk and honey, each poem captures a moment that reveals common experience. While not often discussed openly, many of the issues she brings into focus speak to greater cultural and societal problems. Events she shares, including instances of rape, are considered shameful and are not openly discussed even among friends. She engages with the truth of her experiences, and it is not pleasant or pretty. In calling out her own past, Kaur breaks the restrictions placed on her by everyone who tells women to be silent, and she empowers others to do the same.

Her poems remind women of their personal power, not given by others but innately possessed. In this way, the prose and poetry in this collection often feel like a call to action, a plea for self-acceptance directed toward women. She celebrates women and womanhood, and shows how being a woman can be strength, something she did not recognize early in her life.

you tell me

i am not like most girls

and learn to kiss me with your eyes closed

something about the phrase--something about

how i have to be unlike the women

i call sisters in order to be wanted

makes me want to spit your tongue out

like i am supposed to be proud you picked me

as if i should be relieved you think

i am better than them

Her words create a sense of communal and global kinship. Experiencing these pieces in consecutive order, readers see the poet processing trauma and moving through significant growth. Her themes evolve, gradually reaching toward empowerment and trust in self. To read this collection is to go through hardship, and find healing on the other side. But healing is not a destination; Kaur reveals healing to be an ongoing process that has no end and requires constant practice. She shows us that true healing requires a love of self and the confidence to speak up and speak out. --Justus Joseph

When Rupi Kaur was five, her mother handed her a paintbrush and said, "Draw your heart out." She views her life as an exploration of that artistic journey. Through her poetry and illustrations she engages with love, loss, trauma, healing and femininity. For Kaur, writing has always been a collective experience. At the age of 17 she began sharing her work. The stage was her first love and spoken word is where she found her voice. Kaur pursued her love for language by studying rhetoric at the University of Waterloo in Ontario, Canada. She began working on her first collection, milk and honey (Andrews McMeel), which became a New York Times bestseller and has 400,000 copies in print. Kaur's passion is expression, and for her that takes many forms. Her photography and art direction are brought to various spaces around the world and her poetry and prose are breaking international boundaries.

Much of your work comes from a place of love, yet you are not afraid to engage with anger. What purpose does anger serve in your creative process? And what happens to anger when you choose to be vulnerable?

I realized very early that I had to engage with my anger. Some of the earliest work I put into the world was very visceral. Once I began writing, all the emotions came. I learned about them and myself. Each emotion impacts you differently. I learned anger is real and I needed to engage with that anger if I wanted to engage with love.

Anger is also scary. When I am writing on anger, it is difficult to come back sometimes. So I talk with myself. I reason that life, love and relationships are so multi-dimensional. For me to write honestly about each, I cannot pretend that it's all fairytales and rainbows. There is anger. There is resentment. There is bitterness. That's the reality and that's what I want to show.

When I engage with anger, what's beautiful is I eventually reach a resolution. That's what happens when I choose to be vulnerable with my emotions. It changes into something, whether it is kindness, forgiveness--whatever. However, to arrive at this point, I have to go through my process of understanding.

The domestic scenes you describe in many of your poems confront and explore a generational cycle of silence women inherit and the harm it causes. Can you tell us more about how you came to identify such moments and what inspired you to write about it?

Silence is powerful. Figuring out the reason for silence is sometimes even more so. For so much of her existence, my mother and many like her have been told that what they have to say does not have meaning--it is not important, they are not important. There are so many different people and situations that have come and said these words to her. They and their voices are subdued.

I'm very observant. Even as a child, I analyzed and watched women and men in my life behave in certain ways with each other. After some time, you notice patterns. Why do these things keep happening? Why does my mother choose to stay silent when I know every part of her wants to shout? As I began to write, I began to explore this silence.

I'm the type to bury pain somewhere really deep inside, a place I've never ventured, and keep it there. Hidden. After the burial I go and bury myself in my work. Writing the book was facing the pain. Disregarding is not healing. You have to explore to heal, I think. I've had to forgive myself for being too hard on myself. After I wrote milk and honey I very much felt "healed." I thought I'd reached the destination. The purpose of milk and honey--to heal me--was complete. In the months that followed, when I was relentlessly triggered, there was a huge learning experience. Healing isn't a destination--it's something I have to consistently work on. This journey allowed me to forgive myself for so much. I'm learning to be my own best friend. Change the language I speak to myself. Understand why I think the things I do when I look at myself. I truly believe that I am the revolution I need. The belief that I am the most powerful thing in my life--that with my mind I can bring any change to my life. I'm practicing mindfulness and being grateful. It takes you to a balanced place where healing lives.

3a8082e126