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Review by Robert Wiersema for Quill & Quire

The opening poem, "Night Drive: Elegy," which follows an autumn drive through Winnipeg neighbourhoods and into the narrator's past, sets the mood of the collection - twilit, solitary, and infused with longing. Throughout the book, lovers meet or part or yearn for one another across continents and time. Friends, family, and lovers die. Beyond This Dark House is a valediction, a mapping of the terrain of a life marked in fleeting joy, heartbreak, and change. Many of the poems mirror subject matter familiar from Kay's fiction; the underlying humanity and visceral reality of myth and legend. The volume includes reflections of Arthurian myth, the Orphic cycle, and of numerous other mythologies, humane and unaffected in their treatment. "Guinevere at Almesbury" is an encapsulation of the Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot love triangle and the loss of Camelot told from the solitary perspective of Guinevere, ensconced in a convent. It is a moving approach to a familiar story, similar to Kay's revisionist treatment of the same triangle in The Fionavar Tapestry. Kay is also keenly aware of his reader, and many of the poems play with the relationship between reader and text. Like any good poet, Kay loves language, and his word choices are always appropriate in sound, sense, and feeling.

Review by Tim Pratt for Locus Magazine

Thanks to Locus for allowing us to reproduce this review here. Not only that, but we have a special offer from Locus - 13 issues of Locus for the price of 12 - and the 13th is the one featuring GGK on the cover, with an interview and a review of Lord of Emperors which came out a couple years ago. You can also order just that one if you like. Here's the link, exclusive to Bright Weavers.

Guy Gavriel Kay is best known for his fantasy novels, including trilogy The Fionavar Tapestry and The Sarantine Mosaic duology, but he is also an accomplished poet whose work has appeared in numerous literary journals (though mostly before he began writing fiction). Now, for the first time, a selection of his poems has been collected in book form. In choosing the mostly-unpublished poems that fill this volume, Kay clearly attempted to select pieces that would appeal to readers of his novels, illuminating some of the same motifs and themes that appear in his prose work - notably a preoccupation with the past, and a tendency to ring changes on well-known myths and legends. It's excellent poetry on its own terms, too, however, with no direct connection to his novels.

A streak of melancholy runs throughout many of the poems, as in "Guinivere at Almesbury", in which the newly-widowed wife of King Arthur thinks back on her affair with Lancelot with mixed nostalgia and regret: "We cannot be other than/ we are. I loved two men. A kingdom/ broke for it. Something fell that was a star./ We cannot be other than we are." In "Being Orpheus" the story of Orpheus's descent into the underworld and his subsequent return becomes a metaphor for anyone who cannot help but look back when it would be better to move forward, and "Medea" explores the quietly devastating roots of Medea's later infanticidal tendencies. "Cain: The Stones" concerns the life of the first murderer in the years after his crime, burdened with regrets, trying to care for his children.

"Hades and Kore" is a deceptively simple poem, in which the complex nature of the lord of the underworld is explored through perfectly-chosen images and lyrical phrasing: "Summer is not my season,/ sunlight and water not my elements./ November is my favorite month,/ almost my name." Other poems are less serious, such as the hilarious "At the Death of Pan", which seems to be from the point of view of some supernatural party-planner, faced with the unprecedented task of arranging a funeral for a deity: "There will be royalty so/ it does make sense/ to have a score/ of maidens immolated/ to be on the safe side." "Various Things" depicts a dark, possibly supernatural character "with a propensity for alleyways" in a rare moment of mercy. "Tintagel" describes the crumbling castle in Cornwall, reputedly visited by Merlin, and makes it both the setting for a kiss and a metaphor for time's relentless march.

While many of the poems use the trappings of fantasy, or at least allude to myth and legend, others are mainstream, and no less effective for that. The long opening poem, "Night Drive: An Elegy", is a reminiscence about the speaker's hometown, his father, and the way memory shapes perception; it is exquisitely nuanced, every word chosen with care. "A Narrow Escape" amusingly - but seriously - explores the strange tendency of some writers to spend more time trying to find the right words to describe life than they spend actually living it.

Kay has a true gift for crafting language, and the poems in Beyond this Dark House are the distillate of that gift. If you love his novels, or just love finely crafted poetry, this is a worthwhile read.

Review by Alma A. Hromic for SFSite.com

Guy Gavriel Kay is far better known for his fantasy masterworks than he is for any other aspect of his craft -- and yet it is as a poet that he had made his mark long before he met success as a novelist. Perhaps not enough people knew this, although I venture to guess that many suspected, given the lyricism that pervades his prose. Given that I think that Kay belongs in the first rank of writers of any age and any genre, and given also that I have a guilty secret that I love both reading poetry and writing it myself, I cannot help but giving this slim volume of Kay's poetry a very high score.

Kay's images are translucent, his poetry modern in form and yet with an instinctive and innate classicism which speaks to me. He just happens to paint pictures of places where I too have walked -- Tintagel, for instance -- and vividly invokes my memory of them through the prism of his vision. He writes a poem for J.R.R. Tolkien, and makes me think of the time I made the pilgrimage to Oxford to pay homage to that great man. In prose and now in poetry, Kay has a gift for making something real; reading his poetry is like lifting a seashell to one's ear and hearing the distant echo of the ocean where it was born. He writes of love, of legends, of people he knew, of places lost and rediscovered. These are things familiar to all of us. Our paths may be different but our landmarks, whatever form they may take for any individual person, are very much the same. We read Kay's poems and see ourselves. He may not have written about any one particular crossroad, but we recognise his description of it. He has that gift.

Beyond This Dark House is a book which may not appeal to everyone but it is proof that Kay is so much more than just another writer. He is a poet.

And I will continue to treasure his work.

Painting with Words

Any collection of Canadian SF&F authors is incomplete without mention of Guy Gavriel Kay. Sadly Kay’s new novel is not due out until next spring, but he does have a collection of poetry available. The book, Beyond this Dark House, is only published in Canada. It is available from the Amazon.ca web site and presumably they will ship anywhere. Copies will doubtless also be available from the Torcon dealers’ room.

This is the first poetry collection I have ever reviewed, and I’m not entirely sure that I am competent to do so. I enjoy epic poetry such as Coleridge, and I definitely appreciate a good haiku, but much modern poetry leaves me cold. As for the stuff that gets included in formula fantasy novels, well, the less said the better. Thankfully Kay’s poetry is easily understood, even by a novice like me. It doesn’t often have formal structure and rhyming patterns, but its meaning is generally clear, and frequently haunting.

Much of this, of course, is down to Kay’s skill as a fantasist. There is nothing quite like mythology for bringing the reader out in goosebumps, and poetry seems to be an excellent form for doing this. So many of the poems in the book have mythological themes, sometimes blatant, other times subtle and concealed. One of my favorites from the book is a poem called "Tintagel", which nods its head to the vast depth of Arthurian legend surrounding the location, but acknowledges that the sea was there first, and will be there, still uncaring, long after Arthur is forgotten.

Many other poems are about love: about fleeting moments, about desire, about pain. Poetry is good at this, and again Kay has the talent with words to make his point succinctly and powerfully. Sometimes, of course, the poems are about both, for they treat of Guinevere or Orpheus. In both cases Kay does not judge, but merely asks us to understand. "What else could he have done?" he asks of us about Orpheus, and goes on to illustrate the agony that the bard must have gone through before his fateful glance. For Guinevere he finds reflection, an ocean of regret, but no apology for love.

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I am learning how to live with this.
I thought of dying more than once.
The last time, the night that Arthur died.
Not since. We cannot be other than
we are. I loved two men. A kingdom
broke for it. Something fell that was a star.
We cannot be other than we are.

from "Guinevere at Almesbury"

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Although most of the poems are raw with emotion, Kay is not above an occasional dose of humor. I particularly enjoyed "At the Death of Pan" in which some poor court flunky tries to work out an appropriate ceremony for the funeral of a god. "There are no rules for this," he cries despairingly to his assistant, "Precedent is somewhat limited."

So there we have it: triumph and disaster, tears and laughter, such is the stuff of poetry. But more important is the artist’s command of his tools. Guy Gavriel Kay is a master of words. Enjoy them.

Review for Rambles.net

Guy Gavriel Kay is an internationally acclaimed author, renowned for his fantasy writing. Those who are acquainted with his work will know that his prose is poetic, and that poetry and music feature strongly in all his novels. It therefore comes as no surprise that he should now also prove himself to be an accomplished poet, or that the poems he offers are powerful, beautiful, intelligent and evocative.

The book is divided into five parts, the third part devoted to poems that present many varied aspects of classical mythology in a fresh new light; Orpheus, Medea, Psyche, gods and goddesses inhabit these pages, and Kay's word-craft brings elegant revelation and uncanny comprehension of the world that once was theirs. He writes of the timeless tragedy of the Arthurian legend, and as Guinevere, he emotes such sorrow and duality of love the legend seems to become real. "We cannot be other than/ we are. I loved two men. A kingdom/ broke for it. Something fell that was a star./ We cannot be other than we are." He has an unsettling gift at blending sorrow and joy, beauty and grief -- it is a strong cornerstone within the fiction of his novels, and it surfaces time and again in his poems, both abstract and deeply personal. Even if the reader is not familiar with the myriad of Kay's educated references, the poems breathe in their own right: old, cold marble, mosaic figures and myth brought to life by his stylish and insightful words.

The first poem in the book is titled "Night Drive: Elegy" and is a phenomenally powerful work. Readers feel that they are with the poet, back running through his childhood, now driving in the present, at the poet's side as he acknowledges his memories. The seemingly effortless, narrative freestyle draws one in to this elegy with deceptive casualness, and I was taken aback to find tears blurring my sight halfway through, streaming down my face in empathy. Despite his grief, there is still the beauty of expression of a life lived well in love. "No one/ ever born had hands I'd rather feel/ enclosing mine. Then. Now. The day/ the son we named for him was born."

He travels -- Crete, Cornwall, Wales, Northumbria, Oxfordshire, Croatia, Canada -- and we travel with him, privileged to vicariously experience the Greek dawn, the English rain, the azure Mediterranean and the white spray of the cold sea crashing against Tintagel. We span the seasons he has witnessed, deep midwinter snows, falling autumn leaves, summer haze, the changing quality of the light between the countries. Much of the work in Beyond This Dark House is retrospective, it gives the feeling sometimes of a considered life, carefully wrought memories, yet at intriguing odds with this transient impression is an undeniable blazing vitality and impelling force of reaction to circumstance, situation, person and place. The places are usually associated with his feelings while he lives or visits there -- acquaintances met, an absent friend, a much-missed lover -- which naturally brings a particularly personal nuance to these poems.

Many of the poems in the other sections concern love -- but I hesitate to call them love poems, for fear some prospective reader may dismiss them more lightly than they deserve. These are poems of infinite sensitivity, some sensual and delicately erotic; some portraying the destructive fire and feisty impossibility of relationships; some with dark, edgy undertones. He puts these complex and sometimes difficult emotions under the microscope of authorship, paring down words and exposing the feelings, not just of himself, but the women who have touched his life. He creates still pictures and small scenarios with clarity and precision, and one builds up a picture of the author as a man not easily swayed, but deeply affected when moved by emotion. I find it impossible to quote sparingly from even one of these poems, to do so detracts from the perfection he has made of the whole; there are astounding, exquisite phrases, words of passion and extraordinary tenderness: treat yourself, buy the book and read them in entirety.

I feel sure that Guy Gavriel Kay's fans will buy Beyond This Dark House solely on the strength of their confidence in his proven preceding literary triumphs. For those who do not already know the quality of his work, I enthusiastically encourage anyone with even the remotest inclination toward reading a poem to dip into this book. Once you have opened the cover, I hope you find your emotions under the spell of this master word-crafter, and remain as entranced as I. This book is a gift in which to lose oneself again and again.