in which I take myself hostage
Poems by Erik Fuhrer
Art by Kimberly Androlowicz
Spuyten Duyvil Press, 2021
"This book of poems is a horror film. It is a book in which the weird transformations, animate horror, and tender gore of Argento, Cronenberg, and Carpenter receive a horrible rebirth in language. Bodies invaded by flies, walls covered with cockroaches, spores that ache to sicken you proliferate within these pages, squarely sourced in the soil of the everyday. Read this book; insert these poems into your skin."
Co-author of Human Tetris
Sample Art from the Book
"in which I take myself hostage is such a luminescent juxtaposition of the complexities of being a human being, existing in a world filled with mechanics and technology. With pungent, acrid emotions you can feel coming to life from a dark forest floor, Fuhrer’s words, paired with Androlowicz’s deep, enigmatic paintings, elicit feelings of loneliness. This collection of poems is rife with the irony of aching to fit in, and shunning the very concept. “I wonder if I dressed up my depression enough for his taste” Fuhrer deftly explores unique craftsmanship and stunning imagery to open the door to a dark place you’ve not seen before—the human heart."
Author of Skeleton Parade,
and they found a woman’s body
"Erik Fuhrer does this amazing trick where he reflects my deepest and darkest assumptions about the world—effectively validating them—but then makes a slight turn, giving me the will to wish for something more. Something better. And that, when you boil it all down, is exactly what poetry is here for."
The concept of acceptance, of belonging, is a central part of the human condition. Fuhrer and Androlowicz’s journey through competing worlds highlights the possibility of simultaneously desiring this acceptance, and rejecting it at the same time, and the turmoil of sitting between two worlds and not feeling entirely at home in either of them. This collection is a stunning followup to not human enough for the census and will be at home on the shelves of anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t quite work the way they should.
"Bookended by poems titled “marshwound” and “my mind/ squids”, the project oozes a slipperiness that proves in character with its existential distress. On multiple occasions I found myself thinking the narrative-backing-voice could easily have leaped from the distressed pages of a Lovecraft story."