Emma Neale’s poetry collection Liar, Liar, Lick, Spit explores the multifaceted nature of deception, from childhood fibs to societal falsehoods. Drawing inspiration from Joseph Brodsky’s assertion that “the real history of consciousness starts with one’s first lie,” Neale’s poems delve into the lies we tell, the truths we obscure, and the fractures these create within us. The title, echoing a playground rhyme, introduces a playful tone that contrasts with the collection’s deeper exploration of truth, identity, and justice.
Neale weaves childhood memories of her earliest deceptions with a broader commentary on human duplicity. In Like girls were hot soft scones, she reflects on religious teachings that burden girls with inherited shame, challenging these beliefs with the curiosity of a child who reimagines creation using playdough figures. Such poems highlight Neale’s ability to use vivid imagery to critique societal structures while preserving the wonder and confusion of youth.
This empathy extends to her portrayal of children navigating the complexities of truth and lies. Neale captures the inner turmoil of lying children, who wrestle with emotions too colossal for their understanding. Similarly, she examines adults’ lies to or about children, as in Terribly involved, where a nurse’s euphemism cloaks a harsh reality about a neglected baby. These moments reveal Neale’s compassionate lens, as she considers lying not as moral failure but as a mechanism of survival or self-preservation.
Neale’s language is deeply textured, often inventive, and striking. She employs compound adjectives like “wasp-kissed,” crafting imagery that is both fresh and evocative. In some instances, her baroque diction risks overwhelming the narrative, but at its best, it enriches the poems with sensory depth. In The moth-eyed Steeplechase horse, for example, her lyrical phrasing captures the tension between human fragility and the enduring power of nature.
The collection also tackles weightier themes, such as gender-based violence and systemic injustice. In My Blank Camouflage, Neale reflects on an experience of sexual violence, asserting the survivor’s power through naming and witnessing, even when language feels insufficient.
Neale’s poems invite readers to embrace the complexity of human experience, blending humor, vulnerability, and sharp critique. Liar, Liar, Lick, Spit is a masterful exploration of deception and truth, offering a tender yet incisive examination of our shared imperfections. With her empathetic intelligence, Neale reminds us that understanding lies—both others’ and our own—can lead to profound insight and healing.
Reviewer: Chris Reed
Otago University Press