Reviewed by: Elise
Page count: 256 Pages
Rating: 4/5 stars
In stock: Yes
“this is the recipe of life
said my mother
as she held me in her arms as I wept
think of those flowers you plant
in the garden each year
they will teach you
that people too
in order to bloom.”
You know when you find a book that you swear was written just for you? Well for me this was Rupi Kaur’s newest collection of poems The Sun and Her Flowers. Despite never having read Kaur’s first collection of poems, Milk and Honey, the book caught my eye right away as I was putting it on the shelf and as I turned it over to briefly read the back cover I knew automatically that it would be coming home with me. The first thing I did when I got home was jump right into it and I didn’t put it down until I had soaked in every last word it had to offer.
The Sun and Her Flowers is divided into five chapters following the journey of a flower wilting, falling, rooting, rising, and finally blooming as Kaur compares this with “the recipe of life” and pairs it with her beautiful illustrations bringing each word alive. This collection of poems is a journey of growth and healing that fills you with hope for new beginnings and finding love and acceptance in yourself.
Kaur does an excellent job capturing your attention with her bold and daring honesty throughout as she explores ideas of self love and hate, body image, heartbreak, feminism, a mothers love, and sexual assault. Often times these can be tough subjects to dive into but by the end of the book Kaur still manages to leave you with a sense of pride and hope for the future and all that it could be.
I would highly recommend this book if you are looking for a quick read that despite being disguised as a possibly light and fluffy book about flowers is full of deep and meaningful insight on heartbreak, growing up, and the way the world works. Rupi Kaur’s The Sun and Her Flowers has much to offer its readers and will not disappoint.
“the year is done. I spread the past three hundred
sixty-five days before me on the living room carpet.
here is the month i decided to shed everything not
deeply committed to my dreams. the day i refused to be
a victim of self-pity. here is the week i slept in the
garden. the spring i wrung the self-doubt by its neck.
hung your kindness up. took down the calendar. the
week i danced so hard my heart learned to float above
water again. the summer i unscrewed all the mirrors
from their walls. no longer needed to see myself to feel
seen. combed the weight out of my hair.
I fold the good days up and place them in my back
pocket for safekeeping. draw the match. cremate the
unnecessary. the light of the fire warms my toes.
i pour myself a glass of warm water to cleanse myself
for january. here i go. stronger and wiser into the new.”