Stylistic Evolution in Daria Berg's Writing

Daria Berg’s writings portray a profound stylistic evolution, ever progressing towards or descending into, depending on one’s personal preferences Modernism. Her works grow in complexity and depth, transcending simple syntactic and rhetorical devices, to the point where she affects meaning through the very topography of the page in her final piece, narcissus, which is, for all intents-and-purposes, a post-modernist work, though that only proves my point; the works display a personal progression, not unlike the one seen in society many years prior.

Beginning with time bomb, modernist tendencies are already showing. The visceral anger at the poem’s if I may be so bold as to call it that: a poem subject is indicative of a broader contempt with society, and indeed literary conventions. Punctuation and capitalization are employed little, with no sort of regularity, though, when the voice of our poem speaks, “I” and “I’m never fail to receive their proper syntactical deference, making Daria Berg a prominent fixture in the work the most prominent.

This bold entrance into the modernist world is just the beginning. Just as Fitzgerald pushing envelopes in This Side of Paradise eventually allowed Beckett to literally do whatever he wanted to do, forsaking all semblance of an envelope ever existing in the first place, this progression in Berg’s work only grows bolder.

The first thing everyone should know, that I am fortunate enough to be privy to, is that to my dearest, was never meant to have a title. Like any great Modernist work, the fact that I’m writing about it is a source of great irony.

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The Dan Letter, as I like to call it, much to her chagrin, was written exclusively for her benefit. The fact that it’s later put up for simpleton plebeians, unaware of her mind and creative goings on like you and I only adds to that raw modernist pleasure present in any great work of the genre.

In a way, I suppose it’s somewhat voyeuristic; a window into her soul, unobscured by convention. It’s not something that people are used to seeing. Anyone can take off their clothes and be naked, but it requires great literary talent to allow yourself to be completely exposed untitled takes the precedents set forth by to my dearest to the next level. Theres no kind of grammatical convention here. Where punctuation is employed, it is used correctly, though, as I said, only at those moments when it’s employed. Line breaks exist. This is a fact. What we are to make of it is completely inscrutable. There’s no meter to speak of; any enjambment that exists doesn’t really seem to accomplish anything.

Then again, this accomplishes everything. I feel more confident calling this piece a poem, though it bears less traits of one than some of her others, because she calls it a poem in the piece itself, which is such a modern concept; meta- analysis, self-referential literature, which, to me, only suggests one thing: the poem is written by her, but it’s addressed to her. Once again we find our author profoundly and beautifully exposed, and we can only count our blessings that we got to be a part of it narcissus takes us one step further on the rounded scale, where a positive becomes a negative. Whereas once the lack of convention exposed our author, now, the complexities of the chaos she writes in shrouds herself more than any metrical prison ever could.

What are we to make of the typography: the font sizes, the ever changing structure left-justified, centred what is happening? Our author has come full circle. Sure there is meaning in the words; denotations will never be mysterious, but with no structure (that we’ve been taught to read), we cannot pretend to understand the goings-on of our author’s mind. In this way, she has at last been allowed to expose herself fully and completely, and reveal her work to the masses in such a way that our lens is so distorted that she need not fear ridicule or judgement. We’ve been allowed to hear an inside joke that only she gets, and in that way she has evolved as a writer past anything I can fathom, and so here I will end my review, before I’m completely out of my depth.