Book Review: Portrait of a Young Girl Falling by Katrina Moinet

We continue our reviews of books shortlisted for this year’s Wales Book of the Year award.

Portrait of a Young Girl Falling is one of 12 English language books shortlisted for the 2025 Wales Book of the Year.

You can vote for this year’s People’s Choice Award here. 

Eric Ngalle Charles

If you’ve ever desired a fire-breathing dragon, you’ve come to the right place.

As if anticipating the planting season, Portrait of a Young Girl Falling by Katrina Moinet exhales flames, consuming everything in its path. Like a seasoned angler, she entices us with alluring bait, and before we know it, we are ensnared, trapped, and staring like a bird caught in a spider’s web. All we can do is wait.

The black widow has feasted; it is a sweltering day, as Gabriel García Márquez would put it. “It is so hot, the chickens are laying fried eggs,” and piglets are turning into bacon. We are at the mercy of this exceptional writer who has no qualms and articulates her perspective frankly.

This is unlike any poetry collection I have read. Katrina Moinet does not mince her words; this collection is not for the faint-hearted or those who belong to the language committee of modern speech, who have removed the tongues of birds and trained them to whisper administrative tones to toe political lines. Nope, in “Portrait of a Young Girl Falling”, this writer is no longer in the cage. Don’t try to bolt it; the horse has already left and is on a rampage, uprooting old norms.

Lioness

This may not be the largest poetry book, containing only twenty poems, but allow me to explain. There is a difference between a lioness and a goat. A lioness may have one litter at a time, whereas a goat might have two, three, or even four. However, the lioness’s litter will grow up to eat the goats.

Some writers produce collections of one hundred to one hundred and twenty poems at once, creating a bulky, unappealing mess. Yet Katrina Moinet’s work is the hungry caterpillar and would make mincemeat out of those. I mean, take the opening poem, “Wild,” aligned to the right side of the page. The last stanza reads:

“in public places / private spaces
obtain domain names / suited to
this fresh young age / we live in
we love in / plurality
of minds / we think in we.”

It reads like a clarion call.

Sisters, please gather; those days of giving us names are gone. It is about us and how we choose to define ourselves. Our time is now; let the drum sound from Bannau Brycheiniog, Yr Wyddfa, Waun Fach, and Pen y Fan, its sound creeping across the greenery of Cymru; we are here and not going back.

In this poem, I prefer the French translation, Sauvage—a beast with monstrous qualities. We can morph into anything or any form. It has the ability to transform and become anything one desires. I love this poem; it barks and bites: there is no pretension here.

Transformation

The second poem in the collection, “How to Be Both”, builds upon that ability to transform. However, in this poem, one can insert just about anything, anywhere. The poet even provides us with a prompt in the final stanza.

“pretty seen-and-now-heard
pretty [insert]
pretty [insert personality]
pretty [insert own construct here]”

I contemplated adding delightful mangoes, guavas, and plums, along with hummingbirds. I enjoy writers who play with language; some of the poem’s titles are translated, and one title is entirely in French: “La Petite Mort”, loosely translated as The Little Death. It resonates more in French.

The poem is divided into two parts, as if the writer is demanding that we use both sides of our brains. Your left brain reads the first four stanzas, while your right brain interprets the second four. As you contemplate what Katrina Moinet is demanding of us, she pauses, skips a bit or two, and includes “after Sylvia Plath.”

Then there’s the poem, “Out of Harm’s Way: after Kim Moore” on page twelve of this wonderful collection. Here, the poet excels at drawing us into the darkest places. As you read the poem and observe its arrangement on the page, the poet allows us to appreciate the sound of silence. However, the poem concludes with a devastating punch that could knock out even Mike Tyson. I did not see it coming.

You must read this book. The poems in this collection are gut-wrenching and will leave you wanting more.

Mirror

Reading the poem “Elémentair” on page seven was like looking into a mirror; instead of seeing one’s reflection, we witness the dance of pelicans. It is a two-stanza poem that punches above its weight—the first two lines open with subtlety, setting the mood with dim lights:

“tell me all the ways you’ll conquer me
a gentle chuchotement à l’oreille.”

I paused to wonder when I last kissed my wife’s earlobes. This poem is deeply deceptive and seductive, evoking the essence of John Keats’ “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” and Shakespeare’s “A Rose by any other name would smell sweet.”

The opening two lines of the second stanza resonate with the sting of a black widow spider, poised to consume its mate once the ejaculation is complete.

“I’ll tell you the way I’ll conquer you
as hawthorn borne over by prevailing winds.”

I read Katrina Moinet’s collection while travelling on the train from Pontypridd to Ninian Park, Cardiff. It was one of the finest companions I’ve had in quite some time. I recommend it wholeheartedly.

Portrait of a Young Girl Falling by Katrina Moinet is published by the Hedgehog Poetry Press. It is available here or from all good bookshops.