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Sylvia Legris’ Nerve Squall is a wonderfully strange, schizo-phonic masterpiece. Her ability to pinpoint and diagnose certain obsessive, neurotic capabilities within a person’s psyche is as troubling as it is precise. But there’s methodology to her madness. You get the feeling that behind the anxiety of it all lies a divine purpose-something greater than cyclical shrieks on paper. She is begging you to take a look within and accept certain inalienable truths you may not have wanted to accept before; that perhaps our subconscious mind is far more conscious than we could have ever thought; that if we ever want to sneak beneath the armour and whistle good morning, we must first embrace this notion. Gulliver’s ropes must be let go of at some point, and it is in this wisdom that Legris shines the most. Her use of language has power and poise. She straddles the fine line between arrogance and confidence, and somehow manages it all with a regal grace. I am utterly envious. (Shawn Collins)

by Sylvia Legris, $16.95, 112 pgs, Coach House Books, 401 Huron St. (rear) on bpNichol Lane, Toronto, ON, M5S 2G5,

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