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Bright Fear
Following their award-winning debut, è (2019), comes Mary Jean Chan's gleaming second collection: Bright Fear. Through poems which engage fearlessly with intertwined themes of identity, multilingualism and postcolonial legacy, Chan's latest work explores a family's evolving dynamics, as well as microaggressions stemming from queerphobia and anti-Asian racism that accompanied the Covid pandemic.
Yet Bright Fear remains deeply attuned to moments of beauty, tenderness and grace. It asks how we might find a home within our own bodies, in places both distant and near, and in the 'constructed space' of the poem. The contemplative central sequence, Ars Poetica, traces the radically healing and transformative role of poetry during the poet's teenage and adult years, culminating in a polyphonic reconciliation of tongues. Throughout, Chan offers us new and galvanising ways to 'withstand the quotidian tug- / of-war between terror and love'.
Yet Bright Fear remains deeply attuned to moments of beauty, tenderness and grace. It asks how we might find a home within our own bodies, in places both distant and near, and in the 'constructed space' of the poem. The contemplative central sequence, Ars Poetica, traces the radically healing and transformative role of poetry during the poet's teenage and adult years, culminating in a polyphonic reconciliation of tongues. Throughout, Chan offers us new and galvanising ways to 'withstand the quotidian tug- / of-war between terror and love'.
72 pages, Paperback
First published August 3, 2023
17 people are currently reading
1,981 people want to read
About the author
Mary Jean Chan
9books73followersMary Jean Chan is a Chinese-British poet, lecturer and editor. Her first poetry collection, è, won the 2019 Costa Book Award in the Poetry category. She was also a recipient of the 2019 Eric Gregory Award for a collection by poets under the age of 30. Chan is a Ledbury Poetry Critic and co-editor of Oxford Poetry. She currently lives in London, and is Lecturer in Creative Writing (Poetry) at Oxford Brookes University.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 74 reviews
November 8, 2024
A truly fantastic poetry collection.
April 9, 2024
’s è was my favourite poetry collection of 2019. Their follow-up returns to many of the same foundational subjects: race, family, language and sexuality. But this time, the pandemic is a lens through which all is filtered. This is particularly evident in Part I, “Grief Lessons.� “London, 2020� and “Hong Kong, 2003,� on facing pages, contrast Covid-19 with SARS, the major threat when they were a teenager. People have always made assumptions about them based on their appearance or speech. At a time when Asian heritage merited extra suspicion, English was both a means of frank expression and a source of ambivalence:
At the centre of the book, “Ars Poetica,� a multi-part collage incorporating lines from other poets, forms a kind of autobiography in verse. Chan also questions the lines between genres, wondering whether to label their work poetry, nonfiction or fiction (“The novel feels like a springer spaniel running off-/leash the poem a warm basket it returns to always�).
The poems� structure varies, with paragraphs and stanzas of different lengths and placement on the page (including, in one instance, a goblet shape). The enjambment, as you can see in lines I’ve quoted above and below, is noteworthy. Part III, “Field Notes on a Family,� reflects on the pressures of being an only child whose mother would prefer to pretend lives alone rather than with a female partner. The book ends with hope that Chan might be able to be open about their identity. The title references the paradoxical nature of the sublime, beautifully captured via the alliteration that closes “Circles�: “a commotion of coots convincing / me to withstand the quotidian tug-/of-war between terror and love.�
Although è still has the edge for me, this is another excellent work I would recommend even to those wary of poetry.
Some more favourite lines, from “Ars Poetica�:
Originally published on my blog, .
“At times, English feels like the best kind of evening light. On other days, English becomes something harder, like a white shield.� (from “In the Beginning Was the Word�)
“my Chinese / face struck like the glow of a torch on a white question: / why is your English so good, the compliment uncertain / of itself.� (from “Sestina�)
At the centre of the book, “Ars Poetica,� a multi-part collage incorporating lines from other poets, forms a kind of autobiography in verse. Chan also questions the lines between genres, wondering whether to label their work poetry, nonfiction or fiction (“The novel feels like a springer spaniel running off-/leash the poem a warm basket it returns to always�).
The poems� structure varies, with paragraphs and stanzas of different lengths and placement on the page (including, in one instance, a goblet shape). The enjambment, as you can see in lines I’ve quoted above and below, is noteworthy. Part III, “Field Notes on a Family,� reflects on the pressures of being an only child whose mother would prefer to pretend lives alone rather than with a female partner. The book ends with hope that Chan might be able to be open about their identity. The title references the paradoxical nature of the sublime, beautifully captured via the alliteration that closes “Circles�: “a commotion of coots convincing / me to withstand the quotidian tug-/of-war between terror and love.�
Although è still has the edge for me, this is another excellent work I would recommend even to those wary of poetry.
Some more favourite lines, from “Ars Poetica�:
“What my mother taught me was how
to revere the light language emitted.�
“Home, my therapist suggests, is where
you don’t have to explain yourself.�
Originally published on my blog, .
February 18, 2024
‘Do you want to be liked or seen? —Each year, I migrate between cities and selves. How a familiar voice can make one weep. For my thirty-first, a close friend translated a poem of mine into French—so I surrender to the sensation of being translated, and therefore seen.�
Brilliantly written, the poems read like a pre-heated blanket on bleak winter nights (I love winter, and I love the cold, so this is actually a terrible analogy for me, but I think should work for others/the general, more sensible crowd). While I don’t think I connected with any of it deeply enough, it’s still a spectacular collection. There are some with a line or two which I like a lot of but it concludes without a ‘something something that is hard to say what exactly� that I crave/am looking for. This is just a personal reaction to the text. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s a brilliant collection of poems. I like ’s first collection, as well, so liking this one was not much of a surprise.
‘Plants without roots wither in rain, my mother tells me in a text message. This is a translation, the way I understand my mother in three languages. For over a decade, I have taken what I could bear from the source text and discarded the rest. What do you miss most about HK? A childhood friend asks. Cantonese, I say. How it sounds like summer rain.� � from ‘How It Must Be Said�
‘Wassily Kandinsky’s Several Circles,
a form he saw as the synthesis
of the greatest oppositions.
When I couldn’t sleep or wake,
I was saved by geometry� � from ‘Circles�
‘—The uncertainty of existing in a historically white space was always going to haunt me in this gleaming city, where I begin to know myself. What do you see? Why does it matter? A Chinese word I learnt as a child, �, means to endure, his question like a blade hovering over a heart. Years go by.� � from ‘Sestina�
‘Dear reader, how often are you tempted
to infidelity with words: those curious
shapes that simply demand you listen?
Offer a translation your life can bear.� � from (Ars Poetica) ‘XI�
August 17, 2023
Un llibre on hi ressonen moltes veus (Emily Berry, Victoria Chang, Billy Ray Belcourt...) . El portaré a sobre dies i dies, llegint i rellegint.
February 23, 2024
Nii hea, et ei saanud jutti lugeda.
April 12, 2025
„post-colony is a state of mind
it is reaching deep into the past
as you sit on a BA flight travelling
across a genteel English landscape
and history not reaching back
…]�
it is reaching deep into the past
as you sit on a BA flight travelling
across a genteel English landscape
and history not reaching back
…]�
September 2, 2023
One of my favourite books of the year, a fantastic second collection which I liked possibly even more than their first.
October 28, 2024
"let us speak ourselves into splendour that is the joy i'm after"
"and yes i am still trying to achieve my way into love"
"and yes i am still trying to achieve my way into love"
March 5, 2025
it’s astounding the quality of her work!
August 3, 2023
This is the second collections by Mary Jean Chan I've read. It is rather fine. The writing is clear, for reasons she explains in one poem. This poetry isn't opaque. But it does tell stories of Mary Jean Chan's life and its complications.
The issues of being from HK and living in Britain. The issue of language. Of the adoption of a colonial language. The issue of her sexuality and her relationship with her parents. Her unwillingness to dress like a girl. It is all painfully honest. This is a collection that walks us through the ups and downs of her life and her own image.
Weirdly, despite almost none of it relating to my own life there were moments where some of what she writes hit me hard. They reminded me of thoughts I've had of my own, particularly recently. The one line in particular that stung was: Do you want to be liked or seen? My therapist asks.
The COVID pandemic also runs through these poems. The effect it had on communication. On cutting us off from each other, perhaps permanently.
I really liked it. And it is final book in the Forward Poetry Prize - Best Collection shortlisted five. This may be my favourite, although to be honest it is hard to choose just one. Only one of the five I didn't vibe with at all. I found it too oblique. If that's the right word. Like the writer was trying too hard. The other four were all good.
I bet the trying too hard one wins.
The issues of being from HK and living in Britain. The issue of language. Of the adoption of a colonial language. The issue of her sexuality and her relationship with her parents. Her unwillingness to dress like a girl. It is all painfully honest. This is a collection that walks us through the ups and downs of her life and her own image.
Weirdly, despite almost none of it relating to my own life there were moments where some of what she writes hit me hard. They reminded me of thoughts I've had of my own, particularly recently. The one line in particular that stung was: Do you want to be liked or seen? My therapist asks.
The COVID pandemic also runs through these poems. The effect it had on communication. On cutting us off from each other, perhaps permanently.
I really liked it. And it is final book in the Forward Poetry Prize - Best Collection shortlisted five. This may be my favourite, although to be honest it is hard to choose just one. Only one of the five I didn't vibe with at all. I found it too oblique. If that's the right word. Like the writer was trying too hard. The other four were all good.
I bet the trying too hard one wins.
February 3, 2025
This was exquisite. I don't think I've ever read a poetry collection in which every single poem is a 10/10. I don't have anything to add, it was perfect.
September 6, 2023
This collection is a slow burning. The opening poems drew me in because Mary Jean Chan's voice is compelling, unique and easy to read, but I didn't feel a strong emotional connection until around half-way through the book. But I realised the opening was necessary: the slow build-up adds to the intense emotional power of the book as a whole, and wouldn't work without it. This is a strong follow-up to Chan's remarkable first collection, and one I would highly recommend. Chan explores identity, and the racism experienced by Asian people during the first years of Covid, as well as their understanding of themselves as queer person, and the experience of growing up in Hong Kong. Though their work is rooted in specificity, it feels universal.
February 18, 2024
Has some beautiful imagery and lines, but overall I didn't resonate much with this one I'm afraid, it comes across very defensive and barbed and I didn't feel like the writing gave me much of an insight into the cultural and personal differences of the author in a positive way.
November 23, 2023
Just not for me.
March 26, 2025
so tender... here's some highlights that i felt deeply about.
"I fell in love with English of my own accord. Or did I? Love, when socially accepted, becomes habit. [...] At times, English feels like the best kind of evening light. On other days, English becomes something harder, like a white shield."
"What were we, as a species, doing? I finally summoned the will to write Life on my to-do list but kept postponing the task."
"I fell in love with English of my own accord. Or did I? Love, when socially accepted, becomes habit. [...] At times, English feels like the best kind of evening light. On other days, English becomes something harder, like a white shield."
"What were we, as a species, doing? I finally summoned the will to write Life on my to-do list but kept postponing the task."
August 29, 2023
A really striking collection because form, language and meaning come together precisely.
August 8, 2024
"Home, my therapist suggests, is where
you don’t have to explain yourself.
Where is that place? Perhaps
here is home, in the long poem
of our lives. Where she offers me
a cup of freshly brewed
oolong tea, and I am moved
by the scent of something
bittersweet. Where our thoughts
spill over as I adore the warmth
in your voice. Where the afternoon
light is so kind, and the corgi lies
fast asleep at our feet. Where I begin
to speak, and you hear me, unequivocally."
you don’t have to explain yourself.
Where is that place? Perhaps
here is home, in the long poem
of our lives. Where she offers me
a cup of freshly brewed
oolong tea, and I am moved
by the scent of something
bittersweet. Where our thoughts
spill over as I adore the warmth
in your voice. Where the afternoon
light is so kind, and the corgi lies
fast asleep at our feet. Where I begin
to speak, and you hear me, unequivocally."
October 1, 2023
Adored the new collection from one of the best poets around, I tore through this before realising that I'm supposed to pace myself and notice form and structure, which of course I do, mostly I love the voice that is so strong. Fabulous.
February 16, 2024
As much as this book of verse has been lauded, this did not live up to expectations; the verse does not speak to the reader at all; over-rated.
Read
April 13, 2024uznałam, że nie będę oceniać, bo jak to zrobić, gdy połowa wierszy interesowała mnie średnio (okolopandemiczne), ale dwa doprowadziły mnie do łez i wryły się w moje serce?
March 30, 2025
Thoughts:
� This one didn't grip me as much as è. I feel like this collection isn't as tight and cohesive.
� The themes addressed here are broadly similar, but Bright Fear has a stronger and more overt emphasis on neocolonialism. Some pieces are also a bit more meta (poetry about poetry).
� Several of these poems give claustrophobic vibes, with the pandemic being a prevalent theme. Many pieces also feel more direct and blunt, especially the prose poems.
� Overall I didn't really get the same wow factor from this one. Hindsight slaps though.
� This one didn't grip me as much as è. I feel like this collection isn't as tight and cohesive.
� The themes addressed here are broadly similar, but Bright Fear has a stronger and more overt emphasis on neocolonialism. Some pieces are also a bit more meta (poetry about poetry).
� Several of these poems give claustrophobic vibes, with the pandemic being a prevalent theme. Many pieces also feel more direct and blunt, especially the prose poems.
� Overall I didn't really get the same wow factor from this one. Hindsight slaps though.
September 2, 2024
Love for the Living
What does it mean to want to live? Only this:
to refuse to see the mouth's anguish as a sign
to step out of an open window. To refuse to be
thirty and afraid of leaving one city for another.
[...] What is it like to believe the years are not
a life sentence for bodies like yours? Like this:
a spiral of rainbow bunting sprung like relief
across a lit sky.
VIII
Perhaps poetry is nothing
but a struggle to translate
the weight of flesh against
bone into syllables that
sound the shape
of things:
leaf
light
tree
sky
the fact
of your face,
beautiful like breath.
Reading these poems out loud softly, tasting each word, while overlooking the shimmery sea felt like a feast
April 7, 2024
to be honest, i feel quite perplexed by mary jean chan’s language, that it is so rich and so poetic. but somehow it has failed to move me in person. most of the poems centred on the writer’s queerness, the colonialism in HK, the idea of being a HK person, the immigrant life in the UK (unfortunately this doesn’t snap as well as past lives did, the HK culture is so minimised here you’d feel like it’s just a white guy writing something with the asian disguise), the pandemic and the mother-daughter (i assume) relationship. it is rich in content, it is well-written, but as i read through it i couldn’t help but to examine it in a more critical lens: it seems like there can be an extra genre for all poets to capitalise on as long as you’re not white (better be asian) and then you got some childhood trauma in some sense (or being traumatised by your origin family) and that you got stereotypically horrible asian parents, and lastly you’re queer. by no means i am degrading the queering space, but the message, when it keeps revolving around the same idea of the queerness, it feels like queerness after all is just another label to declare your identity, and i’ve said this and written this as a non-binary person. thus, it makes the collection bland in a way and unlikeable, mostly due to this intended effect of the themes, and that may seem whiny somehow and untouchable. the melancholy touched on in the collection isn’t something that can be delved into with a deeper message or more layers to it, it feels incredibly artisanal and curated by beautiful language, but as i went along the pages it became suffocating and somehow confining itself to that landscape. also, i feel the rootlessness of mary, especially when i feel more towards the english language than that in chinese or in cantonese, but there’s no given context for the reader to really see through that disdain towards where you came from, which resonates with my mixed feelings about where i am and where im from, while not really exploring that colonial relationship and simply putting up fancy words and neocolonialism on the pages as if that would speak for itself.
February 2, 2025
actual rating: 4 stars
October 28, 2023
preface
this spring is colder than winter
loss a resplendent fact those ties
we hold so dear to the living and
the dead I write about this failing
earth since there is softness amid
each grief our bodies repositories
of muscle and memory do not be
afraid let us speak ourselves into
splendour that is the joy I'm after (1)
Bright Fear (II)
The birds had their tongues tied to silver strings as they hung
mid-air in silence. I was kneeling on the wet earth, crying out.
A disembodied voice informed me that nectar was being slowly
harvested from their throats. The heat from their flailing bodies
pressed my eyes into my skull. I tried to hold myself together in
the dream but could not. Once I was awake, I didn't feel tender.
The brutality of all architecture stunned me wherever I looked.
What were we, as a species, doing? I finally summoned the will
to write Life on my to-do list but kept postponing the task. I had
been dreaming of the dying because I could not ignore the news
from home. This viral uncertainty keeping me afraid of intimacy.
Even the bright air felt menacing. A persistent cough developed,
as if to taunt me. My father emails to reassure that all is well at
the clinic, reminds me he went through the SARS epidemic and
never took a day off work. I've inherited a cruel Calvinist ethic.
Today I return to where breath feels possible. My therapist asks,
what is your fantasy? I think to myself: mother's gaze / straight
gaze / male gaze / white gaze ... I am mortified to admit a dream
about being reborn as the brother, the beloved son, the patriarch.
I want to see this torso in a different light (to beam on it a kinder
gaze) as I wait for something to give. There is fire on the streets
of a city I love and flames in the Arctic, but we must go on living.
Had I imagined this intimate scene: a mother lying at the feet of
her child, begging for a miracle, or was it the other way around? (12)
Quiet
Wonder what songs are left
after the mothers have gone
to bed and the whole world
is lighter without their grief. (51)
this spring is colder than winter
loss a resplendent fact those ties
we hold so dear to the living and
the dead I write about this failing
earth since there is softness amid
each grief our bodies repositories
of muscle and memory do not be
afraid let us speak ourselves into
splendour that is the joy I'm after (1)
Bright Fear (II)
The birds had their tongues tied to silver strings as they hung
mid-air in silence. I was kneeling on the wet earth, crying out.
A disembodied voice informed me that nectar was being slowly
harvested from their throats. The heat from their flailing bodies
pressed my eyes into my skull. I tried to hold myself together in
the dream but could not. Once I was awake, I didn't feel tender.
The brutality of all architecture stunned me wherever I looked.
What were we, as a species, doing? I finally summoned the will
to write Life on my to-do list but kept postponing the task. I had
been dreaming of the dying because I could not ignore the news
from home. This viral uncertainty keeping me afraid of intimacy.
Even the bright air felt menacing. A persistent cough developed,
as if to taunt me. My father emails to reassure that all is well at
the clinic, reminds me he went through the SARS epidemic and
never took a day off work. I've inherited a cruel Calvinist ethic.
Today I return to where breath feels possible. My therapist asks,
what is your fantasy? I think to myself: mother's gaze / straight
gaze / male gaze / white gaze ... I am mortified to admit a dream
about being reborn as the brother, the beloved son, the patriarch.
I want to see this torso in a different light (to beam on it a kinder
gaze) as I wait for something to give. There is fire on the streets
of a city I love and flames in the Arctic, but we must go on living.
Had I imagined this intimate scene: a mother lying at the feet of
her child, begging for a miracle, or was it the other way around? (12)
Quiet
Wonder what songs are left
after the mothers have gone
to bed and the whole world
is lighter without their grief. (51)
January 10, 2025
“I am asked why my poems are so clear. I'll confess: / it's what happens when you want to be understood.� I’m such a big fan of Mary Jean Chan, their poetry collection è being one of my favourites, and their latest offering Bright Fear is even better. An intimate look at bodies (especially queer and Asian bodies, and bodies in concert with one another during a pandemic), Chan imbues our physical forms with so much grace and light. “I write about this failing / earth since there is softness amid / each grief our bodies repositories�. One of my favourite pieces in the collection is ‘Bright Fear (I)�: “During these lengthening days of sunlight / and bright fear, there is too much language, / too little time. I am afraid. I search for desire // indoors�. Much of their writing revolves around language and order too; the brilliant ‘Ars Poetica� sequence in the middle of the book, the poem ‘In The Beginning Was the Word�, where “I took home the English Literature prize, […] a symbol of my uniqueness, though I was lonelier than I had ever been. At times, English feels like the best kind of evening light. On other days, […] something harder, like a white shield.� Elsewhere, “I drank your language like tea: Chinese / is no longer a texture I dream in�; and “Years later, I left home for the poem: / inscrutable house, constructed space, / blue room, how the poets have named / a heaven in which lonely meanings sit / companionably beside lonely children.� The omnipresence of the poem is counterposed against a ubiquitous, often elusive grief: “Wonder what songs are left / after the mothers have gone / to bed and the whole world / is lighter without their grief.� A transformative and distinctly moving collection.
October 9, 2023
This collection seems to be written in a very different voice compared to the poet’s previous book Fleche. Containing mostly elegiac poems, the sense of grief seems both personal and collective. Some poems focus on covid-triggered racism against Asians, while other poems portray how an individual can be recognised or appreciated (or fail to be appreciated) in a predominantly white space. Then there are also many poems that explore the inner life of an individual or complex emotions through natural, surreal metaphors, especially the contradictions in longing, loss and loneliness. Actually some poems make me think of Mary Oliver’s poems on the healing power of nature and belonging.
From specular poetry, sestina to prose poems, this book is quite experimental and questions the exact nature of poetry. There is also a short, memorable poem that looks at the porous divide between fiction, non-fiction and poetry. I also like the fact that several poems derive their lines or images from well-known contemporary poems by eg Ann Carson, Heaney and Marie Howe, and play with pop song lyrics. It’s not an easy, straightforward collection, and yet it makes the reader rethink the space and voice in a poem, challenges gender and racial stereotypes, and seems to highlight all the uneasy assumptions we make about people (of different ethic groups), our feelings and even the role/forms/shape of poetry, such as the difference between elegy and a queer poem.
From specular poetry, sestina to prose poems, this book is quite experimental and questions the exact nature of poetry. There is also a short, memorable poem that looks at the porous divide between fiction, non-fiction and poetry. I also like the fact that several poems derive their lines or images from well-known contemporary poems by eg Ann Carson, Heaney and Marie Howe, and play with pop song lyrics. It’s not an easy, straightforward collection, and yet it makes the reader rethink the space and voice in a poem, challenges gender and racial stereotypes, and seems to highlight all the uneasy assumptions we make about people (of different ethic groups), our feelings and even the role/forms/shape of poetry, such as the difference between elegy and a queer poem.
March 27, 2025
poetry abt poetry goes crazy
4.5 stars!! beautiful beautiful poems, really compelling, incisive connections between language and noise and colonialism and family. docking 0.5 stars cuz tho i appreciate the poet's need to be clear and explicit (ig ironically enough they wrote a poem abt that compulsion, which is published in this collection), at times a few of the poems felt clinically prosaic.
" ... I am afraid. I search for desire / indoors, my hands steeped always too long / in soap, then the wetness and the drying, / to allow once more for soiling. Another / faint gesture at the world. I used to dream / about whole days of quiet. Now I seek solace / in sound"
thank u andy for the rec <3
4.5 stars!! beautiful beautiful poems, really compelling, incisive connections between language and noise and colonialism and family. docking 0.5 stars cuz tho i appreciate the poet's need to be clear and explicit (ig ironically enough they wrote a poem abt that compulsion, which is published in this collection), at times a few of the poems felt clinically prosaic.
" ... I am afraid. I search for desire / indoors, my hands steeped always too long / in soap, then the wetness and the drying, / to allow once more for soiling. Another / faint gesture at the world. I used to dream / about whole days of quiet. Now I seek solace / in sound"
thank u andy for the rec <3
December 18, 2023
At writing class, one of my colleagues always brings all the chapbooks and collections he's read and no longer wants. 'Bright Fear' was amongst the pile.
As with most poets I encounter, there are some really moving powerful poems that say more than the words on the page. Then there are others that are shoved into weird formations that are hard to read, repetitive or have no punctuation, because... Edginess, I guess?
I couldn't connect to her fully because of that. Some of her lines will stay with me and these are important and powerful poems. But I don't relate and a lot of the formatting makes it even harder to want to try.
As with most poets I encounter, there are some really moving powerful poems that say more than the words on the page. Then there are others that are shoved into weird formations that are hard to read, repetitive or have no punctuation, because... Edginess, I guess?
I couldn't connect to her fully because of that. Some of her lines will stay with me and these are important and powerful poems. But I don't relate and a lot of the formatting makes it even harder to want to try.
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