This was my first time reading Alex Dimitrov's writing outside of his work with Astro Poets, and perhaps it was my mistake to use that to benchmark my expectations from this collection. Dimitrov's tone is so light and breezy, so conversational that I'm convinced each piece was written as a way to talk to himself. I heard someone say recently that they wrote poetry as a means to better understand themselves, and I think is the most charitable way I can interpret this collection. Dimitrov reflects on parties, bars, sexual encounters, and, as the title implies, drug use without adding much to each encounter beyond a general lethargy for its place within the human experience. I'm reminded of the Wheel of Fortune card, in that Dimitrov, like the rest of us, experiences cyclical ups and downs, and thinks about them both at all times. I imagine I'll be thinking about the purpose of this collection for a while; I don't know if that's a good or bad thing.

Thanks to NetGalley and Knopf for the ARC!

For better or worse, Alex Dimitrov’s "Ecstasy" reads like an addendum to his earlier (and wonderful) work, "Love and Other Poems," and interested readers might benefit more from simply revisiting that collection.

As always, Dimitrov’s voice is an absolute pleasure to read. It’s musical and playful without ever feeling twee, and he articulates a kind of gentle hedonism that suits the subject matter well. That said, the organizing theme of “ecstasy” just doesn’t seem capable of sustaining the collection.

Within the speaker’s world, ecstasy isn’t the euphoric release readers might expect. Instead, it’s a momentary pinch of something both listless and lonely. It’s recognition of transcendent potential without its attainment. For the first few poems, this definition seems to suggest an interrogation of how we elevate certain experiences, but it quickly becomes clear that the concept is too vague to really be a theme.

After a while, the poems begin to bleed together into shapeless recollections of substance-fueled hookups with arbitrary religious iconography thrown in for good measure. When the speaker describes doing a line of coke off of a crucifix, it feels less like a comment on parallels between drugs and religion and more like an outmoded attempt at provocation. Eventually, all the poems accumulate without forming any shape. One could argue that the poet’s intent is to deliberately withhold catharsis—that ecstasy is defined by its impossibility—but it reads more like an editor just realized there were finally enough pieces to fill a book.

Despite these criticisms, Dimitrov remains a formidable poet, and individual poems are simply a delight. “Monday” and “1995” are particular standouts, and I wish I had found them without the baggage of the surrounding collection. For readers who want to check out "Ecstasy," it may be more rewarding to simply flip through it rather than approach it as body of work.

self-indulgent and, frankly, boring. was looking forward to this one, but it was disappointing. sorry, alex.

As much as I do not want to give this three stars, I feel like that's the highest rating I can give it. It feels repetitive and almost like it was written by a gay man for a straight audience.

Self-indulgent narcissism mixed with drink, drugs and sex in the guise of poetry and insight. There is some strong wordplay and occasional glimpses of insight, but overall it just reads like a young confused man's diary.