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Captor explores the hypersexualization, commodification, and violence inflicted upon Asian femininity. As conversations around intersectionality, feminism, and decolonization continue to evolve, this book emerges as a crucial text for understanding how bodies are policed, fetishized, and controlled within oppressive systems.
Captor explores the hypersexualization, commodification, and violence inflicted upon Asian femininity. As conversations around intersectionality, feminism, and decolonization continue to evolve, this book emerges as a crucial text for understanding how bodies are policed, fetishized, and controlled within oppressive systems.
With its fearless engagement with language and form, this collection cements Lacanilao Arnould’s place as one of the most urgent poetic voices of our time—a writer, who not only witnesses, but also reimagines the possibilities of literature in an era of rupture and reckoning.
With its fearless engagement with language and form, this collection cements Lacanilao Arnould’s place as one of the most urgent poetic voices of our time—a writer, who not only witnesses, but also reimagines the possibilities of literature in an era of rupture and reckoning.
“I had to put down Captor several times just to breathe. Like the female personas assaulted & raped, the retraumatizing happens in the retelling, yet in each retelling, in the exacting forms of a poet who shirks away from hiding in metaphor, there is recovery, ablution. This collection does not merely wrestle away the narrative from its oppressors, it reclaims what was once captured: breath, language, body, compelling us to see how fleeting the colonizer’s power, while the woman’s—the writer’szis lived in, lived through, endures.”
—Vyxz Vasquez, author of One Time Big Time
“Moving between the intimate & the historical, _Captor_ interrogates the violences that shape language, bodies, & belonging. What emerges is not confession but confrontation: women resisting erasure, a language unwilling to soothe. Urgent & uncompromising, _Captor_ announces a poet of rare precision & courage, demanding not applause, but reckoning.”
—zAndrea V. Tubig, author of Tonight We Slurp in Colors
“Captor asks: What does it actually mean to be a Filipina woman? Where is the girl now? How are any of us still writing poetry? After you English your history away with your body, your crimes, your love, & your breakfast blood, could you ever outshrew your captor? This book sidetackles shorelines, the back of a dumpster, bureaucratic bullshit, & formalism itself to find answers.”
—Deirder Camba, author of a chain is a house to sleep in
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