Book Review: Haibun: A Writer’s Guide

By Roberta Beary, Lew Watts, and Rich Youmans
Published by Ad Hoc Fiction, United Kingdom
2023, paperback, 120 pages
ISBN: 978-1-915247-40-7
$16.99 USD/ £13.99 GBP
Available through the Ad Hoc Bookstore and Amazon

Reviewed by Aubrie Cox Warner

Author’s Note: For this review I use “haiku arts” to speak to the larger umbrella of haiku-related traditions (haiku, haibun, haiga, renga, etc.).

As someone who spent the better part of a decade deeply entrenched in haiku poetics, I have often felt that haibun would be the breakthrough form—the form where the English-Language Haiku (ELH) community and the larger poetry community could come together to appreciate the poetic value of haiku arts. As a teacher (and a writer who blends genres), I love how haibun works on multiple registers. It has been an excellent teaching tool in how to approach each element of a hybrid work.

Given all this, I was elated to hear about the publication of Haibun: A Writer’s Guide. This slim volume claims it is:

“… a book for poets, novelists, essayists, memoirists, and flash fiction and short story writers. It is a book for those who have yet to write a word. It is a book for the haibun-curious reader and writer. It is a book that, we hope, will inspire you to learn more about the ancient, evolving, and mesmerizing hybrid form that opens a new world of possibility.” [p. 3]

Those familiar with Lee Gurga’s Haiku: A Poet’s Guide will see some parallels in the title and the intentions (and occasionally tone in the beginning), but may find a little more flexibility within the text and possibilities, especially given so much has happened and been generated since Gurga’s text. Haibun: A Writer’s Guide is less a “complete guide” (as Haiku’s back cover claims for that volume) and more of an introduction—a tool to get someone interested and started in haibun rather than the end-all, be-all. This approach is something that I, as a reader, find refreshing.

Written by three seasoned haibun writers and editors, Haibun: A Writer’s Guide opens with an overview of haibun’s history, then moves into how to read and write haibun. Here, the book slows down to dissect the relationship between a haibun’s different parts. It then moves on to consider the different shapes and forms haibun can take. The last two sections provide a series of examples and thoughts from the individual authors—the text blends craft talk with reader response, which has a deep tradition in haiku and related forms. It then wraps with a series of prompts and resources for the reader to practice writing and continue reading and finding community.

Haibun: A Writer’s Guide is a long overdue text that offers innovative and exciting contributions to understanding haibun as a form, but not without some shortcomings.

The Strengths

The major strength of this book is the way that it forces the reader to think about the relationships between the different parts of a haibun—title, prose, and haiku. As mentioned above, the authors take care to unpack the importance of each of these parts and how they work together. They make a nod to the link-and-shift within renku tradition (something that was so useful to me when starting out) to illustrate how a haiku and prose work together, then, in later chapters, they proceed to illustrate (literally, in some cases) their understanding of haibun.

The first step to learning to write in a new form is to read that form, and the authors guide the reader through this process to practice not only reading but reading like a writer. Chapter 3, “Reading Haibun,” contains several charts, each building off the next and complicating the reading process, or what the authors call a “reading framework.” In some ways, the charts model the importance of rereading, how with each reread the haibun becomes more complex as further nuances emerge. The reading framework uses “sparks,” or resonances, to show the relationship between each of a haibun’s parts—each spark is “a space for reflecting and exploring further insights” (p. 22). This illustrative process and reading framework means that the reader cannot ignore any individual part—each has a role to play and the relationships do not necessarily have to be linear. Rather, it encourages the reader to consider how to round back to the title after the closing text, or how a spark might occur through multiple resonances and interactions. For example, the chart on page 24 suggests that the title may spark with both the prose and the haiku (not to mention the two halves of the haiku itself). This sets the reader up for Chapter 4, which proposes the different ways a haibun might be assembled.

As previously mentioned, this book is interested in possibilities, and Chapter 4, “Writing Haibun,” invites the reader to not only get creative, but also critically consider the effect of organization. Organizationally, the authors primarily focus on how the placement of both individual and multiple haiku influences the progression of the haibun and the reader response. In doing so, they prompt the reader to consider a haiku’s function within a text and to be deliberate about not only the haiku’s placement, but also how the crafting of the haiku aligns with its function.

To illustrate this, they provide a table with four examples in which the same paragraph of prose is paired with different haiku in varying placements; each change affects the reading and tone. A haiku can, according to the authors, be “an introduction or scene setter,” “clarify or conclude the prose,” “amplify or deepen the prose,” or “leap and open narratives” (p. 38). As someone who has been writing haibun for some time, I found this to be a great refresher. It made me think about new models that, as a teacher, I could use in the classroom. Not everyone is going to write the same way, not every poem will have the same demands, and everyone will have their own preferences. This model helps new writers to see that poetry still requires deliberate, rhetorical choices. Chapter 5, “Variations in Haibun,” supports all this work by bringing in a multitude of examples that put this table into action. I was so impressed with this scaffolding.

It also doesn’t hurt that this book provides excellent examples. The sampling of haibun within the text was a delight to read, and, in many ways, reminded me of what I loved about the form. The authors use these examples as teaching moments, but also as a reminder of the beautiful range this form can take. The editorial eye for these selections is key—showing the reader what haibun can do creates buy-in and makes the reader want to engage further in the form, whether it be writing, reading, or both.

As editors and writers, the authors have spent enough time with haibun to give analogies that beautifully capture the form. While I have some criticisms regarding the emphasis on the haiku part of haibun (as I’ll talk more about below), one of my favorite passages in the book is the following description:

If the prose is a river, imagine the haiku as islands that allow the reader to pause, to dwell, to contemplate, to reflect and see anew. These islands of haiku offer different vantage points and new strains of thought—maybe a dash of humor, or a touch of wonder or poignancy or mystery. They can also reveal that truth at the core of the narrative. [p. 29]

The spirit of this quote further emphasizes the importance of play and the ways in which haibun is a flexible form. Simultaneously, it’s a subtle nod to Zen traditions and the ways in which we are all connected. After I finished the book, this was a quote that lingered with me, and I found myself thinking about in the weeks that followed.

The Critique

My criticisms of this book surround mixed messaging—there are times that the book makes a claim that isn’t backed up on the page, or the opinions or suggestions on craft vary throughout the book. Granted, to clarify, one of the appeals of this book is that it is flexible. The book and its authors are open to experimentation (with limits), and both are looking toward the future and growth of haibun. (An aside: I deeply appreciate how the authors challenge the Haiku Society of America’s definition of haibun.) Additionally, with three authors with different experiences and takes on the form, it’s expected that when they share their individual opinions, there will be some variation. When I’m speaking of mixed messaging and inconsistency, I’m speaking primarily to pedagogical inconsistencies and the larger messaging and argument of the text.

My biggest criticism of this text is its emphasis and time spent on the importance of a quality haiku. While I also believe that a high-quality haiku is necessary for a good haibun, I felt that the authors spent more time emphasizing this than the quality of the prose—to the point that the prose was secondary to the haiku. In multiple places throughout the book, the authors claim that a good haiku is crucial:

“A haibun is only as good as its haiku.” (p. 25)

“… a weak haiku is the most fatal flaw in haibun writing and reading.” (p. 35)

“In summary, good haiku are critical to a good haibun. In fact, if you can’t write haiku, don’t attempt haibun…” (p. 41)

While pedagogically it makes sense to start with learning haiku—haiku is a challenging form in and of itself—this is at best short sighted and at worst gatekeeping. Again, everyone writes differently, and everyone enters a poem and writing poetry from a different place.

In the introduction, the authors are clear that they want to set the record straight—to clear up any confusion around haibun from both haiku arts practitioners and the larger poetry community—but I can’t help but feel that this emphasis on the haiku only reinforces some of the confusion and misunderstanding that the authors are fighting against. With such an emphasis, writers are more likely to spend time working on the haiku than the prose. This emphasis also threatens to undo all the quality work that the authors have done identifying the different aspects of a haibun and how they interact.

This may be a stylistic and craft difference between myself and the authors, but I think that part of what makes haibun unique, especially contemporary haibun, is that the haiku and prose not only work together, but also are of high quality—one cannot be an accessory to the other. In other words, it’s when these two parts come together that something new is made. On some level, I do think the authors may believe this as well—in earlier chapters they mention that the best haibun release “sparks” on all levels. I also do not believe they are suggesting that poor prose (or title) is acceptable (they say it’s not), but the intentions don’t always follow through on the page.

I would have liked to have seen a more concentrated effort to address the prose and the possibilities within this space. There are roughly five continuous pages about prose in Chapter 5, addressing a wide range of topics including implication, immediacy, focus, rhythm, voice, and pacing, all of which deserved more attention and detail. This gets changed for an additional eight pages about haiku and its placement to wrap up the chapter. Afterward, the comments about prose—its quality, what it can do—are more scattered and sparser throughout the text. They also contain contradictions. One chapter suggests that prose should come from one’s experience—a dangerous suggestion that haibun are only nonfiction—but later the authors discuss a haibun that has prose written from a fictional voice/perspective. The authors also state that prose, despite having “immediate impact” (p. 42), is often acted upon by the haiku: “… for those poets who can master the haiku form, and are able to see where, when, and why to pair them with prose, the world of haibun is open to you” (p. 41). “Immediate impact” implies that the prose does have a function of its own. But if its role is to simply be acted upon, what does the prose bring to the table? How does it contribute to the sparks, or the juxtaposition between the different parts of the haibun? Not to mention that it can actually do more than have “immediate impact”—depending on the pacing, it can accumulate and creep up on the reader. It can create movement and work in ways the haiku can’t, just as the haiku can work in ways that the prose can’t.

As previously mentioned, I think the emphasis on the haiku and the sporadic nature of comments on prose potentially reinscribes the problems that the authors hope to tackle or address in this text. The authors claim that, as editors, they have seen many potential haibun fail due to the poor quality of the haiku. In many ways, this book poses prose as less mysterious, but prose writing is also a skill that must be learned. When learning to write haibun, I was already experienced with haiku and it was the prose that I struggled with. And in my own editorial and teaching experience, I’ve seen some awful prose. The ELH community has built lots of resources on how to write haiku, but the prose is still second-class, despite the fact that the introduction of prose is what moves it into a new form. Meanwhile, poets from the larger poetry community will struggle with either—or sometimes both! In short, by privileging attention over one part of a haibun over the other when it comes to quality and instruction, this has the potential to create further misunderstandings.

My second major criticism is that the book’s ethos fluctuates, mostly because the authors fail to do their homework, or at least include it within the text. The authors make a series of claims—that haibun is misunderstood, that haibun is gaining attention in the larger poetry community, and that they want the book to appeal to a wider poetry audience. These things can be simultaneously true, but, as a reader, I found myself frustrated when they would give so many specific examples within the ELH community, but were routinely vague when it came to other publications, MFA programs, and non-haiku writers. There was only a brief mention of flash fiction and hybrid forms, both of which have close ties with haibun and have been influential in my own haibun writing.

If the goal is to reach a wide audience, these decisions and lack of inclusion are missed opportunities. I also know that at least one of the authors of Haibun: A Writer’s Guide has had work published by non-haiku presses and publications. Which MFA programs are teaching haibun, which publishers and journals are accepting this work, which genres are seeing crossover? What about W. Todd Kaneko and his text This is How the Bone Sings? What about Ocean Vuong, or Amanda Moore’s Requeening, which Vuong selected for the National Poetry Series Open Competition? What about Brenda Hillman, who has been writing haibun for ages? Larissa Lai, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Mark Nowack. The list goes on. Sure, not all of these may follow the conventions of haibun as presented in this writer’s guide, but I also believe in giving credit where credit is due, and their experimentation with haibun follows the trajectory and conversations I’ve seen within ELH communities. Small flash fiction and hybrid publications like Cheap Pop, Split Lip, and Pigeonholes have all published haibun at some point or another. There is a brief mention of hermit-crab essays when describing variations in haibun, but how can we push further? How is the haiku community supposed to build bridges if it’s not aware of or acknowledging the work that is happening in other spaces? Equally, what message does this send other audiences who may be coming from the larger poetry community? This book is not a commentary or resource on either the ELH or larger poetry community—and I should add I think that these claims and notes come from a place of good intentions—but if the book is going to include these claims and aim to reach a range of writers and readers (as illustrated in the quote at in the beginning of this review), then, as a reader, I expect to see these appeals made to these multiple audiences and to recognize the larger history of haibun as it exists within and outside the ELH community.

Final Thoughts

All this said, craft and pedagogy texts are living, breathing things, much in the way that the authors describe haibun as an evolving form. If there is a second edition of this book in the future, I would like to see a little more attention to the nuances mentioned above. I also hope that the authors will consult a writing teacher for recommendations on better scaffolding in the prompts, which currently feel like shorthand starters for seasoned haibun writers rather than novices of both writing and the form. This could also be achieved by drawing more upon the scaffolding done in previous chapters, or even interspersing the prompts throughout the book so that there are clearer connections between the bigger ideas and individual prompts.

To bring this review to a close, the real gems of this book are the third and fourth chapters. These, to me as a reader, are the heart of the book, and I think these are the places where both seasoned haiku arts writers and the larger poetry community will find something innovative, new, and informative. The follow-up within the fifth chapter creates a strong foundation for understanding the form and the considerations that go into writing it. However, I would be more likely to recommend this book to the ELH community before the larger poetry community, due to the lack of connections and pedagogical frameworks, which will make it difficult for someone who has not been engaged in the ELH community to provide additional context. But this is a start, and I look forward to seeing where the conversation goes from here.

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About the Author

Aubrie Cox Warner is a disabled poet-scholar with an MFA in creative writing and a PhD in rhetoric and composition. Her work has appeared in publications such as Modern Haiku, Rogue Agent, and Juxtapositions: A Journal of Haiku Research and Scholarship. She currently teaches at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire and can be found on Instagram at @acwarneriswriting.

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