Now You’re The Enemy is near the top of my favorite books list. Not many books of poetry make me want to read nonstop what is on the pages. This book did just that.
 My opinion of this book is, I can not and will not deny, biased. James Allen Hall, the poet who wrote these poems was a professor of mine for four of my five semesters for my Creative Writing degree. I bought my copy of the book the summer after my first two semesters of taking his classes because I needed to know what the person teaching me was like behind it all. In his words. Behind his words.
I fell in love with his teaching style and the way the material was presented (and almost unknowingly absorbed) right away. It didn’t take very long for me to know that Dr. Hall was and will be my favorite professor.
In life, James is very fun to be around. There are always laughs when he’s around. Normally a professor is just there for me to be taught by and I can care less about much else then getting the class over with. I never felt that way when learning about poets, authors, and how to write. I wanted more. I wanted to stay in class for longer than the few hours we were in there for in the first place. It was like being taught by a friend.
I rationed this book out over a few week span the summer I bought it. And after I finished reading it, I went back to reread it a few more times. This is the type of poetry I wanted to write. Poetry that takes the reader and throws them into a scene that borders on it being their own experience even though they know it’s not. I want to be able to describe the beauty in the ugly parts of life and and ugly past.
When I realized that my last semester of college was quickly coming to a close I knew that I must get a momento of my time with Dr. Hall. I went to his office one afternoon, it was before one of my other classes. I asked him to sign the book and that I really enjoyed it. Even though I’ve talked to him in class and one-on-one for over a year, I felt like I was in the presence of a celebrity. Here I was getting my book signed by my professor, when it felt like it was in the hands of Derek Jeter.
When he handed the book back to me, I resisted the urge to open it and read it right there. That would have been even more awkward than I was already making it. After a bit of small talk I went off to class, still having not peeked in the book.
What I received that day wasn’t a simple signing by an author.  James Hall, with his message to me, showed that there are people who believe in my work. He has been looking closely over a collection I wrote for his class for a few months and really helped me mature my words to be presentable. I just hope that soon I’ll be able to have a signed copy of my published work to give him. I’ll just have to have patience.