A Grieving Atheist Book Review: Grief is the Thing With Feathers

I picked up Grief is the Thing With Feathers, by Max Porter, because it was at my local library under the search word "grief." There might be spoilers in this review.

The book is part poetry, part prose, part stream of consciousness, part sarcasm. It is easy to read in one sitting. There are three voices: the grieving husband and father who lost his wife in an accident, their two sons, and Crow.

Crow is a large black bird who suddenly enters the life of the father and sons when grief hits full force. Crow is grief counselor, friend, antagonist, observer of life, and reminder of death, all in one. He insinuates himself into the household as a guest that is barely tolerated and sometimes ignored. He is raucous, rude, and nonsensical, but sometimes wise and witty. He loves rhyming and alliteration.

At the end, Crow is revealed as tender and understanding. He has somehow held the family together and brought them through the worst. His job was to remain as long as hope was absent. He eventually leaves them to their new lives that they have eventually managed to create out of the destruction of the old. However, they do not forget him, but retain a lifelong affinity for crows.

Of course the story is a metaphor for a grief observed. It plays off Emily Dickenson's poem which says "Hope is a thing with feathers." In this case grief has replaced hope, temporarily. I'm sure story is meant to be a message of hope, at the same time understanding that grief comes to live with you for  a while and insinuates itself into everything.

The father in the story is a Ted Hughes expert and is writing a scholarly essay on Mr. Hughes work called Crow, which Mr. Hughes wrote after the death of his wife Sylvia Plath. I believe it would be promote better understanding of imagery used if one was to read Mr. Hughes work, but I haven't done that yet.

Of course I cried in a couple of spots, but the father's situation was different enough from my own for me to not be triggered too much. Weirdly, I'm finding that looking at the grief of others is helping me to see my own more clearly. This was a line from the book that spoke to me: "Moving on, as a concept, is for stupid people, because any sensible person knows grief is a long-term project."