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."

Ecclesiastes part two

Beginning in verse 12, the teacher says he was king over Israel in Jerusalem. He devoted himself to studying and exploring everything he could. He believes he has seen everything done under the sun and it is all meaningless and a terrible burden for men to bear. I bet women had it just as bad. If we are to take this literally, it would be quite obvious that it is not possible for a king in ancient Jerusalem to have done everything there is to do. He may have done everything he knew there was to do, but even that is doubtful. I bet he never cleaned out his own chamber pots.

There is a poetic phrase inserted in verse 15: "What is twisted cannot be straightened; what is lacking cannot be counted." We are not told what this means, but it seems to be the author's metaphor for man's lot in life, which he is not happy with.

In verse 16, the author begins to boast about how knowledgeable he is, how experienced in understanding wisdom, and even madness and folly. But it has got him nowhere. Insert another poetic passage: "For with much wisdom comes much sorrow, the more knowledge, the more grief." I take issue with this sentiment. I think how wisdom and knowledge affects a person depends on their temperament and philosophy of life. This particular person appears to be lacking in humility, unlike Socrates who declared that the more he knew, the more he realized he didn't know. The author doesn't seem to recognize his own human limitations in the realm of knowledge. Also wisdom should give someone the ability to make better decisions and be more empathetic and generous, shouldn't it? It's not just about knowing things, but knowing how to live a productive and beneficial life.

We have come to chapter two. The author says he tested his heart with pleasure, which he seems to equate with laughter, drinking, and being foolish. Not surprisingly, he found that to be unsatisfactory. His definition of pleasure leaves a lot to be desired.

Next, he says he undertook many great building and landscaping projects. He obtained many slaves,  herd animals, silver and gold, male and female singers, and a harem. He became greater than anyone in Jerusalem before him...if you measure greatness by possessions. Notice the possessions include people. And yet, the author says he kept his wisdom through it all. How in the world does this guy define wisdom?

 To me, this is where the authorship shows that it is undoubtedly written by a person who is not the king, in the  king's voice. There must have been legends of Solomon's great wealth and wisdom among the returned exiles. Perhaps they were hoping for a change of fortune for themselves. Perhaps there were those who felt entitled the high life, with education, property, and priveledge. Perhaps it was Persian influence. Perhaps they were rebuilding Jerusalem with those things in mind. Perhaps the author is writing this to bring them down from their flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur.

Verse 10 begins another poetic passage. The king denied himself nothing and took delight in all his work. Yet when he surveyed everything he had done, he felt that it was all meaningless and nothing was gained. This guy's got problems. What is "meaning" anyway? What reasons did he have to do all those things?  If his accomplishments gave him delight at the time, why wasn't that enough? It seems to me that he expects something more, but what?