Max Porter‘s Grief is the Thing with Feathers (2015) lives somewhere between a prose poem and a novella, and, in fact, at times feels like the script for a fascinating stage production. It is a short, stunningly creative, and highly evocative lyric narrative exploration of his partner’s death and the impact of that loss on him and their two sons.
There is sadness here, but there is also growth, and humor, and joy and, ultimately, a family finding its way to a moment where grief is no longer the dominant force in their lives. Grief is portrayed in the book as a crow, who also exists as a bit of a dream/trickster figure, leading the family on their journey while also keeping them from moving too quickly through it.
There is some buried treasure here for poets as well: the protagonist is working on an academic exploration of Ted Hughes’ work, and the crow figure itself is one that is highlighted there.
It’s a very quick read, and if the ideas of grief and poetry are attractive, it is highly, highly recommended.
#WhatIWishICouldDo
I’m not a poet. I’ve written some poetry and even some that I’m proud of, but as lyrically descriptive as I aspire to be, the pure poetry here eludes me. What I mean by pure poetry are the ruptures and irruptions in the text that break open its meaning. Porter has chops, and there are moments where those shine through in ways I could never attain.