![]() ![]() ![]() To appreciate the invention and spirit of Feathers, it is useful but not necessary, to have an acquaintance with Ted Hughes and his work Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow. It would not have saved her, but it might have granted her the comfort of wings, even for a moment. Grief is the Thing with Feathers, Max Porter’s bravely unconventional novel about the impact of a woman’s sudden death on her husband and young sons, is a book that speaks to me-not as a bereaved child, my parents were in their eighties and ailing-but in the loss of my friend Ulla, who ended her life burdened by an unremittent depression and her own private, unresolved griefs. And yet, no two griefs, no two losses are alike. ![]() I carry more, I am a walking inventory of grief, but the three “expected” griefs are those that I, and others, anticipate I lost both of my parents and one of my closest friends within the span of two months last summer. I am carrying three griefs-three “conventional” griefs, if there is such a thing. ![]() Then heaven and earth creaked at the joint ![]()
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