Abstract
The short novel, Grief Is the Thing with Feathers, sets the stage for a remarkable portrayal of grief in three parts. Although the cover titles it a novel, the result of Max Porter's work resembles more verse than novel. It weaves firsthand accounts of the grieving process of a widower, his twin sons, and Crow, a symbol for grief as a protective and expected presence after the unexpected death of the protagonist's wife. What makes the novel uniquely moving is the poetic and rhythmic nature of the text that expresses itself almost nonsensically and yet illustrates the experiences of the characters with ease and clarity.
Porter writes with poignancy, highlighting the helplessness that surrounds grief. The concept of control is often devalued in medicine, as patients and caregivers struggle with end-of-life realities. Patients often experience bargaining, hoping for different outcomes, dreaming of other possibilities than the paths that lie ahead, until they eventually are cornered into submission. At a certain point, one is forced to accept the fate, and this is how Porter illustrates his characters' journeys.
The book explores Crow/grief as something that does not follow a definitive timeline, but instead acts as a fluid and supportive presence throughout the characters' growth. Crow does not dictate the correct way to get over death, but rather continually reinforces the characters' love and understanding for one another throughout the turbulent grieving process. In many ways, this is the truest reflection of grief. We move forward, we slide backward, we lash out, we break things, we make mistakes, and yet nothing about those motions are wrong. None of them are unacceptable, and instead they are expected. Porter continually references these moments of forgiveness among the characters, regardless of whether the mistakes are made. All characters appear to appreciate these faults and provide space and permission for them to arise. The boys ruin the ceiling in the bathroom, yet their father understands. The father reminds the boys of stories of their mother in hopes of ensuring they do not forget her, and the boys forgive him for reminding them of what they already know. This allowance of behavior is deeply rooted in love and understanding, which is critical in the grieving process and in relationships more generally.
In the book's closing, I found myself most struck by this passage. It is written from the observations of the two sons, a few years after their mother's death.
Caught baffled by the perplexing slow-release of sadness for ever and ever and ever. Which I suppose, looking back, was because of us. He couldn't rage. He couldn't want to die. He couldn't rail against an absence when it was grinning, singing, freckling in the English summer tweedled dee tweedled dum in front of him. Perhaps if Crow taught him anything it was a constant balancing. For want of a less dirty word: faith. A howling sorry which is yes which is thank you which is onwards. (106)
Patients' families often have no choice but to continue their lives regardless of the tragedy that has struck them. A diagnosis, perpetual treatment, or sudden loss do not allow them to withdraw from life and shirk responsibilities. It highlights the challenges of recovering from unspeakable loss while encountering the day-to-day challenges of life.
Porter's novel lends itself to a swift read, and though the book passes quickly, it leaves a visceral and familiar imprint on one's heart. Regardless of whether you have lost someone in your life, the concepts and characters are relatable. It is the type of book one will likely pick up repeatedly as an opportunity for catharsis and company in times of hardship.