A review by congressbaby143
Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter

4.0

My lack of understanding of poetic language did not hinder me from liking the poetry inside this. Grief. It was a journey with no end in sight and I don’t admit to relating to most of these things but the emotions were too tangible not to feel. I wonder where the self-insert is. I feel for the boys. For dad. For mum. For the crow. It made me remember how grief is so isolating and how people outside of your grief don’t feel real at all. And I felt the anger and annoyance at the people who were there because they felt bad if they weren’t. And I felt the helplessness of being told to be good and move on and can’t you all let me wallow in grief. I will always be in pain, the question will always be how much pain I will be in in a matter of time.... I feel for so much of this. I’m glad I only get to read this now at a time when I’m past my grief being magnified. This would have killed me.