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A review by rwalker101
H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
5.0
I recognize the grief MacDonald writes about here. Not a grief of pretty, diamond-shaped tears, nor a grief of cathartic chest-wracking sobs. It's an angry thing, small and caustic, and it lodges in the ribs and leaches lead into the blood stream. It changes you irrevocably, makes you mean, wears you down.
MacDonald clearly sees this part of themself in the young, mercurial goshawk they train. They learn first-hand how other falconers have misunderstood the nature of the goshawk, and while learning patience and love for the hawk, learns patience and love for their own self. In embracing the hawk's nature, they embrace their own nature, and become more whole for it.
It was validating to read. That I am not the only person who gets angry instead of sad when grieving, and that even despite that darker version of my nature that I can still find and make connections. That there is a home waiting for me, that the poison in my system can be shaken off with the proper care. That there can still be love, even after a world-ending loss.
MacDonald clearly sees this part of themself in the young, mercurial goshawk they train. They learn first-hand how other falconers have misunderstood the nature of the goshawk, and while learning patience and love for the hawk, learns patience and love for their own self. In embracing the hawk's nature, they embrace their own nature, and become more whole for it.
It was validating to read. That I am not the only person who gets angry instead of sad when grieving, and that even despite that darker version of my nature that I can still find and make connections. That there is a home waiting for me, that the poison in my system can be shaken off with the proper care. That there can still be love, even after a world-ending loss.