I really enjoyed this, though I don't usually read poetry. It piqued my interest at "moving, elegiac verse," and reeled me in with "grief-stricken" and "his wife's death." This also led me down a rabbit hole toward one of Hardy's other poems, Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave?, which is a new favorite.
I absolutely enjoyed reading this little black classic. It's filled with words to live by, no matter what practice you follow. I found myself reflecting upon each line, envisioning how it fit into my present life, and enjoying how poetic it sounded, as I read this treat aloud. I also couldn't help but think so much about propositional logic nearly the entire time!
I loved that this is an epistolary novel told from Charlie's point-of-view. The gradual progression of his IQ made me think of a bell curve, and I've never seen any other book with this type of storyline. The ableist language didn't age well, but what can you expect from a novel published in 1959, am I right?