Grief Is the Thing with Feathers

Grief? Feathers? Didn't I already read that book when it was called H Is for Hawk? Not in the least. The bird in this case is a crow, and the book, well, it's a beast of another kind entirely, a slim, spare novel of a father and two sons after the death of their wife and mother, into which enters Crow, a wild, mischievous, fantastic, and ultimately useful force. It's a strange book, a sad book, a silly book, which comes at its elemental, inexplicable subject both sideways and straight-on, gathering force with its fragments until you can feel the Crow sitting, terribly present, in your own room.