Helen Macdonald’s book strongly reminds me of A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. They are very different, but they have one thing in common: grief. There is something perversely fascinating about grief. Perhaps because it strips us bare, it leaves us vulnerable and it brings out parts of ourselves that we did not even know existed. Or perhaps because I fear the day when I will experience it. Grief cannot be understood unless and until it is experienced. This is one conclusion that both books reach.
H Is For Hawk is a raw and wild piece of literature, the story of a broken heart mended by blood and feathers and talons. It is a story about death, but its every page celebrates life. Reading it was a visceral experience that connected me to the earth, to history and to my own wilderness. Helen’s introspective analysis urges the reader to look within and find themselves.