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A review by silvae
H Is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald
5.0
TW: animal death, animal mistreatment and abuse (depending on where you draw the line), internalized homophobia, grief, depression,
H is for Hawk is many things, but it is, first and foremost, a love letter. It is a love letter to nature, a love letter to the author's deceased father, a love letter to Mabel the goshawk, a love letter to author T.H. White and a love letter to Helen Macdonald, the grieving author herself. While I don't read a lot of memoirs, especially not of people I don't know, I have to say that I have been fascinated by this book for a long time. I was working in a bookshop - my first real job - back when the German edition came out and I kept circling the hardcover, mesmerized by the woodcut cover, but ultimately uninterested in the story itself. I don't quite remember what books I was reading back then, but I know my teenage self had no interest in falconry or books on grief. It is only now that I finally returned back to the book, many years later, and find myself in the right place to fully appreciate Helen Macdonald's writing.
Earlier in the year I listened to Charlotte McConaghy's Migrations, a book focusing on a distraught woman, caught in mysterious despair, trekking across the world to follow a flock of birds' final migration. In a lot of ways, I found myself thinking of Franny every so often. Macdonald is, obviously, a real and three dimensional human, whose emotions, actions and thoughts are not governed by an author, but the parallels were strong enough for me to form an even closer bond to the book.
Macdonald tells the story of her own grief in a way that makes sense of a grieving person - while the story chronicles her goshawk Mabel's journey from breeder to her first molting, Macdonald's feelings are not touched upon in great detail unless they coincide with a change in Mabel's behavior. It fits in perfectly with her prerogative of escaping her depression and sadness by taking care of her hawk, so much so that she often forgets her own self and her needs and emotions along the way. While it is painful to watch her stumble and fall and run from her feelings, it's by far the least painful part of the book. Her relationship with Mabel is loving, wonderful and enviable - her love for her shines through her words, desperate to shine a new light on birds many authors previously had condemned to be too violent and thick headed. Mabel feels like a person at times, which perhaps is not in the interest of other falconers at all, but lets those without knowledge and affection for the sport (?) finally understand why those who train birds to hunt do what they do.
The truly painful parts of the book focus on the life of author T.H. White, who after a horrible childhood and tormented by excruciating internalized homophobia decides to train a goshawk and write a book about it. Macdonald's own relationship with the book changes throughout her journey of grief, but as a reader it is incredibly difficult to read about White, who surely meant well with all of his attempts to train Gos, slowly ruining his bird's life alongside his own. In smothering the hawk with love and food and affection, he is hurting him, and, unable to fully commit to the strict and - to a human - heartless acts required to bond the bird to him, he loses him. Macdonald describes these attempts time and time again from both the perspective of White, for whom this training is way more than just the taming of a bird, but rather a failed attempt at taming the part of himself he hates, and Gos, who has no grasp on the situation at all; he is both a small child unable to comprehend what his father wants from him and a predator who does not wish to spend his life tied down. It is awful and it is painful and it is a struggle, so much so that at times I had to pause the audiobook and take a break for a while, because the pain of Macdonald, White and Gos had become too much to bear. It is most definitely readable and manageable, but it is not an easy read at times.
Macdonald takes many different narrative threads to weave a tapestry of grief and love, kinship, acceptance, peace and turmoil, often taking routes to explore a topic that seemingly come out of nowhere but fit in perfectly. It is an academic sort of memoir, but also a deeply personal exploration of nature, humanity and pain.
While I can't speak on whether this would provide comfort to a grieving person (as my relationship with grief is rather weird), I do think many people could benefit from reading this book. It is one of the most well-rounded and contemplative books I have read in many years and feel truly grateful that I managed to find my way back to it.
H is for Hawk is many things, but it is, first and foremost, a love letter. It is a love letter to nature, a love letter to the author's deceased father, a love letter to Mabel the goshawk, a love letter to author T.H. White and a love letter to Helen Macdonald, the grieving author herself. While I don't read a lot of memoirs, especially not of people I don't know, I have to say that I have been fascinated by this book for a long time. I was working in a bookshop - my first real job - back when the German edition came out and I kept circling the hardcover, mesmerized by the woodcut cover, but ultimately uninterested in the story itself. I don't quite remember what books I was reading back then, but I know my teenage self had no interest in falconry or books on grief. It is only now that I finally returned back to the book, many years later, and find myself in the right place to fully appreciate Helen Macdonald's writing.
Earlier in the year I listened to Charlotte McConaghy's Migrations, a book focusing on a distraught woman, caught in mysterious despair, trekking across the world to follow a flock of birds' final migration. In a lot of ways, I found myself thinking of Franny every so often. Macdonald is, obviously, a real and three dimensional human, whose emotions, actions and thoughts are not governed by an author, but the parallels were strong enough for me to form an even closer bond to the book.
Macdonald tells the story of her own grief in a way that makes sense of a grieving person - while the story chronicles her goshawk Mabel's journey from breeder to her first molting, Macdonald's feelings are not touched upon in great detail unless they coincide with a change in Mabel's behavior. It fits in perfectly with her prerogative of escaping her depression and sadness by taking care of her hawk, so much so that she often forgets her own self and her needs and emotions along the way. While it is painful to watch her stumble and fall and run from her feelings, it's by far the least painful part of the book. Her relationship with Mabel is loving, wonderful and enviable - her love for her shines through her words, desperate to shine a new light on birds many authors previously had condemned to be too violent and thick headed. Mabel feels like a person at times, which perhaps is not in the interest of other falconers at all, but lets those without knowledge and affection for the sport (?) finally understand why those who train birds to hunt do what they do.
The truly painful parts of the book focus on the life of author T.H. White, who after a horrible childhood and tormented by excruciating internalized homophobia decides to train a goshawk and write a book about it. Macdonald's own relationship with the book changes throughout her journey of grief, but as a reader it is incredibly difficult to read about White, who surely meant well with all of his attempts to train Gos, slowly ruining his bird's life alongside his own. In smothering the hawk with love and food and affection, he is hurting him, and, unable to fully commit to the strict and - to a human - heartless acts required to bond the bird to him, he loses him. Macdonald describes these attempts time and time again from both the perspective of White, for whom this training is way more than just the taming of a bird, but rather a failed attempt at taming the part of himself he hates, and Gos, who has no grasp on the situation at all; he is both a small child unable to comprehend what his father wants from him and a predator who does not wish to spend his life tied down. It is awful and it is painful and it is a struggle, so much so that at times I had to pause the audiobook and take a break for a while, because the pain of Macdonald, White and Gos had become too much to bear. It is most definitely readable and manageable, but it is not an easy read at times.
Macdonald takes many different narrative threads to weave a tapestry of grief and love, kinship, acceptance, peace and turmoil, often taking routes to explore a topic that seemingly come out of nowhere but fit in perfectly. It is an academic sort of memoir, but also a deeply personal exploration of nature, humanity and pain.
While I can't speak on whether this would provide comfort to a grieving person (as my relationship with grief is rather weird), I do think many people could benefit from reading this book. It is one of the most well-rounded and contemplative books I have read in many years and feel truly grateful that I managed to find my way back to it.