A bereaved husband with two boys is laid low by grief and rescued by Crow, an initially unwelcome visitor arising from his Ted Hughes obsession. A short, robust, poignant blend of poetry and prose. How powerfully the legends of Hughes and Plath continue to be. Today's Guardian has a front page story of newly uncovered letters from SP to her therapist, Ruth Barnworth, supposedly revealing his abuse and violence but, if I remember correctly, she claimed to have bit him savagely on the cheek the first time they danced and she seems to have been a few slates short of a lean-to. Or maybe I'm just an appalling old mysogynist, soured by finding The Bell Jar a dispiriting tale of the self-obsessed.
https://www.faber.co.uk/9780571327232-grief-is-the-thing-with-feathers.html
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