Rating: 4 stars
I have never read any of Ted Hughes’ poetry for grown ups. I’ve only read his books for children, The Iron Man and How The Whale Became. I remember really enjoying them, and getting a dark thrill from how inventive and other worldly they were. I wouldn’t have put it like that back then, it was probably more of a gut thing.
I decided I would read Crow as a result of reading Grief is the Thing with Feathers. I get what Max Porter has done with that novel in a different way now. I see the origins of Crow in that book more clearly. Continue reading