In fact, the audio version as a whole is a work of art, a perfect blend of a writers intent and an actors skill. His recreation of the scene where Crow kicks demon butt is a thing of linguistic artistry. He gave each character their own cadence and voice, and the character of Crow was brought to life in a way that truly surprised me. Before buying the audio version, I doubted "Crow" could be delivered properly, or whether the real-world, heart aching tenderness could hit the right note here, but Jot Davies narration floored me. I read the book version first and was stunned at Porter's creativity, but even more impressive was his ease at spitting out some truly potent prose, which has an particular aroma like I have never experienced before, and to add to its verbal dexterity, the book has a lot of heart. Full of angular wit and profound truths, Grief Is the Thing with Feathers is a startlingly original and haunting debut by a significant new talent. Part novella, part polyphonic fable, part essay on grief, Max Porter's extraordinary debut combines compassion and bravura style to dazzling effect. As weeks turn to months and the pain of loss lessens with the balm of memories, Crow's efforts are rewarded and the little unit of three begins to recover: Dad resumes his book about the poet Ted Hughes the boys get on with it, grow up. This self-described "sentimental bird", at once wild and tender, who "finds humans dull except in grief", threatens to stay with the wounded family until they no longer need him. In this moment of violent despair they are visited by Crow - antagonist, trickster, goad, protector, therapist, and babysitter. The father imagines a future of well-meaning visitors and emptiness, while the boys wander, savage and unsupervised. And there are his two sons who like him struggle in their London apartment to face the unbearable sadness that has engulfed them.
Here he is, husband and father, scruffy romantic, a shambolic scholar - a man adrift in the wake of his wife's sudden, accidental death.
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