Tag Archives: nonfiction

All the Frequent Troubles of Our Days: What a bad title for an excellent book

Rebecca Donner’s biography of her great-great aunt, Mildred Harnack, All the Frequent Troubles of Our Days, is great (though the title is impossible for me to remember thus making it terrible when I try to recommend it). It has a thriller vibe as the resistance forms and fights in Berlin leading up to and during the Second World War. The cast of characters (I know, I know, they’re people) feel sharp and present – the best kind of biography for me is one where you can forget its non-fiction. And how wonderful to have recovered the story of Harnack, all but forgotten, from fragments and trace references, and to bring her heroism to the contemporary moment.

Harnack’s heroism is her bafflement that those around her are quiescent amid the rise of Hitler. Everyone, she thinks, seems to think someone else will solve the problem of Hitler, someone else will put a stop to the madness.

Most pressing to a reader in 2023 are the questions of what we do ourselves amid our parallel moment. Bravery is not my strong suit, and so I’ll simply suggest you read this one, and think about accrual of silence and shrugs. Sort of like how I approach choosing take-out on Friday nights, and then find myself annoyed that we’ve ended up with shawarma. Once again.

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H is for Hawk: In which I read non-fiction and nothing explodes

H is for Hawk is non-fiction. It’s not the book’s fault. It’s the story of a real woman (author Helen MacDonald) and her real hawk (Mable). And it has gorgeous writing. Really beautiful stuff. The kind that makes you stop and read it out loud to whoever is in the room with you (which, thankfully, was only S. and not my fellow bus passengers – though I bet they’d have appreciated the beauty, too).

It’s also kind of slow. Helen’s father dies. She gets a baby hawk. She teaches the hawk to hunt. She experiences depression. She mourns. It’s not the plot of a novel; it’s the plot of someone’s life, Helen’s life. Well, it would be except that the book also includes a sort of mini-biography within the memoir of falconer and author T H White. The bits about White were… distracting and dull. I suspect they were meant to illuminate ideas about Helen’s life and her work towards healing. Suffice it to say I found the parts about Helen and Mabel more engaging and enriching. I found it hard to make the leap between White and Helen, as if the relationship between the two was meaningful for Helen, but not sufficiently argued for me to see the connection.

Don’t get me wrong: It’s not all about engagement and excitement. I appreciated that much of this book was thematically and structurally about patience. Waiting for the hawk, waiting for grief, waiting for plot. It’s also about time. And about how our sense of our self shifts in place, time and relationship. And space – the contours and power of a specific location. I appreciated the gentle and the meditative. I really did.

And there’s no but. Just the caution that you might expect long – and elegant and surprising and sharp – explorations of landscape and a bird’s movement through it. Plus some brambles.

Read it for the beautiful writing. And let me know what you think.

 

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Filed under Non-fiction, Prize Winner