Grief

I've started following 'The Book Bench," a short, smart little blog by the book review section of the New Yorker. There are many days when I don't pick up on anything in particular, certainly not anything worth writing a blurb about, but today is different.

Today, I noticed that Menachem Kaiser linked to a story about a man robbing a bank in a "Winnie the Pooh" shirt. Suprisingly, Kaiser, in the same breath, mentioned Bill Clinton's book list. Today, I learned a bit more about William T. Vollman, whose latest tour de force, "Imperial," probably would not have been possible if not for his many eccentricities.

But the post I enjoyed most was a link to a letter written by Kathy Rhodes. The best paragraphs are probably found in the opening and closing of the letter. In a way, the letter reminds me of Donald Hall's "Without," which is one of my favorite collections of poetry. In both pieces, grief's principal utility is to absolve the writer, which in turn makes the experience for the reader that much more profound.