I include the subtitle, “A Novel,” purposefully. It is seldom I happen across a novel that is truly unique without being just intentionally odd. I was convinced for some time must be a memoir or strongly autobiographical. Or a long poem. Or, well, who knows what. At just over 100 pages of widely spaced type, it can be read in an hour or so. But like a poem, you can’t just skim through it to find out how the plot comes out. There isn’t one. A husband comes home to find his wife, the mother of his two young sons, dead from an accidental fall from a ladder. Over the course of time, he and the children learn to live with this grief. The dad is visited by Crow – a trickster, a symbol, the subject of Ted Hughes' famous collection of poems by the same name? All of the above. 114 pp.