The Woman Who Fell From the Sky, by Joy Harjo

The Woman Who Fell From The Sky

  • Genre
    • Poetry, Free Verse
  • Plot Summary
    • A collection of poems about heritage, pain, personal growth, love and hope in the face of grief. 
  • Character Empathy
    • Interesting. You see mostly people in fragmented moments and sideways glances, but these still evoke a strong sense of personality, perhaps because they capture the contradictions, frailties and dilemmas that make up real humans.
  • Tone: What’s it Like to Read This Book?
    • The first thing that came to mind is that this book is like water. I love wading into big cool lakes, finding an open space and just floating in the middle; this book gave me that feeling. It’s a force of nature, but gently immersive. It’s dynamic, but peaceful. The sentences are deliberately long, so you get a little lost in the hops from concept to concept, but the sense of an emotion or idea completely captures you. It’s a book to reread and reread, not so much to understand it better, as to understand how you understood it so well the first time around.
    • There’s also a permeating, thunderingly fierce sense of love. She talks often about the power of love and kindness; not mere civility, but the kind of determined, transformative love that shows up in small moments, but takes real courage to show.
  • Other Shiny Stuff
    • The end of each poem has notes on the inspiration, whether historical or personal, and extra little reflections. I love it when authors do that. 
    • Look, this is a book of absurdly pretty poems. Do you like absurdly pretty poems? Ones where you’ll read it and totally lose track of your surroundings, because you’re just dwelling on the pure, distilled majesty that is being fed to your eyeballs? Then you’ll like this book. What else do you need?
  • Content Warnings
    • Some allusions to abuse and oppression, but nothing graphic.
  • Quotes
    • “If we cry more tears we will ruin the land with salt; instead let’s praise that which would distract us with despair. Make a song for death, a song with yellow teeth and bad breath. For loneliness, the house guest who eats everything and refuses to leave. A song for bad weather so we can stand together under our leaking roof, and make a terrible music with our wise and ragged bones.”
    • “Every day is a reenactment of the creation story. We emerge from dense unspeakable material, through the shimmering power of dreaming stuff.”
    • “Truth can appear as disaster in a land of things unspoken.”
    • “(When a people institute a bureaucratic department to service justice then be suspicious. False justice is not justified by massive structure, just as the sacred is not confineable to buildings constructed for the purpose of worship.)
    • “Her mother has business in the house of chaos. She is a prophet disguised as a young mother who is looking for a job.”
    • I’m sorry, said the house who sat down by the man who’d taken refuge in the street. The inhabitants could be heard disappearing through aluminum walls as the boy bent to the slap and beating by the father who was charged with loving and nothing in him could answer to that angel. I could not protect you, cried the house: Though the house gleamed with appliances. Though the house was built with postwar money and hope. Though the house was their haven after the war. Though the war never ended.”
    • “When I hear crows talking, death is a central topic, Death often occurs in clusters, they say. They watch the effect like a wave that moves out from the center of the question. The magnetic force is attractive and can make you want to fly to the other side of the sky.”
    • All acts of kindness are lights in the war for justice.”

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