For nearly a decade, I worked in a bookstore, and from the beginning of my time there until I left a few years ago, there was a particular book that seemed extremely popular for reasons no one could ever explain to me. It proved to be a puzzling exercise in trying to determine exactly why everyone from high school students to residents of the local retirement home seemed so eager to get their hands on this book, that was, until I decided to take the leap and read it for myself. The book was H is for Hawk by academic and writer Helen MacDonald, in which the author writes about the immediate aftermath of their father’s death. During that time, they adopted a young goshawk named Mabel as a means to filter their crippling depression over their loss into something practical. What started as nothing more than a distraction eventually flourished into a sincere passion, the bond between the pair becoming the foundation for a poignant exploration of grief, trauma and the path towards recovery. The book is an incredible, intimate achievement. Like any strong piece of literature, it did not take too long for it to be optioned into a film adaptation, in which screenwriter Emma Donaghue (a wonderful novelist in her own right) adapted the memoir, which was in turn brought to life on screen by journeyman director Philippa Lowthorpe, who has developed quite an impressive body of work in both film and television. The result is a relatively strong adaptation of the book, a film that does exactly what it promises, insofar as it is a clear, well-crafted retelling of MacDonald’s life during the year following the sudden death of her father, showing the various trials and tribulations she had to endure, and how she managed to not only recover from her debilitating grief, but become a much stronger person in the process – and all it took was the arrival of a very special creature to help motivate her to keep moving on with her life, rather than allowing herself to become lost in the shroud of mourning that tends to descend on those who have suffered an enormous loss.

Many decades ago, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross proposed the theory we commonly refer to as the Five Stages of Grief, in which those dealing with any kind of loss or traumatic experience are likely to feel a few different emotions, in varying combinations: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It remains to be seen which of them can be attributed to the impulse to adopt a goshawk, but it’s clear that it is a sign of a mind frantically trying to recover from the shock of losing a parent, especially under such sudden, unexpected conditions. This has always been the route through which audiences have been led to appreciate H is for Hawk, which resonates with us solely because it addresses something as common and undeniably important as death, treating it not as some enormous tragedy, but rather a natural part of life. The book itself is a wonderful text and deserves to be read by anyone who wants to experience the candour and charm of MacDonald’s writing – and our focus is not to dwell on the aspects covered in the book, but rather the film, which does make some necessary elisions to fit into the two-hour running time, but it does mostly retain the majority of the thematic material that made the novel so incredibly moving. Grief is not easy to navigate, and it often is said that the more unexpected a loss, the more difficult it is to process – and anyone who has lost someone close to them will know exactly how that feels. H is for Hawk is not necessarily about death itself – the actual event takes place off-screen, and the exact circumstances are not made clear, primarily because they don’t bear much relevance to the aspects of the plot that this film chooses to highlight. Instead, it’s a story of recovery and how the journey to processing a loss is not always easy to understand – everyone goes about it in their own unique way, and in the case of MacDonald, their salvation arrived in the form of a bird of prey, which became the vessel through which all their emotions could be filtered. It’s quite clear what the film wants to communicate, and through critically engaging with the text, it turns out to be quite effective, especially in underlining all how MacDonald depicts her journey from immense grief to a more active, open life, one where they are still forced to process the loss, but in a way that is far more practical and meaningful.

The part of MacDonald is a complex one – they have certainly led quite a fascinating life, with this film focusing on the year immediately following the death of their father, which the book describes as being one of the most emotionally daunting. It’s not an easy role, and requires an actor who cannot only communicate their ferocious intelligence, but also the deep sadness felt during the period of mourning. The role was given to Claire Foy, who has shown herself to be effortlessly capable of playing complex people who run the gamut of emotions, being more than willing to draw on the inherent vulnerabilities that would come with this character. This isn’t necessarily career-best work, since it is a relatively simple performance that doesn’t demand too much from Foy, but she is nonetheless excellent at doing what was required of her, bringing MacDonald’s story to life with precision and genuine dedication. However, the best performance in the film comes from Brendan Gleeson, which may seem like an outlandish proposition (considering suggesting a supporting player eclipses the lead), but considering the nature of his role, it makes perfect sense. He is the person whose death kickstarts the core narrative, and while he may only appear in flashbacks, each scene is memorable, since it helps us piece together not only his dynamic, daring personality but also leads us to understand the role he played in his daughter’s life. The film, much like the book, is as much about MacDonald’s efforts to grieve their father as it is about his life, or at least the fragments the author was willing to share. Alasdair MacDonald was a world-renowned press photographer, and his passion for his craft is what connects him and his daughter, as well as being the key to her recovery – they may have very different interests, but they were bound by their desire to share their triumphs, and every moment Gleeson is on screen feels dynamic and compelling, truly proving himself yet again to be one of our finest living actors, someone capable of extracing so much emotions from the simplest and most quiet moments.

Perhaps the idea of a story in which the process of working through one’s grief is visually represented in the form of an animal is a bit overwrought – but considering it is based on MacDonald’s own experiences in the aftermath of her father’s death, we can give it some credibility, even if it is clear that certain aspects are always going to be embellished for artistic reasons. Considering the themes of the film, we can expect that there will be some degree of heavy-handed emotions – anyone who expects a film that is about death and the process of grieving not to be guided by a sense of melancholy and sentimentality is either foolish or has too much faith, since it is very difficult to find a work based around these ideas that isn’t somewhat overwrought. Many dense, complex emotions define H is for Hawk, which is only made more notable by the fact that it is based on a true story, many of the author’s observations and internal quandaries being lifted directly from the text. Usually, there is a lot that tends to get lost in the transition from page to screen, but thankfully, this film does keep everything quite faithful – but with this comes the expected over-abundance of emotional moments that can be slightly challenging for those who struggle to see value in these more intensely emotional stories. Unfortunately, Lowthorpe is not the kind of director to take some subversive, unconventional approach – what is printed on the page is what she intends to film, and her focus is not on redefining the on-screen examination of trauma, but rather directing it in such a way that it feels dynamic and meaningful, which was ultimately the entire purpose of this film. However, while it may be heavy-handed in some parts, it is never manipulative – the moments of overt sentimentality are intentionally kept to a minimum, and the focus is less on dwelling on the sadness and more on expanding on the protagonist’s journey towards recovery, which is the primary element that makes this film so wonderfully engaging most of the time. It certainly means well, and even at its most saccharine, it still feels like it is actively trying to say something compelling, which is certainly nothing if not completely admirable.

As a whole, H is for Hawk is a fascinating little film – it doesn’t announce itself so much as it quietly and methodically emerges, being a very effective exploration of trauma and the unbearable weight of the grieving process, which is truly impossible to navigate, and made even worse by the realisation that no guidebook outlines the ideal way to mourn. Needless to say, while it was formed from a deeply personal place and was defined exclusively by their own experiences, MacDonald’s novel has proven to be as close to an essential text in unpacking all that we can seek internal salvation in the aftermath of something as traumatic as the death of a parent. It’s not a particularly complex work, but it certainly has character and a willingness to have the difficult conversations, which is admirable in itself – and it does help that Lowthorpe does try and present it as more than just a straightforward adaptation, with some stunning sequences (particularly everything involving the hawk – the hunting scenes are beyond glorious, and its difficult to not be entirely enamoured with the majesty of seeing this animal stalking its prey) and a generally strong emotional approach that feels much more engaging than the traditional run-of-the-mill sentimental drama for the most part. A poignant and captivating story of someone who seeks a path towards recovery when it seems impossible, and who learns some of life’s hardest lessons suddenly and without any warning. It can be quite sad in certain parts, and the director does not avoid leaning into the more difficult emotions, but this is all in service of honouring a tremendous text, paying tribute not only to MacDonald, whose journey to recovery is truly inspiring, but also their father, whose own life is honoured beautifully in this film, being as much about his work and legacy as it is about the author’s attempts to move past his death, a seemingly impossible task, but one that they achieve through simply realising that the only way to truly grieve a loss it to take it one day at a time, finding solace in the beauty of the world that surrounds us, and knowing that everything ultimately happens for a reason.