PositiveThe Chicago Review of BooksPolzin carefully avoids the pitfalls of cliché, elucidating the terror and surprise of raising chickens while leaving the emotions of miscarriage and infertility veritably untouched. In this way, the entire novel is as layered as its title. In fact, there isn’t much brooding (in the sense of dark contemplation) that occurs, overtly at least. Yet each nugget of insight gleaned about the chickens has other meanings, to the point that the chickens become living, squawking Rorschach tests. When the narrator’s time with the chickens comes to an end, there is only the most passing hint at the loss she feels. Without the chickens there to interpret, the reader is in the dark.
