Salena Godden

Mrs Death Misses Death

That last line was oddly comforting. Like just because I’m nearly 30 doesn’t mean I am set in my ways and just like this. I don’t know myself just yet. I may still meet her. 

Seher Mohsin

When you die, it will not be how you think or when expect. I do not come for you like a cleaner when it is handy and convenient for you. Let's just hope you leave a better place than the one you were born into, a world fit for generations to come. Let's hope I come when you are busy doing something you want to live for. Let us hope I come when you are doing something you would die for. And let's hope that if you do kill yourself, you are well over forty years old, because to kill yourself before age forty is like murdering a stranger.

And sex. May your sex be alive and good sex. Sex like fucking in a broken lift, hurtling down with the skyscraper in flames. May sex be like diving and may sex be like flying, may your sex be like breathing love's name in a prayer; like finding home, dry land and earth. And kissing, so much kissing, the best kisses. Sex and food and drink and books. You really don't need much else. Maybe a nice view of the sky. Some shoes that dont hurt. A bed and roof that won't leak. Some singing, some music and tempo. A heart full and a soul fed, a head full of dreams and possibilities, what more could you possibly want? What more is there?

She is amongst us. I got it wrong. Mrs Death is not the wife of Death. No. And she is not the mother of Death. No. She is Death, and she gets the final say.

It’s a very simple question that Life asks: Will you walk with me? 

Sarah Jackson

'Mrs Death Misses Death' is a moving exploration of death and life, of grief and the human experience. Its unconventional fragmented and non-linear structure that alternates between prose and poetry and even script, creates a sense of disorientation and unreality. This further strengthens its reading as a semi-metaphorical text, a thought-provoking philosophical experiment.

 This may be somewhat off-topic but I keep coming back to it. There are certain motifs and sections in this book that strongly remind me of Catherynne M. Valente's 'Deathless' - it is nearly as if the books speak to each other. The personification of Life and Death as siblings is one, of course; the egg motif - another, and so is the dreamy fabulist nature of both texts. However, the one bit that I cannot seem to let go off is the following passage:

"To die is to have been alive, that is why you must live: live free, live wild, live true and live love alive. Let the fire burn you and the light blind you. Let your belly get full and fat and embarrass you. Let your words fall out and tumble carelessly and honestly. Let your passions be unlimited. And do your lifetime all in your own life time. And let all your shits stink and all your roses bloom. May your every success be a threat. Fuck being scared and infected with fear and doubt. Own your rejections and own your failures; they are an excellent wall to smash and to kick against. Every morning may you rise to fight and to create yet again, this time with both fists, and not with one hand behind your back."

And this passage from 'Deathless' (among several):

"The old woman had set up a table among the tombs and she was setting it with food: bread and relishes and dumpling sand big green grapes and little chocolate candies and an old samovar full of tea. She set places at the table like someone was coming to eat with her. But she didn’t eat. She turned around like she knew I was there and held out her arms to me. ‘Eat,’ she said. ‘Eat.’ I was shy. I didn’t know the woman.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘My son died in the war. He was all I had in the world. That is him, there. Vitaliy. My Vitaliy. I will never see him again. There is a hole in me like a bullet. I want to feed everyone who is not my son, to keep them living. I want no one to have holes in them. I have no one anymore whose mother I can be. Eat, eat. Here are some blintzes, sweet boy; here is cheese pastry. Eat. Be fat. Be alive.’ And I ate her food while the rainclouds drifted in. I have never eaten anything sweeter.

Ivan Nikolayevich leaned his head against her hair. “What I am saying is, in this graveyard, I would like to feed you, so that you will not have holes in you like bullets. Sit at my table, Marya Morevna. Let me be a mother to you. Be fat. Be alive.”"

There is just something about these perceived similarities that make me take pause.

'Mrs Death Misses Death' is a moving exploration of death and life, of grief and the human experience. Its unconventional fragmented and non-linear structure that alternates between prose and poetry and even script, creates a sense of disorientation and unreality. This further strengthens its reading as a semi-metaphorical text, a thought-provoking philosophical experiment.

Edit, 25/01/2023: This may be somewhat off-topic but I keep coming back to it. There are certain motifs and sections in this book that strongly remind me of Catherynne M. Valente's 'Deathless' - it is nearly as if the books speak to each other. The personification of Life and Death as siblings is one, of course; the egg motif - another, and so is the dreamy fabulist nature of both texts. However, the one bit that I cannot seem to let go off is the following passage:

"To die is to have been alive, that is why you must live: live free, live wild, live true and live love alive. Let the fire burn you and the light blind you. Let your belly get full and fat and embarrass you. Let your words fall out and tumble carelessly and honestly. Let your passions be unlimited. And do your lifetime all in your own life time. And let all your shits stink and all your roses bloom. May your every success be a threat. Fuck being scared and infected with fear and doubt. Own your rejections and own your failures; they are an excellent wall to smash and to kick against. Every morning may you rise to fight and to create yet again, this time with both fists, and not with one hand behind your back."

And this passage from 'Deathless' (among several):

"The old woman had set up a table among the tombs and she was setting it with food: bread and relishes and dumpling sand big green grapes and little chocolate candies and an old samovar full of tea. She set places at the table like someone was coming to eat with her. But she didn’t eat. She turned around like she knew I was there and held out her arms to me. ‘Eat,’ she said. ‘Eat.’ I was shy. I didn’t know the woman.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘My son died in the war. He was all I had in the world. That is him, there. Vitaliy. My Vitaliy. I will never see him again. There is a hole in me like a bullet. I want to feed everyone who is not my son, to keep them living. I want no one to have holes in them. I have no one anymore whose mother I can be. Eat, eat. Here are some blintzes, sweet boy; here is cheese pastry. Eat. Be fat. Be alive.’ And I ate her food while the rainclouds drifted in. I have never eaten anything sweeter.

(...)

Ivan Nikolayevich leaned his head against her hair. “What I am saying is, in this graveyard, I would like to feed you, so that you will not have holes in you like bullets. Sit at my table, Marya Morevna. Let me be a mother to you. Be fat. Be alive.”"

There is just something about these perceived similarities that make me take pause.

kesha

i wish i could wear this book like a good charm anklet. i wish i could have it within me as an organ. as hair. as a tongue. as teeth. i wish i could have it in me or on me at all times. or with me. like mrs. death. like a voice in my head. like the voice in my head. there's so much said that i always want to remember. that i've always known and forgotten to think at the time i need to know it. so much wisdom packed that doesn't feel preached at, rather triggered from memory. feels personal in a way that someone else's intellectual property shouldn't.

took me time because it always got me heavy pondering. and while i am usually always pondering, actively making the decision to subject myself to it is. difficult. and i'm lazy. but i'm glad i got through. i will be frequently going back to parts of it i already know it.

Dee B. 

TW: discussion about/diagnosing with Bipolar Disorder
At first glance, this book is weird and doesn't have an obvious point. Until you're well into it and suddenly Wolf and Mrs. Death's relationship is the most important thing in the world. You begin to relate to and care for them. You watch as they spiral and fixate on the story and each other, completely disregarding their needs. 

-- When I am writing with Wolf I feel seen and heard, actually listened to for once; for the first time ever I am not just an invisible cleaner, clearing the dead bodies. --

It's my fault for thinking that this would have been more fantastical than it was. However, I didn't feel like I missed out on anything for its lack of high fantasy elements. Death was deeply caring and only wanted the absolute best for humankind. Each suffering took a toll on her.

I honestly don't know who I would recommend this for, who the target audience is. All I will say is that if this sounds like something you would read, then you should.

Valentina

I understand why it’s been praised and revered but it just isn’t for me. Did not vibe with the narrative style; definitely more of an experience than a story.

Logan Schenk

I’ll be honest when I say I went into this not knowing much and only seeing a few booktubers and such giving it high praise and ratings. I’m happy to say I can join in that excitement about it!
Now what is this book about? Wolf Willeford is writing a book about the dead, about Mrs Death and her journey so far. It’s all written in poems, diary entries, interviews, etc. 
It’s hard to describe more than that however. Your best bet is that if even the synopsis or the cover interest you, give the first pages a try, give the first few chapters a try. You’ll either fall in love or be confused and overwhelmed. In the end it all reads as a love story to death (not Mrs Death but death as a concept).
It was hard hitting and emotional and I enjoyed every minute of it.

I received a copy of this for free from Netgalley for an honest review. Thank you so much!! 
#MrsDeathmissesdeath #Netgalley

Cerys

Really enjoyed this book. I loved the mix of different written techniques, some chapters were poems as we know them and some were very lyrical prose. The conversations around death look at both the fictional deaths that relate to the main character Wolf and deaths that have actually occurred which gives a sense that the reader understands as they have been witness to these deaths in real time. The commentary on mental health by Salena Godden is done beautifully. She doesn't vilify mental illness she speaks about it as it is and yes it can cause great pain but it is a part of peoples lives which they cannot switch off. Overall a very beautiful book.

Lorelei Petcu

Emily Carruthers 

Maris Poldsaar

Camilla Lawson

Emma 

Mirella

Jerilynn Hallett 

Deborah Meades

Jennifer

Michelle Miller

Zahra Fowler

Melissa Guimarães

Mrs Death has had enough. She is exhausted from spending eternity doing her job and now she seeks someone to unburden her conscience to. Wolf Willeford, a troubled young writer, is well acquainted with death, but until now hadn’t met Death in person – a black, working-class woman who shape-shifts and does her work unseen. Enthralled by her stories, Wolf becomes Mrs Death’s scribe, and begins to write her memoirs. Using their desk as a vessel and conduit, Wolf travels across time and place with Mrs Death to witness deaths of past and present and discuss what the future holds for humanity. As the two reflect on the losses they have experienced – or, in the case of Mrs Death, facilitated – their friendship grows into a surprising affirmation of hope, resilience and love. All the while, despite her world-weariness, Death must continue to hold humans’ fates in her hands, appearing in our lives when we least expect her . . .

Mrs Death Misses Death

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