The Heron

Unusual story The Heron in current New Yorker by Danish writer Dorth Nors, writer whom I've never heard of and who I suspect is little known in the us. Story is very short and actually much like a poem in that it is about mood and symbol rather than character or plot - a story in form only or a poem in prose paragraphs if you prefer. Movement of the piece is something like this w each image established in a para: woman/narrator says that Fredericksburg park is a great place to see herons and then goes on to make these beautiful birds sound ugly and scary and describes one she saw sitting on a bench possibly ill and she'd though of sitting next to it and talking but didn't; to avoid a weird guy who feeds the herons she takes a circuitous route when in the park; this route takes her past a lake where at one time a suitcase filled w a chopped up body of a young woman was discovered by a man and his dog; wonders about effect of this on both and notes that she knew young woman who lived in house where killing took place and was traumatized; recalls friend who used to run this route w her now dead and his body eaten by worms etc. ; wishes she had talked w the heron. What to make of all this? A seriously traumatized woman who sees death and horror where others find peace and beauty - a woman whose daily life is imbued with ghastly visions, a woman with a potentially severe mental imbalance - and I'm not sure if there is a deeper allegorical meaning that may elude American readers? Something about the Danish trauma during nazi occupation perhaps? Btw have you ever seen a heron in flight? Is there anything more graceful and lovely? A heron is or should be like a blessing or a gift and Nors's inability to see this beauty - I mean her character's inability - is the saddest thing about this strange little piece.

Sent from my iPad