A review by beefmaster
Night. Sleep. Death. The Stars. by Joyce Carol Oates

4.0

Two of the five children are a bit too sketchy, considering that two others are so wonderfully, sharply defined and expanded and filled in. Kind of wish this had been focused exclusively on the widow, as this is where Oates absolutely shines. I couldn't help but think of Oates herself, widowed recently. This is not Oates in her Gothic mode, despite the metal-sounding title; rather is her in meditative mode: what is grief and how do we grieve?