Hannah Kent
Hannah Kent
Hannah Kentis a contemporary Australian writer, and the author of the bestselling novel Burial Rites...
NationalityAustralian
ProfessionWriter
CountryAustralia
eggs ravens dove
No doves come from ravens’ eggs
self people doubt
People speak of the fear of the blank canvas as though it is a temporary hesitation, a trembling moment of self-doubt. For me it was more like being abducted from my bed by a clown, thrust into a circus arena with a wicker chair, and told to tame a pissed-off lion in front of an expectant crowd.
iceland firsts stories
I first heard the story of Agnes Magnusdottir when I was an exchange student in the north of Iceland.
sight miserable my-family
If I believed everything everyone had ever told me about my family I'd be a sight more miserable than I am now
prayer light air
How can I say what it was like to breathe again? I felt newborn. I staggered in the light of the world and took deep gulps of fresh sea air. It was late in the day: the wet mouth of the afternoon was full on my face. My soul blossomed in that brief moment as they led me out of doors. I fell, my skirts in the mud, and I turned my face upwards as if in prayer. I could have wept from the relief of light.
trouble
When did a smile ever get anyone into trouble?
lonely ravens lambs
So lonely I make friends with the ravens that prey on lambs.
home winter long
I've been half-frozen for so long, it is as though the winter has set up home in my marrow.
dark hateful bones
Endless days of dark indoors and hateful glances are enough to set a rime on anyone's bones.
heart bird mind
The gloom encroaches upon my mind, and my heart flutters like a bird held fast in a fist.
done different persons
To know what a person has done, and to know who a person is, are very different things.
prayer mistake woven
As though prayer could simply pluck sin out. But any woman knows that a thread, once woven, is fixed in place; the only way to smooth a mistake is to let it all unravel.
treachery foe
The treachery of a friend is worse than that of a foe.
horse prayer mistake
I have made a mistake. They condemn me to death and I ask for a boy to coach me for it. A red-headed boy, who gobbles his buttered bread and toddles to his horse with the seat of his pants wet, this is the young man they hope will get me on my knees, full of prayer. This is the young man I hope will be able to help me, although with what and how I cannot think.