H is for Hawk

Macdonald has spent a few years at Cambridge for work, years during which they have felt part of the school's specialness and history. Now, their appointment is expiring. They are acutely aware of the fact that they would not have received this invitation if not for Mabel. Their role at the luncheon is to speak about falconry and show Mabel off as a curiosity. The hawk has become like the nucleus of an atom, drawing wasps and humans alike into her orbit like electrons. She has an electric pull that no one can resist.

Macdonald, on the other hand, feels like the empty nest the wasps have abandoned in favor of Mabel. Everything that once made them interesting or useful has been frozen to death by grief and by the unfortunate end date on their teaching contract. The sense that they have nothing to offer others turns them into both a hollow paper nest and an "unhoused" creature with nowhere safe to go. Ironically, the very thing that was supposed to help them feel less alone in their grief—their hawk—ends up emphasizing their loneliness all the more.

What Macdonald eventually learns is that they are as responsible as those around them for treating the hawk like a curiosity. When they speak about her in a detached, academic way, they refuse the possibility of connection either with her or with other people who just want to marvel over her. The people at the luncheon are excited to see Mabel. Macdonald tries to turn themself, too, into an exciting font of knowledge about hawks, but they can't compete with Mabel as a spectacle. Later in the book, they realize that the hawk does indeed offer the possibility of connection with other people if and only if Macdonald allows themself to feel their humanity in contrast to the bird's wildness.

Gos has escaped White's custody, but he is far from a free hawk. A hawk that had never lived in captivity would be able to withstand the rain. Because White has been unable to keep his hands out of Gos's feathers, they have been stripped of the natural oil that keeps the rain from soaking in and rendering him flightless. He cannot fly safely down to White, even if he wanted to. It is doubtful that Gos wants to return to White because White is such a controlling austringer. Macdonald imagines White standing below the tree and coming to the horrible realization that his best efforts have in fact trapped Gos in the worst of both worlds, neither safe nor free. Even once Gos dries out, he is still wearing jesses that will catch on branches, making him vulnerable in the wild. By holding Gos too tight, White has destroyed not only his bird's tolerance for captivity, but also quite possibly his bird's ability to survive in the wild.

White's "constant stroking" may seem loving, but Macdonald suggests that it is also rooted in his deep-seated fear from the moment he acquired Gos that the bird would leave him. Gos is not only White's companion, but also a symbol. White is gay, and he is also a sexual sadist; both of these identities are taboo in the world in which he lives. Shame drives White to self-isolate from other humans. White's bond with his bird is not sexual, but participating in Gos's hunting and killing helps White understand his sadism as something more natural than other humans have ever allowed him to believe. Furthermore, if White successfully "mans" Gos (which he takes to mean bringing the bird under his control), he will prove to himself that he is capable of controlling his own animal instincts. In this lonely man's estimation, it will mean that he is fit for human society. His "constant stroking" and clinging to Gos is thus at least as much about his own insecurity as it is about love. Tragically, it leads to precisely the outcome he most fears.

The tragic irony surrounding the end of White and Gos's relationship helps Macdonald consider their own relationships with Mabel, with their father, and with loss. They begin taking admittedly unwise risks when they fly Mabel. On the surface, Macdonald writes, this seems like bad falconry on the order of White. Beneath the surface, however, Macdonald is teaching themself a lesson White could never seem to learn. Every time they almost lose Mabel, they prove to themself that they can love her without clinging to her. In fact, loving Mabel or anyone else might involve allowing them the freedom to leave and, hopefully, come back. This lesson helps Macdonald come to terms with mortality—both their father's and that of everyone else they love. Instead of staving off connection out of the fear of loss, they learn to welcome loss and grief as part of the human experience. 

Mabel has an incredible prey drive, but she does not care about what her prey experiences. She is happy to pick it apart and eat pieces of it while it is still alive and conscious. Macdonald, on the other hand, feels "responsible" for both Mabel and her prey. After a thrilling hunt, their heart expands to hold empathy for both animals at once. They kill Mabel's catch whenever possible to spare the dying animal the torture of feeling itself ripped apart.

Of course, Macdonald's heart does not literally become as large as a cathedral; this hyperbolic comparison allows them to comment on both the moral irony—and moral feat—of mercy killing. A cathedral is a place of Christian worship, where morality is broken down into systematized rules. While "Thou shalt not kill" refers primarily to homicide, it is nonetheless one of the Ten Commandments in Christianity. Macdonald's "cathedral" heart ought to crumble at the idea of killing a creature.

And yet, a cathedral is also a place people go to revere a higher power. By mercifully killing Mabel's catches, Macdonald demonstrates reverence for the dignity of all living things. They break the rules of the cathedral and even interfere with nature (albeit minimally) in order to ease dying creatures' pain. Nothing could be more human than navigating such a complicated moral problem, even if the problem itself is born in the wild. The cathedral hyperbole furthermore helps Macdonald convey a sense of reverence for their humanity. Just as tourists stand in awe of cathedrals as the product of humans' limitless capacity for artistry, engineering, and preservation, Macdonald stands in awe of their human heart's immense capacity for empathy in the face of suffering.