Louise Glück's Ararat is a moving exploration of what happens when family and grief collide. Glück writes with clarity, holding a mirror to the state of her subject. The reader is a bystander to these recollections of tragedies, both internal and external.

Louise Glück’s Ararat is a raw and deeply personal collection, exploring grief, family, and the complicated ways we love—and fail to love—the people closest to us. Written in her signature stark and unsentimental style, these poems unravel a lifetime of familial relationships: the loss of a newborn sister, the quiet yet cutting rivalry with another, the early death of a father, and a mother left navigating a world shaped by absence.

What makes Ararat so powerful is its emotional restraint. Glück doesn’t dwell in sentimentality, yet her words cut deep. The collection also reflects on parenthood, as the narrator struggles to connect with her own child, mirroring the emotional distance she once felt from her father. This cyclical nature of loss, love, and misunderstanding is woven throughout, culminating in a quiet reckoning.

The book is framed by the repeated line, “Long ago, I was wounded.” By the time we reach the final poem, the narrator has gained a reluctant understanding of both her father and herself. It’s not a neat resolution—Glück never offers that—but it’s a moment of clarity that lingers long after the final page.

Despite its weighty themes, *Ararat* remains accessible, making it an excellent entry point for readers new to Glück’s work. If you appreciate poetry that explores grief with unflinching honesty, this collection is one to pick up.