I Am, I Am, I Am and Hamnet
I am late to the party. The Maggie O’Farrell party. Not fashionably late, but eye-rollingly late - I should hand in my English Tutor credentials.
But I am so glad I made it.
I picked up Hamnet with some reluctance, I felt it was some sort of Shakespearian fan-fiction. Two pages in and I was hooked. It is a beautiful novel. Maggie O’Farrell has a rare gift: she takes our breath away and gives it back in ways that make us see the world - and ourselves - anew. Her work is steeped in catharsis, that emotional purging Aristotle championed, where we confront the depths of human experience, only to emerge lighter, more alive, and somehow comforted. Whether it’s through the raw, visceral memoir I Am, I Am, I Am, or the lyrical, heart-wrenching novel Hamnet, O’Farrell doesn’t just tell stories - she offers us a mirror to hold ‘up to nature’.
I Am, I Am, I Am: The Knife-Edge of Mortality
In I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes with Death, O’Farrell chronicles near-death experiences with unflinching honesty and poetic grace. Each chapter is an episodic short story and takes us to the precipice, whether it’s a violent encounter, a medical emergency, or a slip on a mountainside. Yet, the book isn’t just about death - it’s about life, and the ways our fragility makes every moment burn brighter.
O’Farrell’s reminds us how close we all are to the edge, yet how precious that makes the act of living. As readers, we are invited to confront our own fears of mortality and emerge with a deeper appreciation for the mundane miracles of existence: the rhythm of our breath, the warmth of a loved one’s touch, the dizzying expanse of the future.
Like a profound Desert Island Discs I embarked on my own list of near-death experiences and from the perspective of the child looking up through the skin of the frozen river (yes, I fell through the ice) it became a wonder that I ever made it to adulthood.
Hamnet: Grief as Transformation
If I Am, I Am, I Am is about the individual’s fight for survival, Hamnet is about the collective weight of loss. The novel, which imagines the life and death of Shakespeare’s son Hamnet, is a luminous exploration of grief’s impact on a family, a marriage, and a world.
Through the eyes of Agnes, the boy’s mother (a reimagined Anne Hathaway), O’Farrell depicts the tidal wave of sorrow that follows Hamnet’s death. The writing is devastatingly intimate - there’s a moment where Agnes lays out her son’s body, her hands memorising every curve, that will haunt you long after you close the book. I sobbed so hard in at least three places during this novel that I had to take moments to compose myself before teaching.
Why Catharsis Matters
In a world where we’re often encouraged to gloss over pain or distract ourselves from uncomfortable emotions, O’Farrell’s work is a clarion call to feel deeply. Her stories create space for the messy, uncontainable parts of being human - fear, grief, and vulnerability - and remind us that through feeling, we heal.
Catharsis isn’t just about release; it’s about transformation. It’s the lump in your throat that eases when you see yourself in a character’s pain. It’s the sob you didn’t know you needed, the quiet revelation that you are not alone.
For anyone who needs a reminder of their own resilience, or who seeks beauty in life’s fragility, O’Farrell’s works are a masterclass in catharsis. They don’t just move you - they change you.
And isn’t that what great literature is meant to do?
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