“A crow cannot soar like an eagle. It was always there in the back of her mind, but what did you do with a fate like that but dismiss it as old Korean folklore that had nothing to do with her?”

Early in life, Mercy encounters a fortune teller’s prediction that will haunt her through adulthood. Though she tries to dismiss it as “folklore,” she begins to feel that it is true. Bird metaphors are used in this prediction, comparing Mercy to a “crow,” usually known as clever tricksters in many folklore traditions, who is trying to fly above her station and reach for happiness that will never be hers.

“The person responsible for the calamity is never mentioned. No one wants to hear about the guy who shot the gun by mistake, or the drunk boyfriend driver, or the chimpanzee’s owner. The victims are richly sympathized with, and their guilty, confused perpetrators are erased from the story. They don’t exist. They are supposed to disappear.”

Mercy scours the pages of newspapers and magazines looking for clues about how she should live her life. She wants to find other “guilty, confused perpetrators” and learn what they did after the disaster. Society treats them as invisible, so she has no examples to look to. Without a story or path to follow, Mercy is in stasis, refusing to live her life and withdrawing further.

“Now she leaves her house. Just leaves. The power of that impulse. Just leave the children. Just leave the house. It will all be here when you come back.”

Margaret leaves her home and goes to her secret apartment, pretending that her family can continue without her. The string of sentence fragments here creates the effect of her trying to convince herself that this is true. Though she knows this is a fantasy, she still indulges in it. She is so trapped by grief that she is unable to fully participate in things that used to give her pleasure and purpose, like raising her children.