Unraveling Mystery and Memory: A Riveting Dive into Nin Andrews’ Son of a Bird
What’s the first thing that pops into your mind when you think about your childhood home? Is it warm sunshine spilling through cracked windowpanes, or maybe the stubborn carpet stained beyond hope by one too many messes? Nin Andrews’s memoir, Son of a Bird, dives headlong into those sticky, fragrant, sometimes painful corners of memory that most of us tuck away — or try to forget altogether. Sarah Evans peels back the layers of Andrews’s past, revealing a vivid tableau framed by a Virginia farmhouse that’s both sanctuary and cage. This isn’t your typical stroll down memory lane; it’s a raw, poetic excavation of family secrets, mental struggles, and the objects that tether us to what was. It’s the kind of book that begs the question: Can we ever really outrun—or revisit—the shadows of where we come from? If you’ve ever caught yourself clutching a faded object and wondering about the story behind it, Son of a Bird will resonate deep. Just beware: once you enter, you might not want to leave so soon.
Reviewed by Sarah Evans
Not all of us still see our childhood homes on a regular basis, and many of us never see them at all except in memory. Some memories we cling to like safety blankets, and others we wish we could bury under the world’s tallest trash heap.
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