Unraveling Mystery and Memory: A Riveting Dive into Nin Andrews’ Son of a Bird
Sometimes these memories are little more than a tangible object. I’ll never forget the carpet that stretched across our kitchen floor, its 1970s-era floral pattern soaking up every liquid we dropped onto it. My alcoholic father once knocked a container of pickled beets onto it and screamed at my mother, blaming her as she knelt to sponge up the dark red juice.
How quickly a memory of a simple object can carry us into something much deeper.
In her memoir, Son of a Bird (Etruscan Press; April 2025), Nin Andrews writes, “‘The past is gone and you can’t get it back,’ my father always said. But I want to tell him, you can still visit.”
