Unveiling the Fractured Self: Nina B. Lichtenstein’s Body Tells a Story Beyond Skin Deep
I adore the structure of this story in parts. Even though each body part is a discrete container, characters weave throughout. We meet her father in “Nose,” where he teaches Lichtenstein to catch, clean, and cook mussels from the family boat. She is transported back to idyllic Nordic summers with family and friends through scent: garlic, thyme, and white wine; cigarette smoke; engine oil; bacon. In “Hair,” Pappa does not approve of her boyfriend when she is a young adult. He soothes a bike scrape when she’s a child and looks out for her joints when she’s a teen riding a moped in “Knees:” my knees have this unique connection to fond and funny memories of my dear pappa.
