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Casey’s Reviews
When the search for a bird finds a woman, rejoice
A review of “The Conjuror’s Bird,” by Martin Davies
When my husband and I first moved to Sweden earlier this year, I found myself wandering up and down the streets, just taking in the city.
As I passed a bookshop on the corner of a cobblestone street, I noticed a pair of Diane Duane books leaning against the window — one in Swedish, the other English. I was surprised to see the English book: not a classic or the kind of book assigned in English classes, but a book I enjoyed as a kid.
I ducked inside like a thief, an intruder in a place I didn’t belong. Among the stacks and stacks of Swedish books, I noticed the occasional title in English, and felt a thrill each time I pulled one off the dusty shelves to read the back. It had been a long time since I’d been able to buy a book in a used bookstore.
I ran my finger along the spines and stopped on a pale blue paperback. I’m not sure what made me pull down The Conjurer’s Bird. I assumed at first it was a science fiction or fantasy novel; it’s not. I read the back and brought it to the cashier with a spring of anticipation in my step.
