Little Bird is one of those books that sits on your chest for a while after you close it. Not in a suffocating way, exactly, but like a small, stubborn weight that keeps asking, So… what would you have done?
We start with two people who are already broken in very different ways. Shane comes back to his small Virginia town after Vietnam carrying a medal, a gun, and a promise to avenge Jesse, the Black teenager who was beaten to death by a drunk cop during Shane’s high school game. Suzanne comes back for something much darker. Her father was the white lawyer who tried and failed to prosecute that same cop, and the shame and pain after the trial ravaged his body and eventually led to his death. Suzanne has quietly decided to follow him.
That sounds like the setup for a revenge story, but the book is much stranger and softer and more unsettling than that. The opening pages with Suzanne’s birth, the way she is first called “the little bird,” and the almost mythic tone of the prologue, make it clear this is not straight realism. Time feels slippery. Memory and guilt feel almost like physical spaces everyone keeps walking through.
What really worked for me is how specific these characters are. Shane is not just “the haunted veteran.” His guilt about Jesse, his almost boyish hero worship of his old English teacher Medic, the way he clings to that one line about some sins never being forgivable, all make him feel painfully human. Suzanne, with her art school background, her love of the Leonard Cohen song that gives her new name, her messy return on the roaring Tiger motorbike, is the kind of eccentric that could have been twee, but instead feels fragile and risky and real.
Their first real conversation at Medic’s party, when Shane finally tells the truth about the trial and Suzanne is forced to reevaluate everything she believed about her parents, might be my favourite part of the book. I kind of loved how layered that scene is: personal grief, racial injustice, small town hypocrisy, all crammed into one memory retold in a dim room while a party hums in the background.
If I have a tiny quibble, it is that the prose occasionally leans so hard into the lyrical and surreal that I had to reread a line or two to stay grounded. Still, even when I was slightly lost, I was never bored. The atmosphere, the river and ballfield and courthouse and chicken coop, all feel stained by what happened to Jesse and to this town.
In the end, this is less a story about revenge and more a story about whether two damaged people can choose life when every part of their past is pulling them toward death. It is tender, angry, sometimes a little strange, and honestly memorable.
Rating: five stars, and I am grateful I spent time with Shane and Suzanne.