Bird Milk & Mosquito Bones: A Memoir

by Priyanka Mattoo (Author, Narrator)

From a wry, insightful, and very funny new voice, here is one woman's peripatetic search for home, from Kashmir to England to Saudi Arabia to Michigan to Rome and, finally, to Los Angeles.

Priyanka Mattoo was born into a wooden house in the Himalayas, as were most of her ancestors. In 1989, however, mounting violence in the region forced Mattoo's community to flee. The home into which her family poured their dreams was reduced to a pile of rubble.

Mattoo never moved back to her beloved Kashmir—because it no longer existed. She and her family just kept packing and unpacking and moving on. In forty years, Mattoo accumulated thirty-two different addresses, and she chronicles her nomadic existence with wit, wisdom, and an inimitable eye for light within the darkest moments. She takes us from her grandparents' sprawling home in Srinagar, where her boisterous aunties raced through the halls; to Saudi Arabia, where friendships were gained and lost behind the sandstone walls of a foreigners' compound. We witness her courtship with a nice Jewish boy, now her husband, and her efforts to replicate her mother's Rogan Josh recipe via Zoom. And we are with her as she settles into her unlikely new homeland, Los Angeles, where she sets off on what is perhaps her most meaningful journey, that of becoming a writer.

Through these astonishingly poignant and often laugh-out-loud stories, Mattoo has given us an open-hearted, frank, revealing glimpse into a journey of almost constant motion, as well as a journey of self-discovery.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, India, Audiobook, Essays, Biography Memoir, Asia

10 pages, Audiobook

First published June 18, 2024

Reviews

[Maxwell]

DNF @ 65 pages.

This reads more like a bunch of personal essays / creative non-fiction than a traditional memoir. I enjoyed the 5 or 6 chapters I read well enough but ultimately it wasn't necessarily reeling me in the way I want to with something so personal. I'd still recommend giving it a try, especially if you are curious about reading from the perspective of someone who moved a lot during their life and is reckoning with their identity as tied to a nation/place.

[Queralt✨ · Rating 3 out of 5]

I picked this up because of the title ngl. I Googled the author a few times because I didn’t really get what the memoir was about (I figured what made this exceptional/publishable was that Mattoo was born in Kashmir?) but I couldn’t figure out her background. Not that memoirs need to be written by someone exceptional or anything, but I was wondering what would made this shine (the point? The message?). Now that I finished the memoir, I’m still confused.

This memoir is written in disorganized essays jumping back and forth from this timeline to that timeline. There’s no real logical thread from one essay to the next one other than the author is still the author. The summary says these essays are funny - where? Lol. They are very much a memoir of moments that defined the author’s life and anecdotes. It was nice to read, beautiful at times. Sort of pointless. Definitely not funny.

I wouldn’t say I enjoyed this. I kept wondering “why are we including this now?” Just because I didn’t see the overall picture/message/goal of this memoir, and I still don’t. I tried to trust the process but alas I was let down.

Something that lowkey disappointed me, and I am not removing stars for it but I want to mention it, is that Mattoo was born in Kashmir and lived through a war. There’s a bit in the book where she’s sleeping in bunkers. But at no point does she include any… politics? Thoughts on it? She does stress she doesn’t have the political insight to comment on it. But I want to think if I sent my teenage years sleeping in bunkers with bombings, I’d have something to think about besides my crush (which is fair? But I wanted a little bit more…. Relevance?). Maybe I’m being extra and choosing to be a snowflake, but we’re living through crazy times with children and hospital being bombed weekly. Maybe a comment condemning it or saying “I shouldn’t have normalized this” would have been cute. Again, not removing stars for this but it left a bad taste in my mouth.

Nice title.

[lys · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love memoirs! I love essays! I love independent women imbued with a sense of curiosity & wanderlust!

That being said, I thought I’d love this more than I did. Perhaps I had my expectations too high, but I felt like this was missing a wow factor that I couldn’t really put my finger on. I definitely still enjoyed it, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t put down or something that’s going to stick in my mind forever.

I think this book has an incredible title (obviously). Considering the front cover says “memoir,” I was expecting to read a more traditional memoir with a narrative arc, but this reads more like a memoir of essays. I really wish it was marketed as such, because I think I would’ve enjoyed my read more if I didn’t spend the first several chapters wondering why the story felt so choppy. I thing the final chapter (essay?) was particularly strong, and it tied together race, colonialism, “bird milk and mosquito bones,” and the concept of home really well. Excited to see what she does next!

(3.5 stars because of the aforementioned memoir/essay issue & lack of wow factor)

[Katie B · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 stars

Thank you Vintage Books for sending me a free copy!

BIRD MILK AND MOSQUITO BONES is a collection of essays about the life of the author, Priyanka Mattoo. Mounting violence in the 1980s forced a young Priyanka and her family to flee Kashmir. That set in motion a pattern of living in one location for a few years before moving onto the next. Now in her 40s, she has lived all over the world including England, Saudi Arabia, Rome, and other US cities. Heartfelt and full of humor and wisdom, I loved her writing style as she tries to make sense of her childhood and the impact it continues to have decades later.

[u das · Rating 2 out of 5]

interesting life and experiences somehow made overly choppy, unaware, and worst of all: boring.

disagree with most of these reviews but i already think 99% of goodreads accounts are bots.

[Gail · Rating 3 out of 5]

Priyanka Mattoo has written a sweet book about her life and her beloved Kashmir. Lucky for Priyanka she was born and raised partly in Kashmir along with a large extended family. With opportunity knocking, her father left for England with a job in hand as a doctor. Her mother joins later after she finishes her Phd, leaving behind her secure nest of relatives and childcare. At first London seems so strange but slowly her mother ventures out more, cooks more interesting foods, and Priyanka goes to school. Trouble strikes in Kashmir and the family scatters around the world, never really able to return and slowly this Kashmiri connection is hanging by a thread.

Her family are travelers and our author lives in many places around the world such as Saudi Arabia, Michigan, Rome and finally settles in Los Angeles. She writes lovingly of her family’s quirks, how they handle life and her lack of being able to speak her mother tongue. As she now has children, she wonders how she can keep her culture alive in America as Kashmir is more than just rituals and food.

The book is a lovefest for her life, her luck and her family. Mattoo is successful in so many areas, from talent agent to podcaster to effortless Indian cook. Now she is a writer, and we look forward to more.

[priya reads · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think I expected this to be about colonialism a lot more than it was but mattoo’s writing still shines and her care for her family esp her older relatives was really sweet to read

[Bajidc · Rating 2 out of 5]

Unfunny, privileged, jumbled.
Read "Airplane Mode" instead.

Superb blurb (and the only reason for any stars at all):
Update - I actually already had this recipe because it was published in the New Yorker in 2020.

My Mother’s Rogan Josh
Serves 4–6

Ingredients
6 tablespoons neutral cooking oil
1 tablespoon whole cumin seeds
6 whole cloves
4 cinnamon sticks
4 black cardamom pods
3 bay leaves
2–2½ pounds lamb leg, ideally bone-in, cut into 2-inch cubes
Salt, to taste
3 tablespoons Kashmiri red chili powder
1 pinch asafetida (hing)
2 tablespoons plain yogurt
4 tablespoons ground fennel seeds
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon garam masala
4 green cardamom pods, crushed
1 teaspoon desi ghee

Directions
Warm oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add cumin seeds, cloves, cinnamon, black cardamom, and bay leaves. Fry for about 30 seconds.
Add lamb cubes to the pot and fry until they’re brown on all sides, about 10 minutes.
Season liberally with salt. Stir in chili powder and asafetida, then yogurt. Cook for 2 more minutes.
Stir in fennel, ginger, and garam masala. Cook for 3–4 minutes.
Add water to almost cover the lamb, about 3½ cups. Place lid on pot, and cook over medium heat until the liquid is reduced by half, approximately 25 minutes.
Reduce heat to a simmer, and cook, uncovered, until the meat is tender and the gravy is thickened, approximately 10 more minutes.
Remove from heat, add crushed green cardamom, and stir in ghee.
Cover until you’re ready to serve, preferably with mounds of basmati rice.

[Janet · Rating 4 out of 5]

A really lovely memoir-in-essays from a writer who has lived all over the globe, and as a result has developed toughness, tenderness, and humor to create a sense of self and sense of home wherever she is.

My immediate desire was to look up Kashmir, this idyllic place that her family was forced to leave forever when she was a child. Kashmir is a region at the base of the Himalayas, with parts controlled/influenced by India, Pakistan, China, and even Afghanistan. Knowing this, we can understand it to be high conflict and highly militarized, but Mattoo let us in on a much richer history.

It piqued my interest that a place like this once existed, now doesn’t, and feels nearly unknown to the average American. I wanted to learn more. Later, she made me want to move to Rome. Or perhaps London. No so much Riyadh. I loved her family history - the story of her grandparents, aunts and uncles, parents, and little brother.

Despite the variety of global residences, Mattoo’s other stories were highly relatable: 1990s teen angst, learning to live with roommates, falling in love, and becoming a mother. The first and last essays were my favorite though, where Mattoo dug into the forces that led to her family’s around-the-world migration.

People with the most resilience are often able to make everyone in their presence feel comfortable and welcome, which is just what Mattoo accomplishes in this book.

Thank you Knopf for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

[Laurel Kane · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a wonderful thing to finish a book knowing you’d be best friends with the writer should you ever meet.

[Nandita Damaraju · Rating 5 out of 5]

I first spotted Bird Milk and Mosquito Bones at the library and noticed the author’s name, Priyanka Mattoo. Also, the title was intriguing, and the cover was eye-catching. So yes, I judged a book by its cover and decided to pick it up.

The synopsis mentioned that the author was Kashmiri and that the book was about Kashmir. As someone who has never been there but has heard countless opinions on it, I thought it would be interesting to read a firsthand perspective from someone who had actually lived and had roots there. I braced myself for a deep dive into politics and history, topics that do not usually excite me. But I was in for a surprise. The book barely touched on politics and only referenced history in passing. Instead, it was a memoir. Priyanka Mattoo’s deeply personal account of her life, from being driven out of Kashmir to living in Delhi, Riyadh, London, and all over the U.S., before eventually settling in Los Angeles.

This audiobook became my commuting companion, and I could not get enough of the author’s voice. There was something so soothing yet utterly engaging about her voice. But it was not just the tone. It was the way she described even the most mundane moments with gravitas while recounting horrific historical events with a kind of calm detachment. It felt raw and honest, never overly dramatic but always deep.

Beyond the engaging storytelling, I found myself relating to her experiences as an older sibling in an Indian household. The constant negotiation between self-discovery and societal expectations, the arguments, the love stories, and even the health struggles, all felt a little too familiar. I think I’ve been too liberal with my ratings this year, but I’ll give this a 5/5 for its great writing and lovely narration.

[Radhika Pathak · Rating 4 out of 5]

What a book! I would almost give it a 4.5 if not 5.

“I’m starting to suspect that the place I crave, the home I’ve yearned for, is no more Than a web of childhood memories suspended in time. They were so long ago and so precious that I can’t be certain they were real”

[Sky • aquariusannotations · Rating 3 out of 5]

The audiobook, which was narrated by the author, added a personal touch to the experience (love how she read!) The book reads more like a collection of personal essays than a traditional memoir, which creates an interesting dynamic. Some chapters feel deeply raw and emotional, while others come across as a bit more forced. While not necessarily the most memorable memoir, the courage it takes to share such a personal story is admirable. Adding more depth about Kashmir and its culture might have made the narrative even more impactful. The title “Bird Milk and Mosquito Bones” is fascinating, meaning something extremely rare or almost impossible to find. It’s apparently a common saying in Kashmir, but using it as the title was such a creative touch.

[Abena Anim-Somuah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Perfect, perfect book! This is so bold but I want Priyanka to be my mentor. Our lives feel awfully similar (dad’s careers moving us everywhere, leaning into creative careers timidly feeling like we have to live up to the expectations of our brainiac immigrant parents, tough exteriors even tough we’re mushy)! It’s a refreshing format for a memoir and I hope we can see more from Priyanka!

[Dee Turner · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book caught my attention because of its whimsical title; in Kashmir, treasured items/memories/happiness-es are referred to with whimsy to identify their scarcity. Here we have a memoir that is at once funny and smart, while also revealing a lifelong yearning for a home that's no longer there, with all the mental issues that implies. Our author starts life in a multifamily home with up to 19 children in Kashmir, world renown as a kind of paradise before 1947's Partition of India and Pakistan. At 2, she and her family are forced to leave. They keep trying to return as they wander from country to country, while learning that their stone compound has been burgled, then burned, and is finally a retail tech center when they realize there's no home to return to. In between, an aunt has her throat slit in a home robbery. As a child, she considers herself fierce, stoic, perhaps sometimes churlish. She's immersed in books from an early age, as in Kashmir, men and women train for STEM careers; her father is a nephrologist, her mother has a PhD.

"Vaishno Devi, it was said, had come to earth to organize a festival, only to have some lust-addled man chase after her, up the hill. She managed to escape him by hiding for nine months in a cave, where he ultimately found her, but, taking the form of the goddess Kali, she beheaded him. His body, at the mouth of the cave, and his head, which landed farther along, became the sites of two of the temples in the Vaishno Devi complex. I loved this story. I related to Kali’s bossiness, her anger, her hermit years, her desire to decapitate any man who looked at her funny. And to my mother, this all made sense. I was born…“ a certain way,” she said—and no wonder, for in the Kashmiri lunar calendar, Ma Kali and I share a birthday.

"'You have a mustache,' said a Canadian named Paul when I was twelve. 'You have no chin,' I told him. 'So what?' His lip wobbled. 'It’s my jaw. I don’t have a well-defined jaw,' he murmured. When I got home from school, I reflected. Did I feel bad about what I’d said? I didn’t.

"...[I]t felt unfair that I was expected to devote an entire section of my brain to things that boys didn’t have to think about but somehow got to have opinions on. Periods and peeing were big ones, but I distinctly remember when my male peers started ascribing value to appearance. Each of us girls had a few data points, all different: Heather What’s-her-name, who was nice enough but kind of boring, had a friendly smile and long blond hair. Meena’s beautiful hair was tucked under a hijab, but she had dimples and huge boobs. Cindy Crawford was the celebrity gold standard. These were all things that boys seemed to approve of and find appealing: a sunny demeanor, a “good body.” But all such assessments made me feel I was constantly being inspected, like poultry."

Along with the burdens of being female, she also suffered the burdens of failing to have been born White:

"Brown pain, I learned as a small child in Western libraries, was interesting. Brown joy, brown ennui, spunky brown girl detectives—nowhere to be found. So, even though I worshipped books, I thought writing them was for other people."

Naturally, a sense of impending catastrophic dread followed her into adulthood. She was clear about whom she wanted to marry and the two families blended well, her marriage is strong and her children growing up in L.A. are far more happy and carefree than she was, or is. She frets about the something awful perhaps every mother is attuned for, even so.

From her teen years, she's suffered bouts of severe depression from which she couldn't get out of bed for weeks at a time; this followed into her legal career as an actors' agent in Hollywood--perhaps THE most rootless position she could have had as employment. It doesn't help that in what's now home, southern California, there is no Kasmiri community, and she has never felt rooted after so many years of moving from place to place:

"The blurring of my sharp edges is my worst fear, as Lalla laid out in vakh 12: My willow bow was bent to shoot, but my arrow was only grass. A klutz of a carpenter botched the palace job I got him. In the crowded marketplace, my shop stands unlocked. Holy water hasn’t touched my skin. I’ve lost the plot." I think I need to find more of Kashmiri literature, this is GREAT stuff.

When the pandemic hits, even her easygoing firstborn begins to feel her dread, and all our dread, although he remains as straightforward as he possibly can while she fishes for compliments:

"When I put him to bed that night, I asked him what made him feel grateful. It’s something we’ve gone over every night since the wo rld shut down and he couldn’t easily access the friends, playgrounds, and outdoor spaces that usually make him happy. He sighed, reached deep. 'I’m grateful the universe is still alive and the sun hasn’t exploded.' I try not to tear up. We worked hard to make things as normal and loving as possible inside the home while riding out the pandemic, but even this small child knew we were in the middle of a major crisis. I told him that I agree, that I’m so proud of his special mind, and proud he’s becoming so independent. I closed his door and collapsed on top of my bed, unnerved by the growing frequency of the sirens I dismissed outside. We were now in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, which shook up Los Angeles like a soda bottle, and I wondered what would happen next. The following day, my son asked for another grilled cheese, and I said, 'Why don’t you try it on your own?' His face fell. 'Can’t you just make it for me?' 'Because it tastes better? Because it’s made with love?' Yes, I was fishing for compliments, but he just looked at me like I was not very smart. 'No. Because I can’t reach the bread.'"

Despite it all, she really leads a charmed life of tremendous privilege. She takes for granted her routine facials, haircuts at a salon and, after a while, various forms of therapy, some of which are highly improbable:

"Astrocartography (ACG) is a series of specific mapping techniques laid out by the astrologer Jim Lewis in the late 1970s. To create an ACG map, a map is created of the planets’ angles or paths over a global Mercator map. The result is a mesmerizing crisscross of sine curves, each representing a planet (plus the sun and moon), and sprouting from one’s birthplace. Each line represents a specific energy—the sun, for example, is fame and reputation, and Venus is beauty and relationships—so you can look at the intersections of various curves on the map and see which locations might be best for certain aspects you want to focus on in your life...My specific map tells her that my most productive writing days might be in Malibu, which sounds dreamy, and accurate..."

I think perhaps the author has some form of autism, although what she's been through also makes perfect sense for where she's 'at' today. About the USA, however, her insights are completely accurate: "As we’ve seen in the Middle East, America consistently exports the world’s most heavily funded military to protect a hazy democratic ideal, which is often tied to oil interests. Americans may not think of themselves as colonizers, but when political pressure requires that these troops be brought home, the wobbly new “democracies” collapse, leaving a chaotic vacuum in their wake, every single time. It’s a disarray familiar to former subjects of the UK and France." Aside from astrological maps and other whimsies, it's pretty clear this nation also needs SOME sort of therapy.

[Allison King · Rating 4 out of 5]

such a strong voice! and what a impactful journey. Mattoo did a beautiful job bringing the reader along as she learned to live life by her terms

[Ashana Torani · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really loved this collection of personal essays (not exactly a memoir as advertised but that’s totally ok with me). Found myself highlighting every line that resonated - as the older child of immigrants who’ve moved across the Atlantic ocean multiple times / with displaced grandparents it sometimes felt that the anxieties were lifted straight from my brain. But, what I really liked is the focus on brown joy, the connection the author felt to her family across time and space, and how that love has shaped her life. Put a few of my favorite quotes below but there were honestly too many.

“Brown pain, I learned as a small child in Western libraries, was interesting. Brown joy, brown ennui, spunky brown girl detectives - no where to be found”

“The language, like my family, is wildly affectionate, but highly dramatic…on our most maddening days we (still) might hear khash kar’ai a thrashing that literally means I’ll cut you. It’s much cuter and less homicidal in person”


“I got lots of attention, maybe too much. ‘GET A LIFE’ I would later yell, a closely monitored teen. YOU ARE MY LIFE, came the response from mom”

“She’s always reading - I wasn’t behaving, I was disassociating”

(About rakhi) “because bribing us to like each other worked for my parents, and I’m not about to abandon my cultural heritage”

“Anyone can say I love you” my parents pointed out “but isn’t it more important to show it?”

“When yucky feelings come up, Indians traditionally get irritated, then talk ourselves out of it”

“Resilience without any waning period turned into endurance, and I became adept at snuffing out my own vulnerabilities and discomfort before I even felt it”

[Michelle Boehm · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is more memoir as a collection of essays, but the flow really works despite not being chronological. I love when someone's story spurs me to look at a place in time or history-or, in this case, both, with the region of Kashmir and the conflict that has occurred there for the last 100 or so years. Ms Mattoo is such a gifted storyteller that I largely felt like I was sitting with a friend sipping coffee while she told me about her life and how it informed who she is today.

[S Modi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Vividly written, with many parallels I can relate to as an Indian American. Her experience is global; her childhood in Kashmir, London, Saudi Arabia, and US and is a voice for those of us who don't really seem to fit in anywhere. She is a phenomenal writer, but the book does become a little self-indulgent towards the middle (and hence the 1 star deduction... but I suppose it is a memoir, after all). I enjoyed her anecdotes and descriptions of her Kashmiri culture. There is an authenticity to this that I find lacking in most books about India (which just seem to play to the exotic), partially because I can relate to her experience as an Indian growing up abroad. While I may not have been as much a wanderer as she is, there are things that I didn't realize were ingrained in our culture and may be common no matter where we come from/grew up.

[Kristiana Gomez · Rating 3 out of 5]

Felt like chatting with a friend! Mattoo is definitely a New Writer and it shows at certain points that feel forced or take me out of the story, but overall I really enjoyed this read and felt connected to many of the essays. 3.5

[Sondra Yu · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love Priyanka simple yet sensory prose, and her story of finding home without a home as a Kashmiri is hauntingly poignant. Even though I have a different origin story from her, she writes about the human experience of wanting to belong and be seen and heard that I deeply resonated with

[Kim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Everything I want from a memoir—an odd childhood and deep reflection on even the small details of life. I really like how this is formatted in essays which switch back and forth in time. That feels like the way memory works—how the past bends through the lens of the present. Gorgeous. I feel I intimately know the speaking voice.

[Kellie · Rating 4 out of 5]

It took me a while to get into this, but I really enjoyed it by the 35% mark.

[Ann Lundy · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a wonderful collection of reflections & stories & moments of learning from the authors life

[laurel · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars, recommend as audiobook because I loved listening to the essays while walking to/from things, they were great lengths! Sweet and reflective, I didn’t mind the bouncing around in time

[Torrie Shaw · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.75 stars rounded to 4

[Jenna Gordeaux · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Pain is passed down until someone has the bandwidth and resources to feel it.”

[Lori · Rating 4 out of 5]

I received a copy of "Bird Milk & Mosquito Bones." By Priyanka Matoo. the author writes of the many countries she has lived during her life. Because of living in countries like India, Saudi Arabia, England, Rome and several states in the USA. She has learned to speak several languages. Had to live amongst different cultures. She also writes of her relatives including a beloved grandmother, Her little brother and her parents. And also many friends she has made over the years. She has lived around the world when her parents would move and when she studied in Rome and the USA such as Michigan.
She writes of her different careers over the years the good and the bad. I liked the author's book. I found it a bit frustrating thought when her chapters went all over the place in time. Like going from her childhood then skip to recent years then go back years ago. but is just my frustrations. I would give this book a 3.5.

[Liralen · Rating 4 out of 5]

The tap water in my current, grown-up family home is also hard, reminiscent of that summer. I use a built-in water filter most of the time, but if I ever make the lazy mistake of not wanting to walk downstairs, one sip from the wrong faucet takes me right back to the half-finished bathroom in Delhi, its tiny window, a spindly ray of sunlight worming its way through chemical clouds to illuminate one corner of that cursed space. (loc. 2255*)

There's a book that I've been meaning to read for a while, titled Home Keeps Moving—it's about growing up as a third-culture kid. The title seems apt for Mattoo as well: growing up in Kashmir and London and Saudi Arabia and the US, home kept moving. Home was meant to be Kashmir, where her parents were working from a distance to build a home and a life to move back to—but conflict devastated the region and devastated their chances of calling Kashmir home again. So home kept moving.

Mattoo writes early on about thinking that she could not be a writer because that conflict in Kashmir was not the story she wanted to tell: ...I didn't write at all, about anything, for a long time. I didn't know I was allowed. Brown pain, I learned as a small child in Western libraries, was interesting. Brown joy, brown ennui, spunky brown girl detectives—nowhere to be found. So, even though I worshipped books, I thought writing them was for other people. (loc. 234) So this is not a book about that conflict, but rather an exploration, in essays, of a childhood in and between places and an adulthood figuring out how to settle into her skin.

It took me a while to get into this, largely because it's marketed as a memoir and so I was expecting a more...oh, not a more linear narrative necessarily, but I didn't realize until well into the book that I was actually reading a collection of (mostly but not entirely chronological) essays. Still memoir, sure, but memoir-in-essays just requires a slightly different brain space. But with expectations adjusted, it's a beautiful work—Mattoo is so simultaneously unapologetic and wry about herself as a child in particular, describing herself as smart and stubborn and uncompromising in ways that did not always make her life easy. Some of the essays are better fits for me than others (I do tend to prefer those ones about childhood, though the way Mattoo talks about her family pressing her now-husband-then-boyfriend about marriage makes me laugh, because my Indian boyfriend's parents do the same thing on the regular), but they're exacting and with a wonderful sense for story. Well worth the read.

Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.

*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.

[Brown Girl Bookshelf]

Reading Priyanka Mattoo’s “Bird Milk and Mosquito Bones” feels like catching up with your most effortlessly witty friend—the one who can make you laugh so hard you cry, then casually drop a revelation that stays with you for days. With a perfect balance of wit and warmth, Mattoo envelops readers in her family and childhood, ongoing explorations of identity, and a personal narrative about the impact of the decades-long political turmoil in Kashmir. From her childhood visits to her bustling, multi-generational Kashmiri home, to growing up as a strong-willed brown girl in Saudi Arabia, to her wonderfully relatable adulthood navigating a blended cultural household, parenthood, and her relationship with her parents, every essay shines with Mattoo’s voice, as warm as it is incisive.

The essays range from serious topics to niche observations, but every one endears readers to Mattoo and her family deeper. One minute, readers are stunned by the heartbreak of the destruction of her family’s home in Kashmir; the next, they’re laughing at her sharp and endearing take on arranged dating within the Kashmiri community—and grinning at the unexpected twist that she ultimately married a Jewish man with whom she shares a passion for building dioramas.

What sets this book apart is its authenticity. When I interviewed Mattoo at the South Asian Literature and Arts Festival, she mentioned that this work doubles as a personal archive and love letter to her family. That intention shines through. The humor feels like an inside joke you’re lucky enough to be let in on, and with this understanding, Mattoo’s voice is self-effacing rather than self-indulgent.

Mattoo is also quietly subversive to what this book could have been—and perhaps is still expected to be by some—a “refugee memoir.” Yes, there is grief and loss, most notably surrounding her family’s Kashmiri home, but there’s also joy, love, and resilience. Mattoo shared that this was not intentional; she writes in the way her people live: finding a mix of tenderness, richness, and humor in all of life’s experiences.