Zoey has a companion no one else can see, Pigeon, a bird, who is fond of knocking things over.Ĭharlotte Lungren, 26, is a henna artist, with a space at the Sugar Warehouse, a local artists enclave. Nearly every restaurant and bakery had a chalkboard sign with a marshmallow item on its menu-marshmallow popcorn, chocolate milk served in toasted marshmallow cups, sweet potato fries with marshmallow dipping sauce. The sidewalks were crowded with tourists taking pictures of old, narrow buildings painted in faded pastel colors. If she hadn’t known that Mallow Island had been famous for its marshmallow candy over a century ago, Trade Street would have told her right away. The island is also famous for the product that it is named for. The area had been made famous by a world-class novel, Sweet Mallow, written fifty years ago by the rarely seen Roscoe Avanger. It is one of five units in a tucked-away development on Mallow Island, off the coast of South Carolina. Her father did not have anything good to say about her, and her step-monster was not exactly her number one fan.
Paloma used to bring her here for weekends and getaways. Starting college in Charleston soon, she wanted to spend some time at the condo that her mother had left her. Zoey Hennessey is eighteen years old, an innocent, with a heart open to everyone. The characters in Sarah Addison Allen’s Other Birds are grappling with their pasts. History ripples forward in time and we are all riding its waves or are swamped by them. Is it not our duty as children, grandchildren, descendants, to keep alive something of our family heritage? Because whether we are aware of the events of prior eras or not, they have had an impact on us. What happens to that history? Does it cease to exist if no one remembers. What happened to that story? What was my grandmother’s life like when she was in Show Biz? What artifacts might there be from that era that might tell us something? I expect I will never know.
The wages of procrastination, and surprise illnesses in old age. I had always intended to speak with my sister Loretta about Grandma Anna, but she passed away before I got to it. Any materials passed down found its way to relations other than me, to my aunt’s family perhaps, or maybe through my mother to my older sibs, sisters in particular.
What happens to the untold stories? Two of my grandparents were in vaudeville at some point, yet I know almost nothing about that. “If the people around you don’t love you just as you are, find new people. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be an other bird than just the same old thing.” “There are birds, and then there are other birds.
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