Birding

I’ll admit: I side-eyed the premise at first. Another washed-up pop star? But *Birding* isn’t about the music—it’s about the *hunger*, both Lydia’s and the industry’s, and how one feeds the other until there’s nothing left but bones. Ruane’s writing is so viscerally specific that I found myself Googling obscure ’90s pop trivia just to fact-check her (she’s *that* convincing). The audiobook’s real triumph, though, is Antonia Beamish’s narration. She nails Lydia’s voice—a mix of deadpan exhaustion and sudden, jagged vulnerability—without ever slipping into caricature. The production is clean, but the pacing *deliberately* drags in places, mirroring Lydia’s stalled life. It’s a bold choice, and it won’t work for everyone. If you’re here for plot pyrotechnics, look elsewhere. But if you want to marinate in the slow rot of fame and female disposability, this is your book. My two critiques: First, the birdwatching metaphor, while brilliant, occasionally feels *too* heavy-handed. A few fewer avian analogies wouldn’t have dulled the impact. Second, the nonlinear timeline can be jarring in audio—Beamish’s tone shifts are subtle, and I found myself rewinding a couple of times to catch when we’d jumped decades. That said, these are quibbles. *Birding* lingers like a bruise, the kind you keep prodding just to feel the ache. It’s not an easy listen, but it’s a *necessary* one—especially for anyone who’s ever been a girl, a fan, or both.