The Boy with a Bird in His Chest

I approached *The Boy with a Bird in His Chest* expecting another grief-drenched coming-of-age story, but Lund’s novel is far stranger—and far more compelling—than that. Oliver’s voice is a revelation: sullen, poetic, and fiercely alive, even as he’s drowning in his mother’s decline. The bird, a grotesque feathered thing that grows from his chest, isn’t a metaphor so much as a living, breathing contradiction—part comfort, part curse, a physical manifestation of Oliver’s rage and grief. It’s the kind of device that could feel gimmicky in weaker hands, but Lund grounds it in Oliver’s raw, unfiltered perspective. Nicky Endres’ narration is the glue holding this slippery, emotionally complex story together. Her Oliver is a whiny teenager one moment and a heartbroken child the next, and she never shies away from the book’s uglier emotions. That said, the pacing drags slightly in the middle acts, where the surreal elements start to feel more like decoration than necessity. And while the bird’s presence is undeniably striking, there were moments I wished Lund leaned harder into its symbolism rather than letting it remain a fantastical flourish. Still, the audiobook’s production is top-notch, with Endres’ performance elevating what’s already a striking debut. If you’re here for pretty prose or easy catharsis, look elsewhere—but if you want a story that’s messy, honest, and utterly unforgettable, this is it.