“My childhood house was full of books, but my father was an academic, not a hoarder. Millions of little letters on shelves lining hallways and bedrooms, all hovering above my child’s head. I knew they were alive, in their perfect rows, and I longed to be able to reach up and fish them out: point a finger and hook a J by its tail, or grasp a whole wriggling word. They were in contrast with the spoken words, rare enough that I could count them on the fingers of both hands each day”

Fed To Red Birds is the first novel by Australian author, Rijn Collins. In the nine months that twenty-four-year-old Elva-Bjalla Bloom has lived in Reykjavik, she’s been learning Icelandic, working in the quirky Cabinet of Curiosities shop, improving her taxidermy skills by practicing on random dead animals her neighbours save for her, and doing her best to control her rituals and compulsions.

She finds it hard not to be reclusive, but she has made some friends: Jirapa from her language class; Tolli from the bar she frequents; and Grace, in her early sixties, owner of the Cabinet. The latter two, especially, understand her kinks and compulsions, her fears and the triggers that set her off; they know her mother disappeared when she was seven, and are her guardian angels, always sensitive, supportive and encouraging.

When she gets a call from her father in Melbourne, it’s not good news: her beloved maternal grandfather, her Afi, the author of a much-read children’s book that plays a large part in her compulsions, has had a stroke. He’s in hospital near his northern town of Olafsfjordur, unconscious, and disquiet about his condition threatens to upset Elva’s precarious control.

As there’s nothing she can do for Afi, her friends try to distract her from worrying: Grace takes her on buying trips for the shop, to auctions and sales, and together they challenge each other cooking unusual and often bizarre meals; Tolli draws her out to parties, at one of which she gets to know a tattooed Belgian artist, Remy.

But Elva has secret compulsions of which not even her closest friends are aware; it turns out that Remy might understand them better than anyone else. But it’s not until circumstances create a crisis from which Elva feels compelled to flee, to seek out her failsafe refuge, that the reader learns the root of Elva’s unusual compulsions.

Collins conveys her setting with consummate ease: Elva’s fascination with the dramatic landscape might stir some readers’ travel bugs, and her reaction to the cold weather makes it almost palpable. Collins gives the reader interesting characters and an engaging plot, and her descriptive prose is often gorgeous and elegant.

Examples of this: “I went early in the morning, before my anxiety had a chance to wake, stretch, and scrape its claws along the inside of my skull” and “The syllables dropped from my tongue like dark little stones. They could have fallen onto the countertop beneath her hands and shattered the glass to tiny pieces” and “I would listen to the words falling down my throat like tiny bells, chiming against each other as they tumbled into my tummy, in a song so exquisite only I could hear it.”

Also “For the most part I felt achingly out of place in this spectacular and savage country, but there were some parts where my Icelandic heritage felt woven into my very spine, forcing my head up and my shoulders straight.” This is an enthralling debut novel and more from Rijn Collins is eagerly anticipated.
This unbiased review is from a copy provided by Simon & Schuster Australia.