Genre Fiction
![Christy Lefteri - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_christy_lefteri.jpg)
Songbirds: A Novel
"A beautifully crafted novel that sits at the intersection of race and class, that flags the frank truth of the life of migrant workers for whom a flight to freedom can become the most finely woven trap."-JODI PICOULT, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Two Ways
From the prize-winning author of The Beekeeper of Aleppo comes Songbirds, a stunning novel about the disappearance of a Sri Lankan domestic worker and how the most vulnerable people find their voices.
Living on the island of Cyprus, Nisha is far from her native Sri Lanka. Though she longs to return home, she knows that working as a "maid" for a wealthy widow is the only way to earn enough to support her daughter, left behind to be raised by relatives.
Yiannis is a poacher, trapping the tiny protected songbirds that stop in Cyprus as they migrate each year from Africa to Europe and selling them on the illegal market. He dreams of finding a new way of life, and of marrying Nisha.
But one night, Nisha makes dinner, an aromatic dahl curry, for the family who pays her: Petra and her daughter Aliki. Then, after she cleans the kitchen and tucks Aliki into bed, Nisha goes out on a mysterious errand, and vanishes.
When the police refuse to pursue the case, Petra takes on the investigation herself, a path that leads her to Nisha's friends-other workers in the neighborhood-and to the darker side of a migrant's life, where impossible choices leave them vulnerable, captive, and worse.
Inspired by the real-life disappearance of domestic workers in Cyprus, Christy Lefteri has crafted a poignant, deeply empathetic narrative of the human stories behind the headlines. With infinite tenderness and skill, Songbirds offers a triumphant story of the fight for truth and justice, and of women reclaiming their lost voices.
From the prize-winning author of The Beekeeper of Aleppo comes Songbirds, a stunning novel about the disappearance of a Sri Lankan domestic worker and how the most vulnerable people find their voices.
Living on the island of Cyprus, Nisha is far from her native Sri Lanka. Though she longs to return home, she knows that working as a "maid" for a wealthy widow is the only way to earn enough to support her daughter, left behind to be raised by relatives.
Yiannis is a poacher, trapping the tiny protected songbirds that stop in Cyprus as they migrate each year from Africa to Europe and selling them on the illegal market. He dreams of finding a new way of life, and of marrying Nisha.
But one night, Nisha makes dinner, an aromatic dahl curry, for the family who pays her: Petra and her daughter Aliki. Then, after she cleans the kitchen and tucks Aliki into bed, Nisha goes out on a mysterious errand, and vanishes.
When the police refuse to pursue the case, Petra takes on the investigation herself, a path that leads her to Nisha's friends-other workers in the neighborhood-and to the darker side of a migrant's life, where impossible choices leave them vulnerable, captive, and worse.
Inspired by the real-life disappearance of domestic workers in Cyprus, Christy Lefteri has crafted a poignant, deeply empathetic narrative of the human stories behind the headlines. With infinite tenderness and skill, Songbirds offers a triumphant story of the fight for truth and justice, and of women reclaiming their lost voices.
Editorial Reviews
"In this heartfelt novel by the author of The Beekeeper of Aleppo, a Sri Lankan domestic worker goes missing from her employer's home in Cyprus, and the widowed homeowner herself sets out to find her after the police show no interest."-The New York Times
"A beautiful novel . . . Songbirds will break your heart and open your eyes."-Heather Morris, author of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
"Like the vulnerable songbirds trapped in mist nets, Christy Lefteri's characters-women who leave foreign lands to work abroad and send money back home-broke my heart and kept me turning the pages of her gorgeous novel well into the night."-Alka Joshi, author of The Henna Artist and The Secret Keeper of Jaipur
"I loved this tender, moving story about the powerful chord that binds mothers to daughters, about those we fail to see and protect. The humanity in Songbirds is compelling, tinged with sadness, delicately delivered with urgency. I finished this book and could not stop thinking about Nisha. It is stunning and beautiful, a magnificent achievement."-Abi Daré, author of The Girl with the Louding Voice
"This thought-provoking novel of love, loss, and redemption is thoroughly sublime."-Caroline Montague, author of An Italian Affair
"Lefteri is an astonishing weaver of stories that speak to the world with humor and compassion. She is imaginatively daring as she is socially responsible in a style that sustains a compelling narrative from start to end and that kept me on the edge."-Daljit Nagra, author of British Museum
"Lefteri deftly weaves Yiannis's pain at the loss of his love with Petra's growing realizations about her own culture and Aliki's attachment to her missing caretaker. Songbirds is quietly urgent in its treatment of Nicosia's maids, thoughtful, compassionate and lyrical in its descriptions. S...
"A beautiful novel . . . Songbirds will break your heart and open your eyes."-Heather Morris, author of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
"Like the vulnerable songbirds trapped in mist nets, Christy Lefteri's characters-women who leave foreign lands to work abroad and send money back home-broke my heart and kept me turning the pages of her gorgeous novel well into the night."-Alka Joshi, author of The Henna Artist and The Secret Keeper of Jaipur
"I loved this tender, moving story about the powerful chord that binds mothers to daughters, about those we fail to see and protect. The humanity in Songbirds is compelling, tinged with sadness, delicately delivered with urgency. I finished this book and could not stop thinking about Nisha. It is stunning and beautiful, a magnificent achievement."-Abi Daré, author of The Girl with the Louding Voice
"This thought-provoking novel of love, loss, and redemption is thoroughly sublime."-Caroline Montague, author of An Italian Affair
"Lefteri is an astonishing weaver of stories that speak to the world with humor and compassion. She is imaginatively daring as she is socially responsible in a style that sustains a compelling narrative from start to end and that kept me on the edge."-Daljit Nagra, author of British Museum
"Lefteri deftly weaves Yiannis's pain at the loss of his love with Petra's growing realizations about her own culture and Aliki's attachment to her missing caretaker. Songbirds is quietly urgent in its treatment of Nicosia's maids, thoughtful, compassionate and lyrical in its descriptions. S...
Readers Top Reviews
Nancy CheechLeesigne
I love the way author has written this story...it is mesmerizing,,and sad in some places. Very eye opening as to what some women must do in another country to keep fsmily afloat.
Deane Borgeson
We read this for our book club, and everyone really enjoyed it. It was a very different story, and very educational, we all learned a lot!
Literary Hawk
Songbirds has many facets , like a cut gemstone , and speaks with several voices. We meet Nisha a beautiful foreign worker in Cyprus, her employer, Petra an opthalmologist, Yianni the man who loves Nisha, Aliki the daughter of Petra who is being raised by Nisha, Kumari , Nisha's daughter in faraway Shri Lanka, Tony who offers help to the foreign domestic workers ,Seraphin the songbird poacher and many others. The author gives us a vivid picture of modern Cyprus with it's beauty and it's ugliness.
tnbogger
Lefteri is brilliant at telling a gripping story while unveiling a terrible truth. The disenfranchised, marginalized, and even abuse people of the world have her heart.
Jar
Although the Songbirds sing with sweet voices, their lives are traumatized daily by poachers. In Peru, Cypriot, Greece, and Sri Lanka women identify closely with these birds. The turmoil is caused by a lack of freedoms. While women strive to fight to save the sky singers, their lives are threatened. Christy Leferti becomes the one to speak out for the finches, robins, etc. Death becomes the identifier. Before the battle ends, women will lose their lives in violence. Lost to their families for weeks.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Yiannis
One day, Nisha vanished and turned to gold. She turned to gold in the eyes of the creature that stood before me. She turned to gold in the morning sky and in the music of the birds. Later, in the shimmering melody of the maid from Vietnam who sang at Theo's restaurant. Later still, in the faces and voices of all the maids that flowed along the streets like a turbulent river of anger, demanding to be seen and heard. This is where Nisha exists. But let's go back. We need to go back.
Petra
The day Nisha disappeared we went to the mountains. The three of us put on our hiking boots and waited for the bus that goes up to Troodos, which comes just twice a day. Nisha would normally go out on her own on Sundays but this time, for the first time, she decided to come along with Aliki and me.
Oh, it was beautiful up there! The autumn mist mingled with the ferns and pines and twisted oaks. These mountains rose from the sea when the African and European tectonic plates collided. You can even see the Earth's oceanic crust. The rock formations, with their veins and lava pillows, look like they are wearing snake skins.
I love thinking about beginnings. Like that story my aunt used to tell in the back garden: When the Creator finished his creation of the world-Petra, are you listening?!-he shook the remaining clumps of clay from his hands and they fell to the sea and formed this island.
Yes, I love thinking about beginnings. I don't like endings, though I suppose I'm like most people in that. An ending can be staring you right in the face without your knowing it. Like the last cup of coffee you have with someone when you thought there would be many more.
Aliki played with leaves as Nisha and I sat beneath the heater at one of the small taverns on the trail we were taking, and drank coffee. I remember the conversation we had.
Nisha had been unusually quiet, stirring her coffee for some time without drinking it. "Madam," she said, suddenly, "I have a question to ask."
I nodded and waited while she shifted in her seat.
"I would like to take tonight off to-"
"But Nisha, you had the whole day off!"
She didn't speak again for a while. Aliki was gathering armfuls of the leaves and placing them on a bench. We both watched her.
Nisha had decided to spend her free day with us, to join Aliki and me on this trip. I shouldn't be expected to give her more time off.
"Nisha," I said, "you have all day off on Sunday. In the evening, you have things to do. You need to help Aliki get her bag ready for school, and then put her to bed."
"Madam, many of the other women have Sunday night off too." She said this slowly.
"I know for a fact that other women are not allowed to go gallivanting around at night."
She acted like she hadn't heard this and said, "And I don't think madam has plans tonight," giving me a sly look before returning her gaze to the coffee. "So maybe madam could put Aliki to bed just for tonight? I will do extra duties next Sunday to make up for it."
I was about to ask her where she intended to go; what was so important that she was willing to disrupt our routine. Perhaps she saw the disapproving look in my eyes, but there was no time for either of us to say anything because at that moment an avalanche of leaves was released over our heads. Nisha screeched, making a pantomime of it, waving her hands in the air and chasing Aliki, who was slipping away down a path that led into the woods. I could hear them after a while in the forest, like two children, laughing and playing, while I drank my coffee.
By the time we got home that evening, Nisha hadn't mentioned again taking the night off. She made dhal curry, and the house filled with the smell of onions and green chilies, cumin, turmeric, fenugreek, and curry leaves. I looked over her shoulder as she sautéed the onions and combined the spices with the split red lentils, finally adding a splash of coconut milk. My mouth was watering. Nisha knew this was my favorite dish. I lit the fire in the living room. It had rained earlier that afternoon and from the living-room window I could see that Yiakoumi opposite had his canopy open, and the cobbled streets glimmered beneath the warm lights of his antiques shop.
We do not have central heating, so we sat as close as we could to the flames with the bowls of dhal curry on our laps. Nisha brought me a glass of sweet zivania-the aromatic type with caramel and muscat, so warming on this chilly night-and tested Aliki on the nine times table.
"Seven times nine?" Nisha said.
"Sixty-three!"
"Good. Nine times nine?"
"Eight...
One day, Nisha vanished and turned to gold. She turned to gold in the eyes of the creature that stood before me. She turned to gold in the morning sky and in the music of the birds. Later, in the shimmering melody of the maid from Vietnam who sang at Theo's restaurant. Later still, in the faces and voices of all the maids that flowed along the streets like a turbulent river of anger, demanding to be seen and heard. This is where Nisha exists. But let's go back. We need to go back.
Petra
The day Nisha disappeared we went to the mountains. The three of us put on our hiking boots and waited for the bus that goes up to Troodos, which comes just twice a day. Nisha would normally go out on her own on Sundays but this time, for the first time, she decided to come along with Aliki and me.
Oh, it was beautiful up there! The autumn mist mingled with the ferns and pines and twisted oaks. These mountains rose from the sea when the African and European tectonic plates collided. You can even see the Earth's oceanic crust. The rock formations, with their veins and lava pillows, look like they are wearing snake skins.
I love thinking about beginnings. Like that story my aunt used to tell in the back garden: When the Creator finished his creation of the world-Petra, are you listening?!-he shook the remaining clumps of clay from his hands and they fell to the sea and formed this island.
Yes, I love thinking about beginnings. I don't like endings, though I suppose I'm like most people in that. An ending can be staring you right in the face without your knowing it. Like the last cup of coffee you have with someone when you thought there would be many more.
Aliki played with leaves as Nisha and I sat beneath the heater at one of the small taverns on the trail we were taking, and drank coffee. I remember the conversation we had.
Nisha had been unusually quiet, stirring her coffee for some time without drinking it. "Madam," she said, suddenly, "I have a question to ask."
I nodded and waited while she shifted in her seat.
"I would like to take tonight off to-"
"But Nisha, you had the whole day off!"
She didn't speak again for a while. Aliki was gathering armfuls of the leaves and placing them on a bench. We both watched her.
Nisha had decided to spend her free day with us, to join Aliki and me on this trip. I shouldn't be expected to give her more time off.
"Nisha," I said, "you have all day off on Sunday. In the evening, you have things to do. You need to help Aliki get her bag ready for school, and then put her to bed."
"Madam, many of the other women have Sunday night off too." She said this slowly.
"I know for a fact that other women are not allowed to go gallivanting around at night."
She acted like she hadn't heard this and said, "And I don't think madam has plans tonight," giving me a sly look before returning her gaze to the coffee. "So maybe madam could put Aliki to bed just for tonight? I will do extra duties next Sunday to make up for it."
I was about to ask her where she intended to go; what was so important that she was willing to disrupt our routine. Perhaps she saw the disapproving look in my eyes, but there was no time for either of us to say anything because at that moment an avalanche of leaves was released over our heads. Nisha screeched, making a pantomime of it, waving her hands in the air and chasing Aliki, who was slipping away down a path that led into the woods. I could hear them after a while in the forest, like two children, laughing and playing, while I drank my coffee.
By the time we got home that evening, Nisha hadn't mentioned again taking the night off. She made dhal curry, and the house filled with the smell of onions and green chilies, cumin, turmeric, fenugreek, and curry leaves. I looked over her shoulder as she sautéed the onions and combined the spices with the split red lentils, finally adding a splash of coconut milk. My mouth was watering. Nisha knew this was my favorite dish. I lit the fire in the living room. It had rained earlier that afternoon and from the living-room window I could see that Yiakoumi opposite had his canopy open, and the cobbled streets glimmered beneath the warm lights of his antiques shop.
We do not have central heating, so we sat as close as we could to the flames with the bowls of dhal curry on our laps. Nisha brought me a glass of sweet zivania-the aromatic type with caramel and muscat, so warming on this chilly night-and tested Aliki on the nine times table.
"Seven times nine?" Nisha said.
"Sixty-three!"
"Good. Nine times nine?"
"Eight...
