In A Terrible Bird is the Pelican, Ivan Parr is blinded by new insight into to why terror remains a thing with feathers.
“The rainforest gloom peeping through the ceiling vents felt like a plasma cutter splicing my retina. My eye had become so sensitive overnight, when I stepped into the daylight, the entire right side of my face scrunched like a poked anemone, the lachrymal oozing in tears. My good eye, the left eye, constricted by proximity so I had to pry it open with my forefinger and thumb to see my way to the breakfast room.
Birds were everywhere. The conference brought up strategies to save orange-breasted falcons, snake-eagles, Harpy eagles, and macaws. I wanted to see them all, but watching the sky was like pointing a spotting scope at the sun. No eye patch presented itself, so I made do with hankies, napkins, my hand, or a pair of ladies’ black underwear (long story) and went off on further adventures...”