The One-In-A-Million Boy

“Someone had told him to smile, and he’d done the best he could.”

This quote refers to the boy’s Boy Scout photo, suggesting that he made an effort to do what was expected of him in this particular social situation but was not entirely able to comply. The earnest attempt reveals the boy’s awareness of the necessity of masking his quirks in a neurotypical society, and the resulting expression also displays his vulnerability and social awkwardness. This moment exposes the tension between genuine emotion and social performance, hinting at the boy’s inner struggle to conform to the world’s often-arbitrary requirements.

“At last, the boy picked a card. He studied it for a full thirty seconds, then gave it back.”

The boy’s careful, deliberate action in this scene emphasizes his innately careful nature and his curiosity to learn about topics that he didn’t quite understand. The pause emphasizes his significance and instinctive introspection. The novel also implies that these subtle but significant traits were part of what led to the lasting sense of distance between Quinn and his son, as Quinn never understood his child’s mannerisms or sought to learn why the boy took such an intense interest in such specific things.

“Miss Vitkus reached into the warm cavern of Quinn’s jacket. He felt her hand on his chest, brief as an alighting bird, before she withdrew it, the folded obituary materializing on her palm, and inside that, his five-dollar bill.”

In this scene, the use of the avian metaphor creates an almost sacred space for Quinn and Ona, one that contrasts the coldness of the obituary with the warmth of human touch. As the two finally share a moment of implicit grief and understanding, this first sign of connection foreshadows the fact that the boy’s death will bring them together and profoundly change their lives. The description of Ona’s hand as “an alighting bird” captures the simultaneous hesitancy and sincerity of her gesture, and the pointed symbolism of the moment suggests that, try as she might, she cannot truly make the obituary disappear, for death’s bitter “magic” trick has already made the boy himself disappear from their lives forever.

“Maud-Lucy took her ticket, then opened the blanket to show the baby’s face. I hadn’t seen him since the first day. I didn’t want to kiss him, but Maud-Lucy insisted. He smelled like a ripe peach.”

As Ona relates profound memories from her 14-year-old self upon beholding her newborn son, Laurentas, the author uses olfactory imagery to create a mood of innocence and sweetness that contrasts sharply with Ona’s emotional detachment from her son at that time. Her reluctant kiss suggests that the young Oda was dealing with unresolved pain and complicated maternal feelings, and in this context, Maud-Lucy’s insistence that she perform the gesture symbolizes societal and familial pressures for Oda to conform to the expected emotional responses.

“Ona had no more. The boy had taken it all. Or, she had given it.”

This sentence’s parallel structure creates a rhythm that emphasizes surrender and acknowledges the transfer of memory that occurs with the act of sharing life stories and legacies. Additionally, the deliberate ambiguity of the line reflects the mutual, interconnected nature of storytelling, as no one cares to reveal the deepest parts of themselves unless they are sure of having an empathic, appreciative audience, as the boy is for Ona. In this moment, Ona consciously relinquishes her past as she entrusts it to the boy’s care.

“It was Amy who’d bought the red bike he’d been riding on the clear, sweet morning of his death.”

The juxtaposition of the “clear, sweet morning” with the boy’s tragic death demonstrates the fragility of life and the suddenness of loss, while also bringing a sense of comfort in the implication that the boy was experiencing something wonderful just before he died. However, the key focus of the passage is on Amy’s perceived culpability for providing the boy with the red bike that ostensibly ushered him to the moment of his death. Amy’s guilt therefore ties into the novel’s examination of the lasting influence of grief, detailing the weight of second-guessing a mundane, well-meaning choice that may or may not have had anything to do with the boy’s death.

“Of course it doesn’t work. Nothing works. There isn’t a magic trick on earth that could restore my youth and beauty.”

The repetition used here invokes a deep sense of resignation as Ona acknowledges the finality of aging. The metaphor of the magic trick introduces a sense of irony, contrasting Ona’s own skill at creating small illusions with the inevitability of losing her youth. Although Ona presents a tough exterior to the world, she is actually deeply insecure about her dwindling relevance, and this underlying issue helps fuel her desire to set records.

“He waited her out. Presuming. Expecting a trick for free. Then he smiled again, a shock of a smile that made her wonder about the ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-nine-nine percent of his life that did not take place here on Saturday mornings.”

This quote draws on the subtle power dynamic between Ona and Quinn as he delivers a silent challenge in the form of a sly, feline patience. Yet when his smile breaks the tension of the moment and surprises Ona with unexpected warmth, Ona’s silent sense of wonder about the unseen aspects of Quinn’s life emphasize that he is a complex, three-dimensional person whose thoughts and desires extend far beyond this one simple moment. The whimsical statistic also humorously suggests that this particular moment is a miniscule fraction of the secret immensity of a human life, and her curiosity hints at the many stories about Quinn that she will never hear.

“Ona felt momentarily unborn, as if her long life had been a warm-up for the real show, on which the curtain was about to rise.”

The paradox of feeling unborn or new after such a long life powerfully conveys the idea that people can reinvent themselves at any age. This use of a theater metaphor—the stage—symbolizes a new beginning and suggests that all of life is no more than a series of self-appointed roles in a much broader play. This stylistic choice provides a sense of hope and possibility, suggesting that life’s purpose can be redefined at any time and for any reason.

“You have your music to outlive you. You wouldn’t understand.”

This quote uses music as a metaphor for personal legacy, and Ona’s impatient tone as she addresses Quinn suggests that she keenly feels the lack of a similarly lasting legacy to commemorate her own life and accomplishments. Faced with the nearness of her death, Ona hopes to set a record so that her name will be remembered long after she is gone. Her dismissive assertion that Quinn “wouldn’t understand” also emphasizes her misguided sense of isolation.

“Why, she wondered, at this late date, had the Almighty deigned to drag her back into the fray? She’d been doing fine on her own. Just jim-dandy. Then he sent that boy, setting into motion a fireworks of possibility—that long-dead sensation of possibility—that she was simply too old to accommodate.”

The diction used in this quote introduces a spiritual dimension to Ona’s experience, showcasing the unexpected challenges involved in living life actively and making choices that run the risk of upending a comfortable status quo. The metaphor of “fireworks of possibility” conveys a blended image of excitement, unruliness, vibrancy, and risk that contrasts with her resignation and long-held stasis.

“And oh, weren’t they a show: their puzzling wants, their cross-purposes, their own mundane, ticking down minutes.”

Ona thinks of her newfound friends as mildly entertaining, and when she compares them to a “show,” this wry metaphor frames their grief and conflicts as inherently performative acts. However, the passage also suggests that Ona is invoking this imagery in a vain attempt to maintain a measure of distance from the very real emotions and dramas that threaten to pull her into their midst and force her to engage with matters that she has long since set aside. The comment on “ticking down minutes” also acknowledges humanity’s near-universal fear of mortality.

“A memory of the boy’s recitations attacked him unannounced: the wiry voice; the lists; the counting; the motionless face and twitchy fingers. He’d been uneasy around the boy, troubled by the world in which he dwelled.”

When the narrative personifies memory itself as an attack, it is clear that Quinn feels great pain beneath the onslaught of these intrusive, uncontrollable recollections, and his turmoil emphasizes the psychological tension and cognitive dissonance that he has felt since his son’s death. The detailed sensory imagery creates a vivid picture of the boy’s quirks, suggesting possible neurodivergence or emotional difficulties without disclosing a specific diagnosis or assessment. Importantly, the idea that Quinn and his son inhabited different “worlds” was mostly Quinn’s own misconception, as his son was always one step behind him, admiringly cataloguing his every achievement.

“I was married to Howard for twenty-eight years and yet he made only a piddling dent in my memory. A little nick. But certain others, they move in and make themselves at home and start flapping their arms in the story you make of your life. They have a wingspan.”

In this passage, Ona describes people’s influence on her life in terms of the space that they take up in her mind and thoughts. It is significant that her husband merits only a “piddling dent” despite their many years together, and Ona’s lingering bitterness over this unfulfilling relationship colors her entire perspective. By contrast, the people who “start flapping their arms”—like the boy, with his fixation on birdcalls and bird lists that further emphasize the point—take up a great deal of space in Ona’s mind and heart. As she celebrates the metaphorical “wingspan” of the people who have truly changed her life, her musings celebrate The Life-Changing Power of Unlikely Friendships, pointing out that some relationships are more influential and transformative than others will ever be.

“Quinn stared into the ancient country of his son’s unmoving eyes.”

This succinct metaphor asserts that the boy’s mind and thoughts contained vast worlds of mysterious terrain. Rather than being preoccupied with superficial concerns, the boy focused on pursuits that were worthy of lasting depth and history, and his clear, silent gaze suggests that he held the keys to an immense, unknowable inner world that Quinn would never access. The moment closely captures the wall that separated Quinn from his son, and after the boy’s death, this fundamental gulf acts as the primary source of Quinn’s guilt, grief, and confusion.

“Except. The place thundered with lingering projects the broke picket, the detached gutter he’d promised to fix. Everything needed paint.”

By placing the word “except” by itself, as if it is a single, entire thought, the author uses a deliberate strategy to bring the flowing words of the narrative to a stumbling, abrupt halt as Quinn himself is emotionally brought up short by his sense of obligation to Ona. The use of thunder to describe the urgency of the pending household tasks reflects the weight of his son’s death and of Quinn’s newfound friendship with Ona. The unfinished projects also symbolize the many improvements—both physical and metaphorical—that Quinn has yet to make in his own life and for the benefit of the people around him.

“Old Ona, exhausted from her trip and searching her cupboards for a vase, yearned to tell young Ona, Can you see the iceberg coming? No one will love you more than they love themselves. But the young Ona can’t see.”

The bitterness of Ona’s tone as she reinvokes the iceberg metaphor is designed to acknowledge the inevitable emotional pain that she has encountered due to the indifference of others in her life. In her mind, other people’s habit of prioritizing themselves has deeply wounded her over the years, nearly destroying her with the weight of emotional neglect or misunderstanding. The internal dialogue between the old and young versions of Ona emphasizes the power of hindsight and highlights Ona’s own lingering regrets over the many choices that led her to this moment.

“Either despite or because of Ona’s bravado, Quinn felt knee-weak.”

This sentence uses the physical reaction of Quinn feeling weak-kneed to express vulnerability and emotional impact, which he previously did not expect to come from Ona. The ambiguity of the line emphasizes the complex and often-contradictory influence that Ona has on Quinn. The off-kilter emotional tone of the scene also reflects the push-and-pull dynamic of their relationship even as it highlights Quinn’s internal conflicts.

“He felt like the mark in one of Ona’s card tricks and nearly laughed—or cried—hearing his mother’s voice drifting in from the misty past: We don’t choose our own punishments. Or maybe it wasn’t his mother. Maybe it was Ona. Sounded just like her.”

The metaphor of being a mark in a card trick conveys feelings of manipulation and helplessness, blending the magic motif with Quinn’s current perspective on reality. The blurred identity of the voice from the past connects Quinn’s deceased mother to Ona’s current role as his unofficial mother figure, blending his memory with his present experience and exploring the nature of punishment and forgiveness.

“The boy, who listened to music in puzzlement and pain. The boy, with his razored clippings and neat beads of glue, dogged and watchful, arranging his father’s story, preserving and tending it, page after page after page.”

The deliberate use of repetition in this passage places emphasis on the boy’s innate uniqueness and silent solidarity with his father despite Quinn’s failure to fully understand his son. The descriptions simultaneously draw attention to the boy’s fundamental differences and celebrate his “dogged” attention to detail and dedication to preserving his father’s various musical accomplishments. Although the boy failed to pick up the subtle tones in music, his determination to honor his father’s efforts reflects the solid yet unspoken bedrock of his emotional and intellectual connection to his largely absent father. The boy’s fixation suggests a ritualistic effort to make sense of the father-son conflict that had no logical source, and the boy also expressed his unconditional admiration for a man who refused to make any effort to understand him.

“Nothing lasts.”

This stark, short sentence takes on a bleak tone, declaring the impermanence that is central to the narrative. Its minimalist style mirrors the boy’s tragically short life and stands as a hopeless, existential reflection on the inevitability of mortality and loss, as well as the fleeting nature of life and memories alike.

“She wondered, and repeated, in English now, dreamy and resigned: Where is home? Where is home? Where is home?”

The repetition of the question “Where is home?” illustrates Ona’s profound sense of feeling lost and suggests a lifelong search for identity. The shift from Lithuanian to English also draws attention to the fact that she has experienced a profound form of cultural and linguistic displacement. Upon recalling the nuances of her native tongue, she must reckon with the long-forgotten emotions that the rush of words invokes, and as she struggles to reconcile her past with her present, she must overcome the feelings of isolation that stem from her own heritage and from her current lifestyle.

“Forgiveness is a handsome thing indeed. Eventually I turned her back into Louise of the one thousand hummingbirds.”

The personification of forgiveness as “handsome” transforms it into a tangible gift that is very costly in terms of the time, effort, and energy that is required before someone can offer it to another. The imagery once again employs the avian motif to suggest that forgiveness can set people free and allow them to find a sense of renewal in their lives by relinquishing regrets over past mistakes. In this particular instance, Ona celebrates her liberation from her long-held guilt and grief.