Hummingbirds

Hummingbirds are a recurring image of swift, delicate movement in Norma Jeane Baker’s childhood: at once a bodily comparison, part of an imagined refuge, and a source of close attention during her walks with Nonna Della. Their vividness rests in particulars—the blurred beat of their wings, their ability to hover, and their sudden departure—and contrasts with the stillness and uncertainty surrounding the people who observe them.

Image and Movement

When Norma Jeane Baker looks at a photograph of the man Gladys Mortensen identifies as her father, her heart beats frantically, like a hummingbird’s wings. The comparison gives the child’s response a physical intensity before she can make sense of the adults’ secrecy. Gladys is absorbed in the photograph and does not notice Norma Jeane’s agitation; the small bird’s frantic motion thus figures an emotion that remains unacknowledged in the scene.

In the Imagined Garden

Hummingbirds appear again in a fanciful promise of happiness: beyond a hidden door lies a garden with blooming roses, hummingbirds, goldfinches, music, and a singing fountain. The image belongs to a story in which patient obedience and the mirror’s magical friend lead a lonely girl to a transformed prince and a life in which she will no longer be unhappy or alone. The birds are one element in this richly furnished refuge, set among flowers and music rather than the sandy lot of Norma Jeane’s everyday walks.

Nonna Della’s Bird Walks

After Norma Jeane has spent the morning helping Nonna Della clean the apartment and wash and dry the dishes, Della sometimes takes her on a special walk to feed birds. They scatter bread crumbs on the sandy ground of an empty lot, step back, and watch birds swoop in to feed. Hummingbirds are among the small, swift visitors, but they will not eat the crumbs or millet. Della explains that they can fly backward and sideways, then shrugs off Norma Jeane’s question about where they go: birds go where birds usually go.

Norma Jeane is fascinated by their iridescent crimson or green plumage, shining like metal in the sun. Their wings beat so quickly that they become an indistinct blur; they hang in the air, put their long, needle-thin bills into tubular flowers to feed, and dart away with grace. In Della’s spare answer, their destination remains unknown. The encounter preserves both the child’s wonder at their movement and the limits of what her grandmother will explain.