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calissaCorvus: A Life with Birds by Esther Woolfson was a recommendation from onewhitecrow. The book is part memoir, part natural history wherein the author uses her experiences of rescuing and caring for birds--and corvids particularly--as a way of delving into the biology, symbology and psychology of birds.
That probably makes it sound a bit clinical when the truth is that this book is a deeply personal one, both for the author and myself. Birds are, for Woolfson, not pets but members of the family. They don't live in cages but "houses" which (for the most part) they can get out of if they wish. They play with other members of the family (both human and non-human) and scold guests who keep them up past their bedtime.
For me, the personal lies in an interest in birds and my attempt to negotiate a relationship with the wild birds that come to my feeder. There were many things I related to in the book--such as the panic (and uselessness) of trying to impose human ethics on non-humans and Woolfson's musings on where lies the boundary to wildness when it comes to birds living in an urban environment.
Woolfson doesn't cover up what may be thought of as the alienness of birds--such as the way they can sleep with one half of the brain at the time (and one eye open), the way they prefer to have affection demonstrated as preening rather than patting, and the way they are more keenly attuned to seasons than pets may be. Instead, she uses doses of natural history to both highlight and explain as much as possible. She also acknowledges that while she will never be able to fully understand her feathered family, there is genuine affection and relationship. Their alienness becomes just another quirk, like the cat presenting a mouse, or your significant other insisting on stacking the dishwasher a certain way.
Aside from a love of birds, this book also demonstrates a love of language. The author is from a literary background and it shows in the slow, descriptive start to the book. This is writing to be savoured, though it is not going to be to everyone's taste.
I had no trouble with the transitions between the personal and the natural history, finding it reflective of how my mind works--observing something from my surroundings, then researching the explanation. In the last section of the book, the balance tips a little more heavily in favour of natural history. Here it begins to get a bit more bogged down and doesn't flow quite as well, but she brings it back neatly to the personal in the end.
Overall, I found it a satisfying read that encourages the examination of the current default relationship between humans and birds.
onewhitecrow. The book is part memoir, part natural history wherein the author uses her experiences of rescuing and caring for birds--and corvids particularly--as a way of delving into the biology, symbology and psychology of birds. That probably makes it sound a bit clinical when the truth is that this book is a deeply personal one, both for the author and myself. Birds are, for Woolfson, not pets but members of the family. They don't live in cages but "houses" which (for the most part) they can get out of if they wish. They play with other members of the family (both human and non-human) and scold guests who keep them up past their bedtime.
For me, the personal lies in an interest in birds and my attempt to negotiate a relationship with the wild birds that come to my feeder. There were many things I related to in the book--such as the panic (and uselessness) of trying to impose human ethics on non-humans and Woolfson's musings on where lies the boundary to wildness when it comes to birds living in an urban environment.
Woolfson doesn't cover up what may be thought of as the alienness of birds--such as the way they can sleep with one half of the brain at the time (and one eye open), the way they prefer to have affection demonstrated as preening rather than patting, and the way they are more keenly attuned to seasons than pets may be. Instead, she uses doses of natural history to both highlight and explain as much as possible. She also acknowledges that while she will never be able to fully understand her feathered family, there is genuine affection and relationship. Their alienness becomes just another quirk, like the cat presenting a mouse, or your significant other insisting on stacking the dishwasher a certain way.
Aside from a love of birds, this book also demonstrates a love of language. The author is from a literary background and it shows in the slow, descriptive start to the book. This is writing to be savoured, though it is not going to be to everyone's taste.
I had no trouble with the transitions between the personal and the natural history, finding it reflective of how my mind works--observing something from my surroundings, then researching the explanation. In the last section of the book, the balance tips a little more heavily in favour of natural history. Here it begins to get a bit more bogged down and doesn't flow quite as well, but she brings it back neatly to the personal in the end.
Overall, I found it a satisfying read that encourages the examination of the current default relationship between humans and birds.
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Date: 2014-03-02 06:11 am (UTC)