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A review by moh
The Peregrine by J.A. Baker
I'm really ambivalent about this one. On one hand, the language in this book is remarkable. The images of peregrines, other birds, and the countryside are stunning. And Baker's approach—following wild birds over several years, as opposed to watching them under controlled conditions, was groundbreaking and made for fascinating reading. For the most part, I thoroughly enjoyed learning about Baker in the additional material in this 50th anniversary edition. His lack of formal training makes the beauty of his language and the impact of his contributions to saving a species from extinction even more impressive.
On the other hand, this book is a total slasher-fest. I love raptors, but the whole “Wow, what an effective killing machine, which I, an apex predator, appreciate” shtick makes my skin crawl. I could talk for days about eagles as model co-parents, the grace of northern harriers, or the goofiness of young red-tailed hawks. Yet, somehow, I'd happily go my entire life without another description of shredded entrails, freshly emptied rodent skins, or song birds being sliced in two mid-air.
My second misgiving concerns Robert Macfarlane's afterward. The moment he began describing Baker's progressive arthritis and vision impairment, all I could think was, “Don't say it, don't say it, don't say--” He did of course. McFarlane concludes Baker had a passionate interest in peregrines because they're fast and sharp-sighted as compared to--sigh. So much to say about Baker's reclusiveness, what was lost in Baker's burning of his notes and earlier manuscripts, and praising how little Baker inserted himself into the narrative, but Baker's relationship to his own body and how that relationship affected his vocation are super obvious??? How's this for a wacky theory--maybe Baker liked watching birds for the same reasons abled people do. Or maybe, in the absence of evidence, lighten up on the vapid speculation. I'm not even angry about the afterward as much as I am about the inescapable predictability of abled folks making trite assumptions about disabled people and pretending it's journalism. It's exhausting.
TL; DR: I liked the book a lot but wish there had been a little less kill, kill, kill, and there's some serious ableist trash in Robert Macfarlane's afterward.
On the other hand, this book is a total slasher-fest. I love raptors, but the whole “Wow, what an effective killing machine, which I, an apex predator, appreciate” shtick makes my skin crawl. I could talk for days about eagles as model co-parents, the grace of northern harriers, or the goofiness of young red-tailed hawks. Yet, somehow, I'd happily go my entire life without another description of shredded entrails, freshly emptied rodent skins, or song birds being sliced in two mid-air.
My second misgiving concerns Robert Macfarlane's afterward. The moment he began describing Baker's progressive arthritis and vision impairment, all I could think was, “Don't say it, don't say it, don't say--” He did of course. McFarlane concludes Baker had a passionate interest in peregrines because they're fast and sharp-sighted as compared to--sigh. So much to say about Baker's reclusiveness, what was lost in Baker's burning of his notes and earlier manuscripts, and praising how little Baker inserted himself into the narrative, but Baker's relationship to his own body and how that relationship affected his vocation are super obvious??? How's this for a wacky theory--maybe Baker liked watching birds for the same reasons abled people do. Or maybe, in the absence of evidence, lighten up on the vapid speculation. I'm not even angry about the afterward as much as I am about the inescapable predictability of abled folks making trite assumptions about disabled people and pretending it's journalism. It's exhausting.
TL; DR: I liked the book a lot but wish there had been a little less kill, kill, kill, and there's some serious ableist trash in Robert Macfarlane's afterward.