Earlier this year I reviewed The Private Lives of Birds, which presents a look into the social lives of birds. I love books like that, as it makes the birds that I see more real, in a manner of speaking. They are no longer just transient objects to look at, but complex, living beings. But these studies are, by necessity, general. They tell you how a group of birds or a species usually lives. But that makes it easy to forget that the birds we see are individuals. When you look at an American Robin, you’re not just seeing a representative of the species Turdus migratorius. You are seeing a unique individual.

It’s hard to think of birds like that, because we can’t follow a single bird for long. Sure, we can study individuals on territory, and even remotely track single birds in migration. But wouldn’t it be great to be able to follow a particular bird from birth through fledging, learning how to fly and provide for itself, migration, courtship, and breeding? In The Seasons of the Robin, Don Grussing does just that.

This fictional story begins with a nest full of possibility in the form of four blue robin eggs. The narrative focuses on one of the robins that hatch from these eggs, a male. We follow along from hatching to the opening of the eyes all the way to fledging. The reader gets to experience the joy and terror of flying for the first time, as well as the struggle to learn how to survive in an unforgiving world. After the robin is able to survive on its own, it leaves its parents to wander about. After a few months, an inborn instinct compels him to join with others of his kind and fly south. He has to deal with predators and adverse weather that makes it difficult to find food. Eventually, he finds himself at a spot that has shelter, water, and plenty of food – everything necessary to survive the quickly approaching winter.

But with the longer days as spring approaches, he again finds himself filled with a restless urging that can only be satisfied by making his way north again. He finds himself drawn back to the area that he found after leaving the nest, a spot that has now been indelibly imprinted within him. After again surviving the travails of migration, the robin seeks to establish a territory of his own where he can begin the cycle anew.

Thus, The Seasons of the Robin tells the story of one robin’s first year of life, from birth to breeding. As previously mentioned, it is a fictional tale by necessity, but it is still incredibly insightful and educational. You may know a lot about how a bird lives, or even have extensive first-hand experience studying them, but this book will still be an eye-opener. The insight it gives into a bird’s day-to-day life is amazing and includes things that I’ve never even considered before.

One such thing that struck me is that while migrating, the robin was able to stay with the flock even in darkness by the sound of his companion’s wing beats: “Robins fly with deep, powerful strokes, but the beats of their wings are not constant-that is, there is a delay in their wing beats, which permits them to hear the sounds of the other birds in the flock while migrating and thus helps them maintain their place with the other birds.” I had never thought about any non-aerodynamic purposes for such a flight style. But while that seems plausible, I’m a little skeptical about the reasoning. As the author mentions, the birds also use flight calls for such a purpose and, of course, the birds can usually see each other even at night. But perhaps there have been some studies on this that I’m not aware of.

Stories with an animal as the main character are incredibly difficult to get right in terms of style. It is very easy to anthropomorphize too much and treat the subject like a human being. But on the other hand, if you’re too clinical and detached you can loose the reader’s interest. Nowhere is this fine line more evident than in one of the basic elements of storytelling – the character’s name. The robin here is not named, but instead is usually referred to as “the young robin”. While I’m glad it remained nameless, the references were repetitive and a little awkward at times.

Grussing does, however, attribute feelings to our unnamed protagonist, at least in terms of satisfying instinctual behavior. Here is one example: “Then, just sitting there, he opened his bill slightly and sang a soft, quiet song for about ten seconds. It wasn’t loud, but it was pleasant to him and made him feel good.” This does not bother me at all. I have a harder time believing that birds are emotionless automatons than that they do feel some pleasure in what they do. For the purpose of storytelling, I think the author has struck a good balance.

A bird’s life is a monotony of eating, drinking, and flying, interspersed with sudden, brief periods of excitement. So there is a great deal of inherent repetitiveness in the story as the robin does the same things day after day. It would take some impressive wordsmithing to overcome this. Unfortunately, the writing fell a bit short for me. It was certainly adequate but, although I found the story keenly interesting overall, my interest still waned at times.

Other than a typo, the only error I noticed was a Bronze instead of a Brown-headed Cowbird.

Recommendation

The American Robin is one of the most familiar North American birds. But how well do you really know it? If you’re like me, maybe not as much as you think. The Seasons of the Robin will teach you much about robins, like their breeding biology and feeding habits. But the real value of this book is that it gives a good idea of what a bird’s daily life is like, season by season.

The Superb Blue Wren, aka Superb Fairy-wren, is a resident of southeastern Australia. It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that this is a popular bird, just look at it! Indeed, Gillian and Colin Rayment became so enamored with the wrens of Vivonne Bay on Kangaroo Island (hence the book’s title) that they created a book about them.

Vivonne Bay Blue is the result. It is an intimate look at “their” wrens, primarily through photographs. 75 photos show the male and female wrens in just about every pose imaginable. Most shots are of a single bird, but some of the best (and certainly the most adorable) show the pair together. Since there is very little text – limited to an introductory paragraph describing some of the general characteristics of blue wrens – one could think of this book as an extended photo album.

The pictures range from good to great. The technical quality looks good to me, but I appreciate them more for the window into the birds’ character that they convey. I especially welcome the wide range of positions the birds are shown in; there are even some shots from behind! You certainly don’t see many published shots of birds in some of these poses, but it works here by enhancing the intimacy. I would have liked to see more types of behavior depicted, however. Conspicuous by its absence is anything related to breeding, including nest building, incubation, and feeding of nestlings.

The introductory note on the wrens should be sufficient for anyone, like me, unfamiliar with these birds. It isn’t extensive, but a full life history isn’t needed here, just enough to get a feel for the birds. The authors have expressed that they wanted to keep the book simple and highlight the birds themselves, thus they did not include any further text. I can understand that, but personally, I feel that some further details on these particular birds would have added much to the book.

Looking through this book for the first time, I was struck by two things. The first was the size; like the birds it portrays, this book is small. However, this was an intentional choice on the part of the authors, who hoped to keep it “small and delicate like the little wrens”. I can’t argue with their decision. My initial thought was that these photographs deserved to be reproduced in a larger size. But if the book was any larger, I think it would have lost something. Like the blue wrens, I think part of the book’s charm derives from its small size.

The second thing that struck me was the printing and binding quality. This doesn’t look and feel like someone’s pet project, but rather a well-done, professional book. The cover is perfect – a great design with some fantastic flourishes like the embossed frame around the photograph and the glossy, slick feel of the photo itself (neither of these show up in the photos of the book, but are obvious in-hand). The interior is also very nice, with the photos being reproduced well.

Recommendation

You may be asking why you would want a book like this when you can find tons of Superb Blue-wren pictures online. It’s a legitimate question. I found some great photos with a quick Google search, including a few that rivaled anything in this book. But for the most part, especially when taken as a whole, the pictures of Vivonne Bay Blue are superior, and definitely have more “personality”.

I’ve never seen one of these birds (though now I really want to!), but I imagine that they could easily enchant anyone who does. If you’re fortunate enough to be so afflicted, then this book is for you.

Vivonne Bay Blue can be purchased at The Rustic Blue Gallery in Vivonne Bay, on Kangaroo Island, and also at The Sealink Terminal in Cape Jervis (the ferry to Kangaroo Island). And for anyone not fortunate enough to be in South Australia, you can email the Rayments, and they can mail you a copy for $30Au.

I make it a regular practice to check Amazon.com for new bird books. While doing so earlier this year I discovered this book that was scheduled to be published later in the year. I probably would have overlooked it if I hadn’t been planning a trip to Colorado at the time. One of, if not the, top target on this trip was the White-tailed Ptarmigan. I’ve got a collector’s personality and like to get a little memento to remember places I’ve gone and things I’ve seen. But other than photographs, it’s hard to do something like that with birds. So even though there were virtually no details available on this book at the time I decided that I would buy it if I did see a ptarmigan. In April 2007 I went on the trip (trip report), and fortunately the first life bird I saw was the ptarmigan. Now I’m even gladder that I did, because otherwise I would have missed this wonderful book.

Just about anything you wanted to know about these fluff balls of a bird can be found here, from the origin of the word “ptarmigan” to their life history and behavior. The book is organized in a unique and effective way. Each chapter details the lives of the birds during one calendar month, starting with January. It tells where the birds are and what they typically do during this time of the year. The author, who has obviously spent a lot of time amongst these birds, punctuates this with many personal observations. These stories give the text a more informal tone and keep it from becoming dry and boring.

It should be pointed out that the book focuses on the ptarmigans of Colorado, where the author lives. The species’ overall range is shown, and the habitat and elevation that it occupies in various parts of this area is also given. And of course most of the biology and behavior will be shared across the entire population. But the month-based organization of the book may mean that some of the information here will not apply across the entire range. For instance, ptarmigans in Colorado will leave their wintering grounds in April. But those in Alaska, for example, may not do so until later in the year. This actually appealed to me since this is where I had seen my first ptarmigan, and I had been to some of the locations mentioned in the book. This made it more real and relevant to me. However, others may feel differently (although I would wager that most birders who have added White-tailed Ptarmigan to their life list did so in Colorado).

The book is liberally illustrated with photographs taken by the author and Calvin Whitehall. The photographs alone are worth the price of the book – they are that good. The adults are shown in many different stages of molt. Additionally, there are photos of habitat, nests, and chicks. My favorite is one of two birds roosting in the snow with just their heads visible (see the sample to the right).

This book is particularly recommended to anyone who hopes to see White-tailed Ptarmigan, especially in Colorado. There is a wealth of information here that could possibly help, such as the fact that the birds leave their winter range by April 20th (I made it with less than a week to spare!). Additionally, there is a very detailed map of the bird’s range in the state (it includes county lines and some cities). But the photographs would be useful to someone searching for this bird anywhere.

But I would go even further and recommend it to everyone. This is a fascinating bird, and the author has presented a wonderful glimpse into its singular life and world.

Upon arriving at the Denver International Airport on a recent trip a couple of large murals on the walls greatly surprised me. I now wish that I had paid more attention to them (the allure of seeing new birds propelled me quickly through the terminal), but they were paintings that seemed to celebrate biodiversity and warned us that the extinctions of the past still threaten species today. I distinctly remember two species depicted. The Resplendent Quetzal was shown as an example of a currently threatened species. This bird is possibly the one that I most want to see in the world, thus it’s no shock that I noticed it. Of course, as its name suggests, it truly is resplendent and quite hard to miss. The other bird I noticed doesn’t look anything like the quetzal. It is plainly colored in black and white, and although very different looking, not something that would stand out. As the most prominent example of a species whose fate we want the quetzal to avoid the mural showed a Great Auk.

I would wager that most beginning birders, perhaps given a little time, will come to learn of the Passenger Pigeon. They may hear about the great flocks of the bird that darkened the sky for hours. But what about the Great Auk? I daresay much fewer are familiar with this bird. And it seems this has always been the case. The author of this work sought to rectify that situation over a century ago. He presents here the sum of knowledge that was then available about this strange, but magnificent, creature.

The Great Auk is the largest known member of its family. It was sometimes known as “the Penguin”, and like that unrelated family it too had become flightless. Unfortunately, that trait helped speed along the rapid demise of the bird. Sailors along the Atlantic quickly realized that this bird was easy to catch and quite tasty. They would take great quantities of the birds from breeding colonies as food for long voyages. The rampant slaughter, along with the species’ slow reproductive rates, doomed it to extinction. The last known of its kind, a pair of birds, were killed June 3, 1844 on an island off of Iceland.

This book was written in 1885, 41 years after the bird’s extinction, and many more years after the bird was common. The author scoured all the available material that had been printed about the auk and also corresponded with those who had seen it. He was therefore able to assemble a basic life history of the bird. Basic information about the breeding, feeding, and other habits is presented. However, there were some large gaps in the knowledge of the species at the time. For instance, the auks spent the 10 months when not breeding at sea, but no one knew where. Surprisingly, from what I understand, little more is known about these enigmatic birds now than it was when this book was published.

The one-time range of the bird is given in both the text and a map. The map in this edition has been reprinted in black and white and with no reformatting. It is therefore a little difficult to interpret, but the range can be made out. Thankfully, a color map has been made available in pdf format on the publisher’s website, and it looks much better.

The majority of the book describes the existing remains of these birds along with where and how they were discovered. Bones and even mummified remains have been found in North America and Europe. Some of these appeared to have died of natural causes, but most of the bones are from birds that have been killed by man. Some bones have been found in some very ancient middens (refuse heaps), showing that mankind had been taking advantage of the resources provided by this bird for quite some time. The amount of space dedicated to this topic was a great surprise to me. There are even remarks about the value of skins, and how much they have been sold for. While this was strange and novel at first it soon got repetitive. I would imagine that casual readers would not be very interested in these details. But for those whose research or interests leans in this direction it is a virtual treasure trove of information.

The writing of the author is clear and easy to understand. The writing style is slightly different than is common today, but to me it just made the reading more enjoyable. The author, however, does quote some older sources and these can be more difficult to understand due to differences in language and grammar.

Those with a casual interest in this bird would probably be better off reading a more modern treatment, such as the one contained within Hope Is the Thing with Feathers by Christopher Cokinos (which is very highly recommended). But this monograph is absolutely necessary for anyone who wants to know everything about this bird, or who just wants to experience it through a source closer in time to the bird itself.

The volume reviewed has been published by Coachwhip Publications, and is a reprint of the original work. You can order this book, along with other long-out-of-print natural history titles, on their website.