How to Be a (Bad) Birdwatcher

Before reading this book when anyone asked if I’m a birdwatcher, I said no. While reading it, however, I discovered I’m actually a bad birdwatcher. This realization produced a double bind because a bad birdwatcher, according to author Simon Barnes, is really a good birdwatcher—that is, someone who enjoys watching and listening to birds but does it without frantically searching for names in bird guides and without taking field notes.

I’d probably not have read a book about birdwatching with a wussy title like How to Be a Good Birdwatcher, but a book urging BAD birdwatching is another story. For the first 100 to 150 pages, I interrupted the reading only with reluctance. The final 50 to 100 pages were often repetitive and boring, but in the end every page was essential preparation for the book’s four final emotional pages.

All in all How to Be a (Bad) Birdwatcher (2005) is a good read. It revved my youthful interest in ogling birds and other animals, then devouring books now called masterpieces of natural history such as Osa Johnson’s I Married Adventure (1940), Rachel Carson’s best book by a nautical mile The Sea around Us (1951), J. A. Hunter’s Hunter (1952), Thomas Helm’s Shark (1961), and Farley Mowat’s Never Cry Wolf (1963). All of these outdoor classics are still available to borrow through your public library or to purchase through bookfinder.com.

So I’m grateful to Simon Barnes, a globe-trotting sportswriter for The Times of London, for writing this intro to birdwatching. He eschews the faddish term birding apparently because there is no birding without birdwatching. Some of his countrymen, however, award the book, which has no illustrations, just two stars, as evidenced by the following excerpts from reviews posted to Amazon.co.uk:

“Beautifully written. Part autobiography, part philosophy, part user manual, part call to arms. . . .”

“How to be a bad author. This is one of the most annoying books I have ever started to read—I packed it in about halfway through. A litmus test for hobbyist authors is ‘Would you want to join this person in the activity that is written about?’ In this case, how would you like to go birding with Barnes? Answer—not at all.”

“How to be a bad author. Actually, the book isn’t that bad. It’s just that Barnes has this awful patronising style that makes me want to punch him. The subject matter is quite interesting, though I’d have appreciated more about birds and less about Barnes.”

“If you are hesitating about buying this book—don’t! This is a life-enriching book. . . . If you are already interested in birds it will open doors and overcome hurdles. . . . If you don’t feel you are at all interested in birds this book may change all that.”

“Feathered Fun. Simon Barnes’s enthusiasm . . . is highly infectious, whether or not you have ever wanted to, or even thought about, birdwatching. It is more about taking pleasure from, and wondering about, the living world around us than a guide to any specific birds. . . . Its style is conversational and witty, observant and full of insight. . . . It raises one’s awareness of the mystery of nature and rejoices in it. . . . No prior knowledge of the avian world is needed to derive intense enjoyment from this magically humourous little book.”