In her latest offering, "Be More Bird," Candida Meyrick attempts to distill the essence of life from her pet Harris hawk's experiences. The result is a puzzling collection of 20 brief "life lessons" that often feel like little more than tired cliches strung together.
Rather than truly exploring the complexities of Bird's existence, Meyrick instead anthropomorphizes her feathered friend to impart wisdom on human readers. We are told that Bird prefers to hunt her own dinner, rather than accepting substitutes from her owner, as a lesson to "stay true to your higher self." When faced with threats from other birds, she remains calm and composed, serving up advice to "hold your ground" when we feel uncertain about ourselves.
However, the more one delves into Meyrick's musings, the more it becomes apparent that these lessons are nothing more than shallow truisms. Her fixation on Bird's supposed inner life feels like a shallow exercise in anthropomorphism, with the hawk's physical characteristics and behaviors being reduced to mere metaphors for human emotional states.
For instance, Bird's sex and size differences have little bearing on her abilities as a hunter or her status within the pecking order of birds. Her bodily needs, such as hunger and weight fluctuations, are brushed aside in favor of more esoteric musings about "higher selves" and "inner truth." These observations feel more like Meyrick's inner monologue than any genuine insight into Bird's nature.
When Meyrick does attempt to delve deeper into Bird's experiences, she often stumbles over her own metaphorical language. Her descriptions of the hawk's physical state, such as its ideal hunting weight or shedding of old feathers during molting, feel like forced attempts to imbue these natural processes with symbolic meaning.
Ultimately, "Be More Bird" feels like a shallow attempt at self-help writing, one that relies on tired cliches and shallow metaphors rather than genuine exploration of the natural world. While Meyrick's intentions may be noble, her execution falls flat, leaving readers feeling as though they are being preached to by a bird-brained (pun intended) author who has lost sight of her subject's true nature.
Rather than truly exploring the complexities of Bird's existence, Meyrick instead anthropomorphizes her feathered friend to impart wisdom on human readers. We are told that Bird prefers to hunt her own dinner, rather than accepting substitutes from her owner, as a lesson to "stay true to your higher self." When faced with threats from other birds, she remains calm and composed, serving up advice to "hold your ground" when we feel uncertain about ourselves.
However, the more one delves into Meyrick's musings, the more it becomes apparent that these lessons are nothing more than shallow truisms. Her fixation on Bird's supposed inner life feels like a shallow exercise in anthropomorphism, with the hawk's physical characteristics and behaviors being reduced to mere metaphors for human emotional states.
For instance, Bird's sex and size differences have little bearing on her abilities as a hunter or her status within the pecking order of birds. Her bodily needs, such as hunger and weight fluctuations, are brushed aside in favor of more esoteric musings about "higher selves" and "inner truth." These observations feel more like Meyrick's inner monologue than any genuine insight into Bird's nature.
When Meyrick does attempt to delve deeper into Bird's experiences, she often stumbles over her own metaphorical language. Her descriptions of the hawk's physical state, such as its ideal hunting weight or shedding of old feathers during molting, feel like forced attempts to imbue these natural processes with symbolic meaning.
Ultimately, "Be More Bird" feels like a shallow attempt at self-help writing, one that relies on tired cliches and shallow metaphors rather than genuine exploration of the natural world. While Meyrick's intentions may be noble, her execution falls flat, leaving readers feeling as though they are being preached to by a bird-brained (pun intended) author who has lost sight of her subject's true nature.