This mastery of the roaring wind, this majesty and noble power of flight, made me shout aloud and dance up and down with excitement. Now, I thought, I have seen the best of the peregrine; there will be no need to pursue it farther; I shall never want to search for it again. I was wrong of course. One can never have enough.
A strange, intense book – unexpectedly dark. I read a few entries a day, which I think might be the best way to digest it. At first, I was struggling a little with the repetition (basic summary without all the poetry: narrator searches for a peregrine, sees a peregrine, describes what he sees … over and over), but over time the book starts to have a sort of hypnotic effect. The narrator is almost non-existent beyond his obsession and longing. This creates a certain effect – creating mystery, opening a space for identification – but I found myself wishing for a little more about Baker’s actual life in the book (there’s plenty of framing material in the introductions and afterword in this edition). I agree with Robert Macfarlane in his afterword that this is a book less about “becoming a bird” than “failing to become a bird” and it creates a certain atmosphere of melancholy and loneliness. I think the juxtaposition of Baker’s obsessional searching and watching with the mundanities of everyday life (he did, after all, dedicate it to his wife) would have made for a richer, deeper book. But, perhaps I’ve just been spoiled by Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk which so wonderfully mashes and mixes memoir, “nature writing” and literary biography. Baker’s book operates in only one register with a strange intensity. This makes is part of what makes it interesting, but I find myself wishing for that other book in my imagination – the obsession set in the larger context of a life. Contra Werner Herzog, I think it would make an interesting film – not as a “direct” adaptation, but if it took into account Baker’s life.