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The Peregrine: The Hill of Summer & Diaries: The Complete Works of J. A. Baker
Reissue of J. A. Baker’s extraordinary classic of British nature writing Despite the association of peregrines with the wild, outer reaches of the British Isles, The Peregrine is set on the flat marshes of the Essex coast, where J A Baker spent a long winter looking and writing about the visitors from the uplands – peregrines that spend the winter hunting the huge flocks of pigeons and waders that share the desolate landscape with them. Including original diaries from which The Peregrine was written and its companion volume The Hill of Summer, this is a beautiful compendium of lyrical nature writing at its absolute best. Such luminaries as Richard Mabey, Robert Macfarlane, Ted Hughes and Andrew Motion have cited this as one of the most important books in 20th Century nature writing, and the bestselling author Mark Cocker has provided an introduction on the importance of Baker, his writings and the diaries – creating the essential volume of Baker's writings. Since the hardback was published in 2010, papers, maps, and letters have come to light which in turn provide a little more background into J A Baker’s history. Contemporaries – particularly from while he was at school in Chelmsford – have kindly provided insights, remembering a school friend who clearly made an impact on his generation. In the longer term, there is hope of an archive of these papers being established, but in the meantime, and with the arrival of this paperback edition, there is a chance to reveal a little more of what has been learned. Among fragments of letters to Baker was one from a reader who praised a piece that Baker had written in RSPB Birds magazine in 1971. Apart from a paper on peregrines which Baker wrote for the Essex Bird Report, this article – entitled On the Essex Coast – appears to be his only other published piece of writing, and, with the kind agreement of the RSPB, it has been included in this updated new paperback edition of Baker’s astounding work.
320 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2010
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About the author
J.A. Baker
10 books129 followersJohn A. Baker lives with his wife in Essex. He has had assorted jobs, including chopping down trees and pushing book trolleys in the British Museum. In 1965 he gave up work and lived on the money he had saved, devoting all his time to his obsession - the peregrine. He re-wrote his account of this bird five times before submitting it for publication. Although he had no ornithological training and had never written a book before, when The Peregrine was published in 1967 it was received with enthusiastic reviews and praise for his lyrical prose. Later that year he was awarded the distinguished Duff Cooper prize. He was also awarded a substantial Arts Council grant. His second book, The Hill of Summer, was published in 1969 and was also received with unanimous praise by the critics.
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July 29, 2019I’m not a scientist, not much of a scholar either, and I have little of the scientist’s or scholar’s regard for cold hard facts. True, I’m apt to quote (occasionally) biographical details of artists’ lives, but these facts interest me solely for the light they shed on the art, which interests me (for the most part) because facts don’t feature in it, because (for the most part) it’s divorced from what we call “real life”. So it was with some disappointment that I realised this book, The Peregrine, was non-fiction, rather than the Mount Analogue-like (not that I’ve read Mount Analogue, but I have my conception of it) experimental novel of a writer’s return to nature which I’d imagined it to be when friend Fionnuala recommended it. Not that I wasn’t flattered by the recommendation once I’d read the prose – which seemed to put paid to all my notions of drawing-room British stuffiness – as well as mystified that of all the topics my distant-internet-friend could have chosen for her non-fiction recommendation to me she’d hit on birds. (At the time, my totemic part-bird alter-ego wasn’t yet publically acknowledged even to the extent that he is now, beyond a few musicians of barely less obscurity themselves.) But that prose! Listen – it almost made me lift off, so aerodynamic, so rapid its pulse:
I won’t lie: I never finished it. I got halfway; I loved it, at least as far as the sentences went, but ultimately sentences go only so far. Ultimately, the unfolding drama, such as it was, didn’t compel me. I kept it close for months, then relegated it to the shelf – the desultory non-fiction/non-music shelf which I rarely examine – and haven’t touched it since. But I mean to. In fact I think it may be invaluable. Because when it comes time for me – the non-scientist – to write about birds, I’ve got the masterclass waiting. Me, I could sit or stroll through the forest all day listening to the things, but I don’t have the patience to seek or to watch them, much less describe them.
Line for line, some of the best action- and nature-writing I’ve read. One day, who knows, I may even finish it.
The tide was low. Mud shone like wet sand, and shingle strands were bright and glaring in the blue lagoons. Colour smarted in the sunlight. A dead tree in dark fields reflected light, like an ivory bone. Bare trees stood in the earth, like the glowing veins of withered leaves.
A peregrine soared above the estuary, and the sky filled with the wings of waders. He dived through the darkness into a failing darkness of curlew, flashed through them into light again, curved under and rose beneath them as they rose, struck one in the breast with gasping force. It dropped beside the sea-wall, all out of shape, as though its body had been suddenly deflated. The peregrine glided down, and lanced the dead curlew’s breast with the hook of his bill.
I won’t lie: I never finished it. I got halfway; I loved it, at least as far as the sentences went, but ultimately sentences go only so far. Ultimately, the unfolding drama, such as it was, didn’t compel me. I kept it close for months, then relegated it to the shelf – the desultory non-fiction/non-music shelf which I rarely examine – and haven’t touched it since. But I mean to. In fact I think it may be invaluable. Because when it comes time for me – the non-scientist – to write about birds, I’ve got the masterclass waiting. Me, I could sit or stroll through the forest all day listening to the things, but I don’t have the patience to seek or to watch them, much less describe them.
Line for line, some of the best action- and nature-writing I’ve read. One day, who knows, I may even finish it.
July 4, 2017
THE HILL OF SUMMER
I read "The Peregrine" a few weeks ago, and gave it five stars. I have now read Baker's other book, "The Hill of Summer", where he writes of observations over a six month period, gleaned from many years of returning to the same area and observing the wildlife there. Again, it was a wonderful read, though it was more general than the first book which concentrated on observations of Peregrines, with other birds being almost incidental. Baker's observations are minute, and his writing is beautiful. Here is a sample taken from towards the end of the book, describing the approach of night:
"Flocks of starlings fly west toward their roosting-place; mallard go inland to feed in the stubble. There is an inevitable stillness here, like the calm solitude of still water. A meadow pipit calls as I cross the field. The green of the grass intensifies, then fades to grey. All shapes recede, then seem to come slowly nearer, as dusk deepens and day ends.
There is a soft breath of parting among the brittle stems of the reeds at the side of the dyke. A short-eared owl floats up into the air. Its wings press slowly down and forward as it billows away across the fields. Gliding and banking steeply, it fades through the dusk. All around me, I hear the calls of golden plover rising like a mist of sound.
...
Deep in the afterglow, the gently imploring calls of partridges breathe upwards, like smoke-curls of autumn dusk. A hare runs into the dark corn. The empty land reaches out beyond the dusk, into the dews of night, into the fields of stars.
The estuary sinks slowly down below the black rampart of the farm, with all its brightness held up to me for the last time in one great flashing rim of light. Then I go inland, into the dark country of the minatory owls."
I read "The Peregrine" a few weeks ago, and gave it five stars. I have now read Baker's other book, "The Hill of Summer", where he writes of observations over a six month period, gleaned from many years of returning to the same area and observing the wildlife there. Again, it was a wonderful read, though it was more general than the first book which concentrated on observations of Peregrines, with other birds being almost incidental. Baker's observations are minute, and his writing is beautiful. Here is a sample taken from towards the end of the book, describing the approach of night:
"Flocks of starlings fly west toward their roosting-place; mallard go inland to feed in the stubble. There is an inevitable stillness here, like the calm solitude of still water. A meadow pipit calls as I cross the field. The green of the grass intensifies, then fades to grey. All shapes recede, then seem to come slowly nearer, as dusk deepens and day ends.
There is a soft breath of parting among the brittle stems of the reeds at the side of the dyke. A short-eared owl floats up into the air. Its wings press slowly down and forward as it billows away across the fields. Gliding and banking steeply, it fades through the dusk. All around me, I hear the calls of golden plover rising like a mist of sound.
...
Deep in the afterglow, the gently imploring calls of partridges breathe upwards, like smoke-curls of autumn dusk. A hare runs into the dark corn. The empty land reaches out beyond the dusk, into the dews of night, into the fields of stars.
The estuary sinks slowly down below the black rampart of the farm, with all its brightness held up to me for the last time in one great flashing rim of light. Then I go inland, into the dark country of the minatory owls."
March 18, 2020
Amazing--
This book contains not only The Peregrine but Baker's only other published book, The Hill of Summer, plus a chunk of his actual birdwatching diaries and an article he wrote in 1971. Though the writing is ethereally gorgeous throughout, I actually liked his less famous second work, The Hill of Summer, which is shorter (at about 100 pages, compared to the 170 of The Peregrine) and felt a lot more condensed, like diamond, with more intense sparkles of lyrical beauty. Of course, The Peregrine has its moments—passages that dazzle you and leave you breathless—but the obsession over the hawk does get a little tiresome, and I was much more drawn to the strikingly raw ruminations Baker engages in at random, sparse moments throughout the book on birds, nature, and life/death (e.g., "Wild things are truly alive only in the place where they belong," "One comes to love [mud], to be like a wading bird, happy only at the edges of the world where land and water meet, where there is no shade and nowhere for fear to hide," "We have no element. Nothing sustains us when we fall"). For me, The Peregrine had way too many slack stretches between those moments of lyrical soaring, and I thought about putting the book down—the first 80 pages or so, I think, was tough, but then something happens around the halfway point (around December) and his writing gets taut, edgier (and/or I got used to the rhythm of his writing) and I enjoyed it far more than before. But what's incredible is that he sustains that level of intense meditative and lyrical flight almost entirely throughout The Hill of Summer and I was pretty much enthralled and repeatedly floored, relishing every slow page (you don't want to skim over anything—this is a book that demands to be read slowly, very, very slowly) and every burn of poetry it contained, like something dark and too rich to eat at once.
One of the editors of the book in the introduction says that there's no narrative in The Hill of Summer and it's a diffuse book (which it is) while there is a kind of narrative in The Peregrine, but I beg to differ. Both pretty much lack any sort of narrative, though the latter does have a focus (the peregrine). But the focus does get dull after a while, and hence the former is the stronger work for me because there's variety—you get to know different habitats around Baker's hometown and each encounter with the place puts up spectacular flocks of thoughts all different in their plumage but equally mesmerizing—and, as I mentioned above, it's a lot more compact, which makes it more of a long prose poem than anything else.
One palpable effect of reading this book is that it's changed my perception of the world around me and I began to notice what little of birds and nature around me, and that's a testament to the sheer power of Baker's language. This was probably the reason why the film director Werner Herzog recommended the book to anyone who wants to make films, but I question his recommendation—this book is clearly not for anyone, really, and definitely not for someone who wants to learn basic film techniques like narrative or character development or what have you. Rather it's for those who want to cultivate a poetic sensibility in viewing the world and conveying that experience.
In short, not a book for anyone and everyone. Highly recommended for anyone who's into poetry and nature.
This book contains not only The Peregrine but Baker's only other published book, The Hill of Summer, plus a chunk of his actual birdwatching diaries and an article he wrote in 1971. Though the writing is ethereally gorgeous throughout, I actually liked his less famous second work, The Hill of Summer, which is shorter (at about 100 pages, compared to the 170 of The Peregrine) and felt a lot more condensed, like diamond, with more intense sparkles of lyrical beauty. Of course, The Peregrine has its moments—passages that dazzle you and leave you breathless—but the obsession over the hawk does get a little tiresome, and I was much more drawn to the strikingly raw ruminations Baker engages in at random, sparse moments throughout the book on birds, nature, and life/death (e.g., "Wild things are truly alive only in the place where they belong," "One comes to love [mud], to be like a wading bird, happy only at the edges of the world where land and water meet, where there is no shade and nowhere for fear to hide," "We have no element. Nothing sustains us when we fall"). For me, The Peregrine had way too many slack stretches between those moments of lyrical soaring, and I thought about putting the book down—the first 80 pages or so, I think, was tough, but then something happens around the halfway point (around December) and his writing gets taut, edgier (and/or I got used to the rhythm of his writing) and I enjoyed it far more than before. But what's incredible is that he sustains that level of intense meditative and lyrical flight almost entirely throughout The Hill of Summer and I was pretty much enthralled and repeatedly floored, relishing every slow page (you don't want to skim over anything—this is a book that demands to be read slowly, very, very slowly) and every burn of poetry it contained, like something dark and too rich to eat at once.
One of the editors of the book in the introduction says that there's no narrative in The Hill of Summer and it's a diffuse book (which it is) while there is a kind of narrative in The Peregrine, but I beg to differ. Both pretty much lack any sort of narrative, though the latter does have a focus (the peregrine). But the focus does get dull after a while, and hence the former is the stronger work for me because there's variety—you get to know different habitats around Baker's hometown and each encounter with the place puts up spectacular flocks of thoughts all different in their plumage but equally mesmerizing—and, as I mentioned above, it's a lot more compact, which makes it more of a long prose poem than anything else.
One palpable effect of reading this book is that it's changed my perception of the world around me and I began to notice what little of birds and nature around me, and that's a testament to the sheer power of Baker's language. This was probably the reason why the film director Werner Herzog recommended the book to anyone who wants to make films, but I question his recommendation—this book is clearly not for anyone, really, and definitely not for someone who wants to learn basic film techniques like narrative or character development or what have you. Rather it's for those who want to cultivate a poetic sensibility in viewing the world and conveying that experience.
In short, not a book for anyone and everyone. Highly recommended for anyone who's into poetry and nature.
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November 11, 2025I am not going to rate this book. It's probably beautifully written. Did I like it? Absolutely not. I need a plot, or information, I don't need endless descriptions of a sky or a field.
I only read The Peregrine, not the other two parts in this book, and I doubt I ever will.
I only read The Peregrine, not the other two parts in this book, and I doubt I ever will.
August 6, 2011
I've read Peregrine 2ce and The Hill of Summer is at least as good. It is very much a book for slow and very focused reading. It gives the closest thing in print to the experience of physical exposure to different environments, at different periods of the year, and the living things within them.
The language he uses and the way he uses it gives the immediacy of the best poetry. I love going back to any of the chapters at night or when there isn't a chance for walking, as the best of substitutes for what i can't experience at the time. Baker also gives a great deal of insight into how to enjoy the real experience so much better - if only I had the knowledge and the skills he demonstrates.
The language he uses and the way he uses it gives the immediacy of the best poetry. I love going back to any of the chapters at night or when there isn't a chance for walking, as the best of substitutes for what i can't experience at the time. Baker also gives a great deal of insight into how to enjoy the real experience so much better - if only I had the knowledge and the skills he demonstrates.
December 18, 2011
A superb piece of nature writing: among the finest descriptions I've read of farm and forest, wader and warbler, sea and sky, hawk and hobby. Baker writes of British countryside and its birds and other wildlife in words that seem to immerse the reader in the location, in the eyes and body of the swooping falcon, in the whispering pines, in the hunting owl sailing over the landscape. Many passages about the peregrines, hobbies, and sparrowhawks are simply amazing.
This is not a book, however, for someone wondering 'what is he getting at'. There is no larger narrative, no storyline. This is a diary of observation, a perceptive detailing of nature that may appeal to those who like the music of nature and the cadence of good writing.
It is the voice Baker spending his days roaming on foot or bicycle or boat to recounting what he has seen and how he has seen. As he writes: "My life is here, where soon the larks will sing again, and there is a hawk above. One wishes only to go forward, deeper into the summer land, journeying from lark-song to lark-song, passing through the dark realm of the owls, the fox-holdings, the badger-shires, out into the brilliant winter dominion, the sea-bleak world of the hawks."
This is not a book, however, for someone wondering 'what is he getting at'. There is no larger narrative, no storyline. This is a diary of observation, a perceptive detailing of nature that may appeal to those who like the music of nature and the cadence of good writing.
It is the voice Baker spending his days roaming on foot or bicycle or boat to recounting what he has seen and how he has seen. As he writes: "My life is here, where soon the larks will sing again, and there is a hawk above. One wishes only to go forward, deeper into the summer land, journeying from lark-song to lark-song, passing through the dark realm of the owls, the fox-holdings, the badger-shires, out into the brilliant winter dominion, the sea-bleak world of the hawks."
April 20, 2022
This book has some of the most stunningly beautiful writing I have ever had the joy to experience.
The Peregrine is certainly superior to The Hill of Summer but both are certainly worth reading and taking extensive notes in. The lyrical beauty of language is absolutely breathtaking.
Every page features the most evocative description and fairly often the description is just so incredible and original that I had to reread it to let it just wash over me.
An absolute triumph.
The Peregrine is certainly superior to The Hill of Summer but both are certainly worth reading and taking extensive notes in. The lyrical beauty of language is absolutely breathtaking.
Every page features the most evocative description and fairly often the description is just so incredible and original that I had to reread it to let it just wash over me.
An absolute triumph.
March 23, 2024
This is a beautiful book, surprising me. It is rather slow moving, but significantly more engaging than a typical naturalist book. The author chronicles his quest to find and eventually become, in a way, the Peregrine falcon. I read it as a recommendation from Madsbjerg’s book Look, and though it was slow, I’d be interested in returning to it when in the mood for such a descriptive book. I did not read the second book bundled here, The Summer Hill. Perhaps another time.
January 13, 2018
Thanks ja Baker for teaching me about several type of bird, and writing synesthetic sentences about nature several of which I read two or three times
August 30, 2017
A curious monument to a very particular kind of bird watching. There are beautiful turns of phrase so often that quotation would seem to diminish them, mostly in similes for this or that bird behaviour. Baker focuses on the peregrines of the Essex marshes, admiring them, fearing them, identitying with them; this obsessive reporting over the seasons builds a wonderfully detailed pIcture of a deadly raptor in a place "beyond desolate:" yes, quoting is irresistible, as is the relentless episode after episode of watching a set of birds at their work.
February 17, 2018
I bought this because it was the only in print edition of Baker's follow-up to The Peregrine, one of the greatest works of the twentieth century and probably the greatest piece of nature/ecological writing ever. The Hill of Summer only just falls short of its predecessor by a slight margin. It is a visionary piece of writing that frequently moved me to tears for its sheer eloquence and insight. I only wish the editors had taken more care with this edition: I spotted at least thirty significant typos in The Hill of Summer alone, particularly frustrating with such a careful and often experimental writer like Baker. Nevertheless, it's great to have these works together, along with the extensive selection of diary entries, published here for the first time. If someone were to reissue The Hill of Summer in its original format, without typos, however, I would purchase it without hesitation. Perhaps NYBooks will step up...
I have now read this edition of The Peregrine and am shocked to find even more typos in that work than in Hill of Summer. Shocking: the publishers should be ashamed of putting out such a poorly edited edition of this major work.
I have now read this edition of The Peregrine and am shocked to find even more typos in that work than in Hill of Summer. Shocking: the publishers should be ashamed of putting out such a poorly edited edition of this major work.
July 7, 2024
'The Peregrine' is the better known of these titles. It is intense and is a detailed book about a specific bird, it is amazing.
However, I actually preferred 'The Hill of Summer'. Some of the descriptive writing in 'The Hill of Summer' lifts right off the page and swirls around in the air like the dust motes in a hay barn. Wonderful! [The title comes from A.E. Housman 'On the idle hill of summer / Sleepy with the flow of streams....'] I've read it several times and I will no doubt read it again!
However, I actually preferred 'The Hill of Summer'. Some of the descriptive writing in 'The Hill of Summer' lifts right off the page and swirls around in the air like the dust motes in a hay barn. Wonderful! [The title comes from A.E. Housman 'On the idle hill of summer / Sleepy with the flow of streams....'] I've read it several times and I will no doubt read it again!
December 8, 2017
A masterful piece of writing that I hated.
December 7, 2022
The paperback copy which I acquired runs to about 400 pages and contains the complete works of J.A. Baker which are The Peregrine and The Hill of Summer & Diaries, written in the mid 1960s. As its title suggests, The Peregrine focuses mainly on this bird. In The Hill of Summer the author writes about various other birds and animals and seems to travel more, but there is little or no mention of location, rather descriptions of woods, farm buildings and downs. The writing is often poetic and I was at times spell bound by the author`s descriptions of his forays into the wild. I soon began to see why the book is well regarded. The Peregrine is of course a favourite for being the fastest animal on earth and also for its image as a raptor. There is something mesmerising about the bird, but the book is also about the countless other birds which share its environment and even chase it in a fascinating aerial ballet.
`The morning was misty and still. A starling mimicked the peregrine perfectly, endlessly repeating its call in the fields to the north of the river. Other birds were made uneasy by it; they were as much deceived as I had been. I could not believe it was not a hawk, until I saw the starling actually opening its bill and producing the sound. By listening to the autumn starlings one can tell from their mimicry when golden plover, fieldfares, kestrels, and peregrines arrive in the valley. Rarer passage birds like whimbrel and greenshank, will also be faithfully recorded.`
`The hawk flew to a dead tree, and slept. At dusk he flew east towards his roosting place. Wherever he goes, this winter, I will follow him. I will share the fear, and the exaltation, and the boredom, of the hunting life. I will follow him till my predatory human shape no longer darkens in terror the shaken kaleidoscope of colour that stains the deep fovea of his brilliant eye. My pagan head shall sink into the winter land, and there be purified.`
There is an interesting introduction by Mark Cocker and Notes on the author by John Fanshawe. I read these after having completed the book and was glad I read in this order as these introductions were illuminating and served to enhance the whole reading experience. Here is an excerpt from Mark Cocker`s introduction:
`While he might convey the emotional flatness or neutrality experienced during long passages of his wildlife excursions, Baker is never dull. In fact if there is any criticism, it arises because there is so little down-time in the prose. It is all highly distilled, highly concentrated. The reader is being challenged with virtually every sentence. So much so, that it is sometimes easier to consider his work as poetry. A page or two at a time can occasionally feel like enough. Indeed, it is remarkable how easily his writing can be framed as verse.
`The morning slept like a snake in the unaccustomed warmth. To the east lay the dreaming heath. There is always a dry, withered smell in the heathland air. The heat above the bushes glitters like frost, a spiny furze of hovering light. The air rises into the shape of flame. The senses are parched by a bronze glare, an acrid metallic taste.`
`The morning was misty and still. A starling mimicked the peregrine perfectly, endlessly repeating its call in the fields to the north of the river. Other birds were made uneasy by it; they were as much deceived as I had been. I could not believe it was not a hawk, until I saw the starling actually opening its bill and producing the sound. By listening to the autumn starlings one can tell from their mimicry when golden plover, fieldfares, kestrels, and peregrines arrive in the valley. Rarer passage birds like whimbrel and greenshank, will also be faithfully recorded.`
`The hawk flew to a dead tree, and slept. At dusk he flew east towards his roosting place. Wherever he goes, this winter, I will follow him. I will share the fear, and the exaltation, and the boredom, of the hunting life. I will follow him till my predatory human shape no longer darkens in terror the shaken kaleidoscope of colour that stains the deep fovea of his brilliant eye. My pagan head shall sink into the winter land, and there be purified.`
There is an interesting introduction by Mark Cocker and Notes on the author by John Fanshawe. I read these after having completed the book and was glad I read in this order as these introductions were illuminating and served to enhance the whole reading experience. Here is an excerpt from Mark Cocker`s introduction:
`While he might convey the emotional flatness or neutrality experienced during long passages of his wildlife excursions, Baker is never dull. In fact if there is any criticism, it arises because there is so little down-time in the prose. It is all highly distilled, highly concentrated. The reader is being challenged with virtually every sentence. So much so, that it is sometimes easier to consider his work as poetry. A page or two at a time can occasionally feel like enough. Indeed, it is remarkable how easily his writing can be framed as verse.
`The morning slept like a snake in the unaccustomed warmth. To the east lay the dreaming heath. There is always a dry, withered smell in the heathland air. The heat above the bushes glitters like frost, a spiny furze of hovering light. The air rises into the shape of flame. The senses are parched by a bronze glare, an acrid metallic taste.`
January 11, 2022
JA Baker worked for the AA but never held a driving licence. Instead he spent his spare time cycling around Essex close to the muddy shore observing animals, trees, flowers and especially birds. His work The Peregrine and the Hill of Summer are the distillation of a lifetime of patient, day (and night) long observation of the wildlife of this most English of counties.
The diaries, which I skimmed, are contain detailed, reflective observations of his days out. Written after he got home, not on the field, they are testimony to his dedication, powers of concentration and memory.
There is a distinct change of style in the main literary works in this collection. As Mark Cocker observes in his introduction, parts read like poetry. I would go further and say the writing style as a whole is much closer to poetry than prose, especially in The Peregrine. That makes it a slow read and an unusual work. There is no plot, other than peregrines arriving for to winter in the saltmarsh of Essex, its fields and orchards, and then departing as spring nears. Each day's entry can be read in isolation. The prose is dense and lyrical with a rich and sometimes arresting use of metaphor. The observations of the peregrines are intense, more intense than believable but, since the diary pages covering the relevant observations were deliberately destroyed, identifying the distance between actuality and literature cannot be assessed. But to attempt that would be to miss the point.
Baker's prose reminds me of Legh Fermor, or even Proust (minus the philosophy) both of whom wrote from memory much longer after the events portrayed, and with fewer diaries as source material. The peregrine is a bird that resides in the memory and thoughts of a man whose lifetime was dedicated to birdlife. It exists in relation to him amidst countryside with which he is solitarily knowledgeable and intimately familiar.
The Hill of Summer consists of twelve vignettes, two per summer month, of different habitats, a river, a hill, an estuary. Those of us who have spent any time birding in Essex can recognise the startling fecundity of the coast with a startling variety of waders and other wildlife. Truly a wonder of nature (shaped by the hand of man). It is a less intense work than The Peregrine and again conveys a wonder at the world around us.
Both books presuppose a working knowledge of British birdlife and readers will find it helpful to play a few of the more obscure bird calls on their phones while reading.
'The sun was like a withered apple,
shrivelling, dying.
Dusk shaded the sliding hills
under spruces alpine with snow.
Fieldfares and redwings,
a few tired birds.
went down into the dark valley,
perhaps for the last time.
A tawny owl's song,
tremulously baying,
rang out from holly and pine.
Night.
A fox calling,
blazing up before me
in the torch-lit snow,
glaring from a grate of blood
and pheasant feathers,
red and copper shavings.'
The diaries, which I skimmed, are contain detailed, reflective observations of his days out. Written after he got home, not on the field, they are testimony to his dedication, powers of concentration and memory.
There is a distinct change of style in the main literary works in this collection. As Mark Cocker observes in his introduction, parts read like poetry. I would go further and say the writing style as a whole is much closer to poetry than prose, especially in The Peregrine. That makes it a slow read and an unusual work. There is no plot, other than peregrines arriving for to winter in the saltmarsh of Essex, its fields and orchards, and then departing as spring nears. Each day's entry can be read in isolation. The prose is dense and lyrical with a rich and sometimes arresting use of metaphor. The observations of the peregrines are intense, more intense than believable but, since the diary pages covering the relevant observations were deliberately destroyed, identifying the distance between actuality and literature cannot be assessed. But to attempt that would be to miss the point.
Baker's prose reminds me of Legh Fermor, or even Proust (minus the philosophy) both of whom wrote from memory much longer after the events portrayed, and with fewer diaries as source material. The peregrine is a bird that resides in the memory and thoughts of a man whose lifetime was dedicated to birdlife. It exists in relation to him amidst countryside with which he is solitarily knowledgeable and intimately familiar.
The Hill of Summer consists of twelve vignettes, two per summer month, of different habitats, a river, a hill, an estuary. Those of us who have spent any time birding in Essex can recognise the startling fecundity of the coast with a startling variety of waders and other wildlife. Truly a wonder of nature (shaped by the hand of man). It is a less intense work than The Peregrine and again conveys a wonder at the world around us.
Both books presuppose a working knowledge of British birdlife and readers will find it helpful to play a few of the more obscure bird calls on their phones while reading.
'The sun was like a withered apple,
shrivelling, dying.
Dusk shaded the sliding hills
under spruces alpine with snow.
Fieldfares and redwings,
a few tired birds.
went down into the dark valley,
perhaps for the last time.
A tawny owl's song,
tremulously baying,
rang out from holly and pine.
Night.
A fox calling,
blazing up before me
in the torch-lit snow,
glaring from a grate of blood
and pheasant feathers,
red and copper shavings.'
July 29, 2017
I first heard of this book on the Entitled Opinions podcast where last season there were two episodes dedicated to it, the first a conversation between host Robert Harrison and filmmaker Werner Herzog, the second between Harrison and Stanford University professor Andrea Nightingale. THE PEREGRINE is not the sort of book I would have sought out with any interest without having listened to these two podcast episode and hearing the passion with which these people talked about the book they described as a rediscovered classic of nature writing. Words cannot really describe the appeal of THE PEREGRINE. Superficially it is a journal of the author tracking the movements and hunting patterns of peregrine falcons over almost a year. Having never read or had any inclination towards reading anything that would be categorized as "nature writing" I went into this book with my respect for Herzog and Harrison as my mandate. THE PEREGRINE has a mysterious fascination, an enthralling and indescribably beautiful book, prose that is highly poetical and descriptive and emotionally charged. Its quite a gift that the author possesses. I could imagine JA Baker writing about disassembling a toilet and it being just as engaging. THE PEREGRINE is a great book, mysterious, sad, and strangely thrilling at times. I'm glad to have read it and would love to read it again one day. I wouldn't know how to recommend it. I confess to know nothing about birds nor do I have any more interest in the genre of "nature writing" than I did when I started it. But this book is that good and must be read to be believed.
November 10, 2017
These are two quite extraordinary books. On the one hand they lack a plot, there is a huge amount of repetition, especially in The Peregrine, where time after time the hunting by the peregrine and killing of its prey are described, and condensing ten years into one gives a strange impression that every time you step out into the countryside you could expect to see multiple rare and secretive animals, a bit like watching a natural history program on TV. Nevertheless, I've still given it five stars. That is quite simply because of astonishingly beautiful and poetic prose. The use of language is so incredible, so creative, so forceful that feels more like a poem than a novel. And it works, you really feel what it is like to be there in the field observing the birds. Of the two books, The Peregrine has received the most acclaim. However, I must say that I preferred The Hill of Summer. That was in part because of the relentless kill after kill in The Peregrine got a bit much to me, but above all, because his obsession with that bird meant that the rest of what was going on got too much squeezed out. The Hill of Summer was in that sense much more balanced. The whole habitat was described, still with a focus on the birds, but at least the other animals and the trees were given their due, even if the rest of the plants are only a backdrop and barely mentioned. So far I have only dipped into the diaries, that's not the sort of text you want to just read, but I'm looking forward to coming back to them and reading more.
December 10, 2017
Uno de los más claros ejemplos de lo inagotable de un tópico. El relato tiene muchísimos pasajes que juegan con el tedio y la obsesión de la observación cotidiana de Baker, pero repentinamente se transforman en acción, desesperación y desolación. El libro tiene un ritmo muy atípico, denso por momentos, pero trepidante en otros. El lector observa a los peregrinos como Baker, se aburre y se emociona al igual que él.
"Time is measured by a clock of blood. When one is active, close to the hawk, pursuing, the pulse races, time goes faster; when one is still, waiting, the pulse quietens, time is slow. Always, as one hunts for the hawk, one has an oppressive sense of time contracting inwards like a tightening spring. One hates the movement of the sun, the steady alteration of the light, the increase of hunger, the maddening metronome of the heart-beat. When one says ‘ten o’clock’ or ‘three o’clock,’ this is not the grey and shrunken time of towns; it is the memory of a certain fulmination or declension of light that was unique to that time and that place on that day, a memory as vivid to the hunter as burning magnesium. As soon as the hawk-hunter steps from his door he knows the way of the wind, he feels the weight of the air. "
"Time is measured by a clock of blood. When one is active, close to the hawk, pursuing, the pulse races, time goes faster; when one is still, waiting, the pulse quietens, time is slow. Always, as one hunts for the hawk, one has an oppressive sense of time contracting inwards like a tightening spring. One hates the movement of the sun, the steady alteration of the light, the increase of hunger, the maddening metronome of the heart-beat. When one says ‘ten o’clock’ or ‘three o’clock,’ this is not the grey and shrunken time of towns; it is the memory of a certain fulmination or declension of light that was unique to that time and that place on that day, a memory as vivid to the hunter as burning magnesium. As soon as the hawk-hunter steps from his door he knows the way of the wind, he feels the weight of the air. "
September 9, 2025
Both books are definitely worth reading. I found it a slow read , the straining after Poetic effect or the Numinous , overloaded the genuine pleasure and got in the way . There is a magic in his descriptions without the need for the tendency to over write . I bought this purely because of the title , know the Meaning of the name of the Bird I have always been attracted to the Peregrine and picture of the Peregrine in flight on the cover of the edition I have is one of the best The Hill of Summer should always be published together , it’s as good as The Peregrine and as Memorable and in places superior .The Peregrine shows Baker as Obsessive and at times identifying with The Peregrine.overall an important book, every Bird should have such a Champion and in The Hill of Summer he does that for several other Birds esp the waders
March 28, 2021
This book took me awhile to read. Truly well written and interesting , I had to keep putting it down because it was almost too descriptive. Each sentence was so full of flourish and thought that I tended to get so caught up in the beauty of the written prose that I would lose myself in my imagination and meander off the course of the book ( if that makes any sense) . I particularly enjoyed the diary section of of this book as it was more everyday notations without all the descriptive tumble of words. Not a book for everyone , but if you are a Bird enthusiast, this book will definitely carry you into the countryside of England and leave you longing to join him on his adventures.
July 9, 2020
I gave up halfway through The Peregrine. Some wonderful facts and sentences, but my God, so boring.
Read
March 27, 2022Just read The Peregrine + introduction and notes. May still read The Hill of Summer
January 18, 2023
Such a brilliantly unusual and intoxicating book. If, like me you enjoy the British countryside and sublime writing then you’ll love this book as I did.
August 29, 2024
Sometimes a bit too overwrought in places but when it hits, it hits. A lot of truth about birdwatching emotions, especially in the unedited diaries.
September 8, 2024
I’ll write a comprehensive review soon because this book was a literary miracle, one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read in my 28 years alive. What a fucking triumph.
January 2, 2025
this is the reason why i'm a birdwatcher now
January 5, 2019
It took me a long time to get through The Peregrine on my first reading, at least a decade ago. To call it slow would be a morbid understatement. Actually, there's more the sense of moving backward, as he draws on the mists of distant memory and some deep, personal impressions to inform the narrative the whole way through. It's unconventional stuff. You might wonder what on earth you're doing reading it. Or, you might feel as if you've come across something so strange, and so quirky and dusty and rare and idiosyncratic, that you'll call it your all-time favourite book when people ask. That's what I do now.
The Peregrine is written as a diary, as if the events he describes have occurred on a calendar day. But Baker later wrote that those events were distilled from the memories of a decade's worth of peregrine watching. So whether it's on your first, or second, or fifth reading (how long can you meditate?), you'll eventually stop following him from one day to the next. You know he's not going anywhere. And instead you go back from where you are, looking for that line about the curlews, or that passage about the deer mouse. And then forward, through the end pages of the Peregrine and into the Hill of Summer, looking for his nightjars, and that part about black, primordial voices booming like cork pulled from a cask of wine. And from then on you explore the books forward and backward, starting from anywhere, ending whenever, reading from both books at once. You'll never put them down for good, ever again. It's like they're written around you. The story turns inward like a kaleidoscope, time is memory, and whole landscapes return in recollections of light and shadow. It all becomes as perfectly real and as perfectly dynamic as your own memories of such a world as he describes.
There is something really special about how time and space work in these writings. I love them both the same. They're a meditation; a stillness of flowing water. Sit with them, eyes open, and hear the chaos come all around. And then find their silence in your day.
The Peregrine is written as a diary, as if the events he describes have occurred on a calendar day. But Baker later wrote that those events were distilled from the memories of a decade's worth of peregrine watching. So whether it's on your first, or second, or fifth reading (how long can you meditate?), you'll eventually stop following him from one day to the next. You know he's not going anywhere. And instead you go back from where you are, looking for that line about the curlews, or that passage about the deer mouse. And then forward, through the end pages of the Peregrine and into the Hill of Summer, looking for his nightjars, and that part about black, primordial voices booming like cork pulled from a cask of wine. And from then on you explore the books forward and backward, starting from anywhere, ending whenever, reading from both books at once. You'll never put them down for good, ever again. It's like they're written around you. The story turns inward like a kaleidoscope, time is memory, and whole landscapes return in recollections of light and shadow. It all becomes as perfectly real and as perfectly dynamic as your own memories of such a world as he describes.
There is something really special about how time and space work in these writings. I love them both the same. They're a meditation; a stillness of flowing water. Sit with them, eyes open, and hear the chaos come all around. And then find their silence in your day.
February 6, 2025
The writing is achingly beautiful and enriching and enrapturing. Reaches Annie Dillard’s level of craft.
January 19, 2025
Transcendental
December 17, 2017
As with The Peregrine, the essence of this work (The Hill of Summer) is simple: it is one man's observations of the natural world, particularly birds, during the middle six months of the year (albeit spread over ten years), in a small variety of habitats in a small area of Essex. This formula appears to be a recipe for dullness and repetition but the richness of Baker's writing makes this anonymous stretch of countryside come alive in the reader's imagination.
It took me a long time to read The Hill of Summer, not because it is 'difficult', tedious or indigestible but because it is so rich in imagery and language. Every sentence merits being savoured, and almost every one brings a surprise - a highly original way of looking at the natural world. Indeed, the writing is so rich, that it is recommended that one reads The Peregrine first, as a kind of acclimatisation, before tackling The Hill of Summer.
In this edition, Baker's writing is excellently complemented by the introductions of Mark Cocker (to the two main works) and John Fanshawe (to extensive extracts of Baker's diaries), which added much to my understanding and pleasure of reading.
The volume concludes with an essay describing the coastal wilderness of the Dengie peninsula, in east Essex. Written in 1971, it is an eloquent, elegiac, at times angry, regretful view of what would be lost when the then-planned Foulness airport was built. It serves as a more general protest, and a reminder that 'development' can ruin wilderness - or even wildness - through noise, and night-time light, and drifting pollution, even where the land remains physically undisturbed. Baker's writing helps tell us why we need these (relatively) untouched places.
It took me a long time to read The Hill of Summer, not because it is 'difficult', tedious or indigestible but because it is so rich in imagery and language. Every sentence merits being savoured, and almost every one brings a surprise - a highly original way of looking at the natural world. Indeed, the writing is so rich, that it is recommended that one reads The Peregrine first, as a kind of acclimatisation, before tackling The Hill of Summer.
In this edition, Baker's writing is excellently complemented by the introductions of Mark Cocker (to the two main works) and John Fanshawe (to extensive extracts of Baker's diaries), which added much to my understanding and pleasure of reading.
The volume concludes with an essay describing the coastal wilderness of the Dengie peninsula, in east Essex. Written in 1971, it is an eloquent, elegiac, at times angry, regretful view of what would be lost when the then-planned Foulness airport was built. It serves as a more general protest, and a reminder that 'development' can ruin wilderness - or even wildness - through noise, and night-time light, and drifting pollution, even where the land remains physically undisturbed. Baker's writing helps tell us why we need these (relatively) untouched places.
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