So, here's what I expected: a touching memoir about the trials and tribulations -- and joys and moments of wonder -- of working closely with a remarkable creature.
I've heard it said that children often have an easier time bonding with animals than adults. If I were going to theorize, I'd say that maybe it's because although animals may have an inner life that resembles that of humans -- Alex certainly seemed to -- it's not often as developed in animals. They're too busy surviving to spend much time navel-gazing. Perhaps in their understanding of self, they've developed to a state equivalent to that of a young child, and therefore, children relate very easily to them and vice versa.
I do not mean to sound insulting to Dr. Pepperberg when I say this, as she's clearly a woman of outstanding intelligence and perseverance. But she also comes across as someone who never finished growing up, and unfortunately, that immaturity is highlighted in this memoir.
There's actually not much space spent, in an already slight book, on her relationship with Alex. Instead, the main theme seems to be: "No one in academia, including my husband, believed in my work with Alex. They were very mean to me. Alex showed them, though, and so did I!"
Pepperberg spends a while talking about her childhood, indignantly telling us about a scarring experience from her childhood, wherein she was too painfully shy to thank a baker for a cookie she was offered, and handed it back when the baker teasingly asked for it, and her mother was annoyed with her.
Honey, if that's the worst experience you can remember from your childhood...well, maybe you're better off not writing about that part of your life if you're looking for sympathy.
Pepperberg also attributes the worst possible motivations to anyone who wasn't 100% behind her. At one point, she tells us about telling a department admin that she's getting married. The admin asks her when she'll be leaving the department.
Now, this took place in (if I recall correctly) the 60s or 70s, so that would hardly be an uncommon question. Most women at that time *did* retire when they married, to focus on being a homemaker and, eventually, a mother.
Pepperberg assumes the woman is bitter because she doesn't have an academic career, and is thinking Hurray! Now a man can take this woman's position, as is appropriate. She doesn't describe anything about the woman's behavior that would suggest such pettiness and resentment behind her common assumption, but clearly expects us to sympathize with her indignant reaction.
Further, while I haven't read any of Pepperberg's academic work, if she writes there like she does here, I understand why she had a hard time being taken seriously.
When young Alex doesn't cooperate one day, she writes in her journal: "Alex being incredibly stupid today!"
Who above the age of 10 thinks in those terms about an animal -- or even a young human -- that they're teaching? When it comes to animals, any good trainer knows that A) animals have moods too, and B) in general, if an animal is repeatedly misbehaving, it's usually the fault of the trainer, not the animal. It seems rather immature on Pepperberg's part to be thinking -- and journaling -- in terms of "stupidity" rather than a lack of cooperation.
I feel bad for her, more than anything else. Bright kids often have trouble learning to socialize normally, and it seems like Pepperberg suffered from this and the resulting social anxiety and was never helped -- or forced -- to get past it and finish growing up.
All in all, the memoir is frustratingly self-centered, Pepperberg comes across as fairly unlikable, and we don't get nearly enough of Alex. The prose is readable, but Pepperberg is obnoxious enough that I ended up skimming for Alex's name and reading those sections, while skipping past the rest.