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Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear? 200 birds, 12 months, 1 lapsed birdwatcher
A lapsed and hopeless birdwatcher’s attempt to see 200 birds in a year
As a 12-year-old, I was an avid birdwatcher. I was also a fraud, a liar and a cheat. Those lists of birds seen, ticked off like Don Juan’s conquests? A tissue of lies. One hundred and thirty species? More like 60. Dotterel, firecrest, smew? Give me a break.
So when I revived my dormant mania early this year, I decided to right my childhood wrongs, even though they were born of good intentions. I would go birdwatching again. I would keep track of the birds I saw. I would not lie. To spice things up, and to guard against enthusiasm fatigue, I set myself a target. Six hundred and one bird species have been recorded in Britain. I would aim to see 200 of them in a year. A doddle, surely?
Not so fast, man-cub.
Half of the 601 are described as ‘rare’. One, the great auk, is extinct. That leaves 300. My friend Andrew is a proper and active birder. In his best year he clocked up 206. I’m neither proper nor active. What chance do I have? Slim to none. But I like a challenge.
Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear? is the story of that challenge. But it’s not just about birds. It’s about family, music, nostalgia; hearing the stories of strangers; the nature of obsession and obsession with nature. It’s about finding adventure in life when you twig it’s shorter than you thought; losing and regaining contact with the sights, sounds and smells of the natural world; the humiliation of being a professional musician who doesn’t recognise the song of a blue tit. It’s about the first time my parents heard me say ‘fuck’.
It’s a book for anyone who has ever seen a small brown bird and wondered what it was, or tried to make sense of a world in which we can ask ‘What's that bird?’ and ‘What's for lunch?’ and get the same answer. It’s also a long overdue thank you letter to my parents.
As a 12-year-old, I was an avid birdwatcher. I was also a fraud, a liar and a cheat. Those lists of birds seen, ticked off like Don Juan’s conquests? A tissue of lies. One hundred and thirty species? More like 60. Dotterel, firecrest, smew? Give me a break.
So when I revived my dormant mania early this year, I decided to right my childhood wrongs, even though they were born of good intentions. I would go birdwatching again. I would keep track of the birds I saw. I would not lie. To spice things up, and to guard against enthusiasm fatigue, I set myself a target. Six hundred and one bird species have been recorded in Britain. I would aim to see 200 of them in a year. A doddle, surely?
Not so fast, man-cub.
Half of the 601 are described as ‘rare’. One, the great auk, is extinct. That leaves 300. My friend Andrew is a proper and active birder. In his best year he clocked up 206. I’m neither proper nor active. What chance do I have? Slim to none. But I like a challenge.
Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear? is the story of that challenge. But it’s not just about birds. It’s about family, music, nostalgia; hearing the stories of strangers; the nature of obsession and obsession with nature. It’s about finding adventure in life when you twig it’s shorter than you thought; losing and regaining contact with the sights, sounds and smells of the natural world; the humiliation of being a professional musician who doesn’t recognise the song of a blue tit. It’s about the first time my parents heard me say ‘fuck’.
It’s a book for anyone who has ever seen a small brown bird and wondered what it was, or tried to make sense of a world in which we can ask ‘What's that bird?’ and ‘What's for lunch?’ and get the same answer. It’s also a long overdue thank you letter to my parents.
272 pages, Hardcover
First published May 17, 2018
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282 people want to read
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February 14, 2021A real pleasure. Memoir of an amateur birdwatcher's efforts to spot 200 species in a year. Very British, very funny, really charming (actually, rather than the winsome faux-charm this kind of book can easily fall into), with some lovely nature writing, thoughts about families and childhood and so on. Thoroughly engaging and one of the most effortless reads I've encountered in these crappy times.
May 18, 2018
“People are good, on the whole; bird people especially so. It's such a simple thing, to share pleasure in a slice of nature, yet so enriching, so life affirming.”I fancied reading Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear? when it first popped up on my Twitter feed earlier this year. My curiosity was piqued by the words “lapsed birdwatcher” from the book's subtitle. It describes me so well.
As the daughter of an enthusiastic YOC (Young Ornithologist's Club) group leader – which was the children's wing of the RSPB (sorry, couldn't resist!) – I grew up with a set of binoculars practically clamped to my face. My mum devoted her every waking moment to identifying, counting and recording birds, and continues to photograph them daily at the age of 84. By my late teens I was regularly doing voluntary stints at bird reserves around the country, and by the early '90s, I was a seasonal ranger at the Great Orme Country Park and Nature Reserve, where I monitored seabird colonies and took wildlife enthusiasts out on guided walks. By my mid twenties, however, I had set up a completely unrelated business with my partner and, until recently, found little time for anything other than work. So, you see, Lev's book felt personal.
Before moving on, I should like to clarify one small but not insignificant detail. The word twitcher is often bandied about by people who do not fully understand the etiquette or terminology of the birding community. A twitcher is a person who hares manically about the land in a state of almost constant agitation, with the intention of eyeballing a rarity and ticking its name off a list (at which point, their enthusiasm tends to evaporate). A birdwatcher, on the other hand, is someone whose hobby it is to observe all birds in their natural surroundings (rare or otherwise). When the twitchers have packed up their long range scopes and moved on, the assiduous birders will remain, fondly observing their quarry as it goes about its everyday bird-business. Though these two distinct groups may sometimes meet, say, on a precipitous cliff ledge or in a damp ditch, they are fundamentally a different species. Lev is understandably keen you make this distinction because he is a 'birder' or 'ornithologist', if you wish to be pedantic. Nevertheless, this doesn't mean he hasn't, when under extreme duress, come within a blue tit's-tuft of twitching – though this has merely been the result of sheer desperation to complete his quest, you understand.
“They say birders are eccentric. I'm going to fit right in.”London-dwelling Lev is many things: a published writer, successful conductor, devoted dad, self-described “hopeless birdwatcher” and an all round good egg. He enjoyed birdwatching as a boy but lost motivation during the dreaded adolescent years and didn't fully regain his avian oomph until experiencing some sort of Damascene moment with a flock of Canada geese several decades later. He decided immediately he would set himself a task. His objective? Two hundred birds in 12 months. No twitching. No cheating.
I feel at times I have discovered a kindred spirit, though I suspect many of his readers will experience the same emotion for a variety of reasons. We're similar in age; he, like me, was raised in a household of books; he loves making lists, uses Moleskine notebooks; is a fan of Charles M. Schulz's Peanuts; was, as a youth, apt to be creative in his reported sightings; and has forgotten a good deal of what he once knew about birds. I too have returned in my middle years to observing nature, but I understand completely when he describes someone as being “overly outdoorsy in a way I never will be.” Some pursuits require youth or fanaticism – ideally both.
His self depreciating humour, gentle wit and elegant writing style, interspersed with anecdotes from the hide, carry you along on a wave goodwill and jollity. You cannot help but be lifted by his enthusiasm. Whether seeking cranes in Slimbridge, hearing his first ever nightingale or getting to grips with variation in seasonal plumage, you want so much for him to succeed in his quest. Lev is an immensely likeable human being.
The book itself an aesthetic delight. On the dust jacket and inside cover are row upon row of identical but gradually diminishing goldcrests, designed by Alan Harris. The same bird appears in black and white at various points in the text, acting as a sort of punctuation to the narrative. My hardback copy also has debossed bird footprints skittering from front to back. I will from now on take immense pleasure in catching sight of it on my 'bird' shelf.
Does Lev reach his target? After all, Britain isn't the Amazon rain forest where you can record 200 species in one morning. It's going to be tight. But whatever the outcome you know he'll make a few waggish remarks, pick up his binoculars and carry on watching the birds.
“Just as I thought. Definitely some kind of bird.”Many thanks to Lev Parikian and Unbound for providing an advance review copy of this title.
May 17, 2018
At the age of 12, Lev Parikian was an avid birdwatcher. He had a huge list of birds from the common or garden to the exotic neatly ticked off. Except he hadn't seen some of them, in fact, he had probably only seen half of them. There has been a smidgen over six hundred species recorded as being seen in Britain, and as the bird watching bug bites again after a walk around the park in an attempt to combat middle age spread, Parikian feels that this time he needs a challenge and this time to do things properly. So there are rules; there has to be because this time it is serious.
But what sort of target should he go for? A friend of his managed 206 in a single year, but he was an avid bird watcher, 100 would be too easy and 300 would be unrealistic. A lot of birds that have appeared over here are very rare, swept in by the Atlantic storms and take a day or so to re-orientate themselves before disappearing once again. But first, he needs to create a list, because every birder needs a list. Separating the birds into four categories, already seen, will probably see, might see and no chance (one is now extinct after all) and the list has been whittled down from a vast 600 to an unmanageable 200. It should be ok, shouldn't it?
Starting with the ubiquitous blue tit, so begins a very amusing story of trying to track down his 200 ticks. It will take him from the Dorset shorelines to the dramatic west coast of Scotland, the big skies of Norfolk and the waters of the Somerset levels. He has some spectacular finds and spends a lot of the year not seeing any owls at all; there was one here five minutes ago is not what you want to hear. Some of the trips he is accompanied by his wife and son who seem to tolerate his new obsession and he is helped by other bird watchers that are generous with their time, expertise and telescopes. Two hundred birds in one year is a big ask, can he do it? Will he actually see ll the birds? Can he stick to the rules, or will it be a project that will join the other abandoned ones alongside the discarded resolutions on the barely used yoga mat…
Parikian has written a thoroughly enjoyable book that because of his bone-dry wit had me chuckling and laughing out loud at times. I thought that it was written with genuine warmth about his feathered subjects, his cricket and spreadsheet obsession and his love of life in general. There are amusing anecdotes about him learning to become a conductor at the same place that his father worked as well as nostalgic and poignant moments about growing up and losing his father. One to read and enjoy, and maybe make you reach for the binoculars.
But what sort of target should he go for? A friend of his managed 206 in a single year, but he was an avid bird watcher, 100 would be too easy and 300 would be unrealistic. A lot of birds that have appeared over here are very rare, swept in by the Atlantic storms and take a day or so to re-orientate themselves before disappearing once again. But first, he needs to create a list, because every birder needs a list. Separating the birds into four categories, already seen, will probably see, might see and no chance (one is now extinct after all) and the list has been whittled down from a vast 600 to an unmanageable 200. It should be ok, shouldn't it?
Starting with the ubiquitous blue tit, so begins a very amusing story of trying to track down his 200 ticks. It will take him from the Dorset shorelines to the dramatic west coast of Scotland, the big skies of Norfolk and the waters of the Somerset levels. He has some spectacular finds and spends a lot of the year not seeing any owls at all; there was one here five minutes ago is not what you want to hear. Some of the trips he is accompanied by his wife and son who seem to tolerate his new obsession and he is helped by other bird watchers that are generous with their time, expertise and telescopes. Two hundred birds in one year is a big ask, can he do it? Will he actually see ll the birds? Can he stick to the rules, or will it be a project that will join the other abandoned ones alongside the discarded resolutions on the barely used yoga mat…
Parikian has written a thoroughly enjoyable book that because of his bone-dry wit had me chuckling and laughing out loud at times. I thought that it was written with genuine warmth about his feathered subjects, his cricket and spreadsheet obsession and his love of life in general. There are amusing anecdotes about him learning to become a conductor at the same place that his father worked as well as nostalgic and poignant moments about growing up and losing his father. One to read and enjoy, and maybe make you reach for the binoculars.
May 19, 2018
Lev Parikian was a keen birdwatcher when he was 11, but as an adult he barely remembered most of what he used to know about birds. He’d confidently declare that he’d seen a nightingale and then be too embarrassed to later admit it was actually a skylark. Also, he had to acknowledge that he hadn’t been completely honest as a preteen birder: No way had he seen a black redstart, for instance. Probably about 30% of his childhood sightings could be dismissed as cheats or downright lies. As the birdwatching bug bit again at the start of 2016, he decided it was time to set the record straight. His aim? To see 200 birds in a year, with no twitching (driving many miles to see a reported rarity) and no cheating.
Most of the book is a chronological tour through 2016, with each month’s new sightings totaled up at the end of the chapter. Being based in London isn’t the handicap one might expect – there’s a huge population of parakeets there nowadays, and the London Wetland Centre in Barnes is great for water birds – but Parikian also fills in his list through various trips around the country. He picks up red kites while in Windsor for a family wedding, and his list balloons in April thanks to trips to Minsmere and Rainham Marshes, where he finds additions like bittern and marsh harrier. The Isle of Wight, Scotland, Lindsifarne, North Norfolk… The months pass and the numbers mount until it’s the middle of December and his total is hovering at 196. Will he make it? I wouldn’t dare spoil the result for you!
I’ve always enjoyed ‘year-challenge’ books, everything from Julie Powell’s Julie and Julia to Nina Sankovitch’s Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, so I liked this memoir’s air of self-imposed competition, and its sense of humor. Having accompanied my husband on plenty of birdwatching trips, I could relate to the alternating feelings of elation and frustration. I also enjoyed the mentions of Parikian’s family history and career as a freelance conductor – I’d like to read more about this in his first book, Waving, Not Drowning (2013). This is one for fans of Alexandra Heminsley’s Leap In and Kyo Maclear’s Birds Art Life, or for anyone who needs reassurance that it’s never too late to pick up a new skill or return to a beloved hobby.
[Lastly, I must mention what a beautiful physical object this book is. The good folk of Unbound have done it again. The cover image and endpapers reproduce Alan Harris’s lovely sketch of a gradually disappearing goldcrest, and if you lift the dustjacket you’re rewarded with the sight of some cheeky bird footprints traipsing across the cover.]
Some favorite passages:
“Birders love a list. Day lists, week lists, month lists, year lists, life lists, garden lists, county lists, walk-to-work lists, seen-from-the-train lists, glimpsed-out-of-the-bathroom-window-while-doing-a-poo lists.”
“It’s one thing sitting in your favourite armchair, musing on the plumage differences between first- and second-winter black-headed gulls, but that doesn’t help identify the scrubby little blighter that’s just jigged into that bush, never to be seen again. And it’s no use asking them politely to damn well sit still blast you while I jot down the distinguishing features of your plumage in this notebook dammit which pocket is it in now where did I put the pencil ah here it is oh bugger it’s gone. They just won’t. Most disobliging.”
“There is a word in Swedish, gökotta, for the act of getting up early to listen to birdsong, but the knowledge that this word exists, while heartwarming, doesn’t make it any easier. It’s a bitter pill, this early rising, but my enthusiasm propels me to acts of previously unimagined heroism, and I set the alarm for an optimistic 5 a.m., before reality prompts me to change it to 5.15, no 5.30, OK then 5.45.”
Originally published, with images, on my blog, Bookish Beck.
Most of the book is a chronological tour through 2016, with each month’s new sightings totaled up at the end of the chapter. Being based in London isn’t the handicap one might expect – there’s a huge population of parakeets there nowadays, and the London Wetland Centre in Barnes is great for water birds – but Parikian also fills in his list through various trips around the country. He picks up red kites while in Windsor for a family wedding, and his list balloons in April thanks to trips to Minsmere and Rainham Marshes, where he finds additions like bittern and marsh harrier. The Isle of Wight, Scotland, Lindsifarne, North Norfolk… The months pass and the numbers mount until it’s the middle of December and his total is hovering at 196. Will he make it? I wouldn’t dare spoil the result for you!
I’ve always enjoyed ‘year-challenge’ books, everything from Julie Powell’s Julie and Julia to Nina Sankovitch’s Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, so I liked this memoir’s air of self-imposed competition, and its sense of humor. Having accompanied my husband on plenty of birdwatching trips, I could relate to the alternating feelings of elation and frustration. I also enjoyed the mentions of Parikian’s family history and career as a freelance conductor – I’d like to read more about this in his first book, Waving, Not Drowning (2013). This is one for fans of Alexandra Heminsley’s Leap In and Kyo Maclear’s Birds Art Life, or for anyone who needs reassurance that it’s never too late to pick up a new skill or return to a beloved hobby.
[Lastly, I must mention what a beautiful physical object this book is. The good folk of Unbound have done it again. The cover image and endpapers reproduce Alan Harris’s lovely sketch of a gradually disappearing goldcrest, and if you lift the dustjacket you’re rewarded with the sight of some cheeky bird footprints traipsing across the cover.]
Some favorite passages:
“Birders love a list. Day lists, week lists, month lists, year lists, life lists, garden lists, county lists, walk-to-work lists, seen-from-the-train lists, glimpsed-out-of-the-bathroom-window-while-doing-a-poo lists.”
“It’s one thing sitting in your favourite armchair, musing on the plumage differences between first- and second-winter black-headed gulls, but that doesn’t help identify the scrubby little blighter that’s just jigged into that bush, never to be seen again. And it’s no use asking them politely to damn well sit still blast you while I jot down the distinguishing features of your plumage in this notebook dammit which pocket is it in now where did I put the pencil ah here it is oh bugger it’s gone. They just won’t. Most disobliging.”
“There is a word in Swedish, gökotta, for the act of getting up early to listen to birdsong, but the knowledge that this word exists, while heartwarming, doesn’t make it any easier. It’s a bitter pill, this early rising, but my enthusiasm propels me to acts of previously unimagined heroism, and I set the alarm for an optimistic 5 a.m., before reality prompts me to change it to 5.15, no 5.30, OK then 5.45.”
Originally published, with images, on my blog, Bookish Beck.
May 23, 2018
Lev Parikian was a birder as a boy, but his interest lapsed as teenage issues and regular adult life took over his time and interest. Then, in 2016, feeling the need to get outside and in better shape, he took up birding again, setting himself the admirable goal of seeing 200 distinct British birds in one year.
This book relates the story of that year. Though it certainly is a book about birding, it also covers much more. Parikian writes of his own family life, nostalgia for his boyhood with his violinist father, music (in his non-writing life he is a freelance orchestral conductor), nature, ecology, conservation, and the sheer delight of being outdoors. His excitement at catching a glimpse of a new bird or even an old favorite bird is infectious, as is his delight at being outdoors-even in a downpour.
Parikian writes with an easy, conversational tone. His book is full of amusing anecdotes and lots of dry wit (make sure to read the footnotes). Why Birds Suddenly Disappear is an enjoyable, educational read, and it may just make you want to take up birding yourself. I heartily recommend it.
This book relates the story of that year. Though it certainly is a book about birding, it also covers much more. Parikian writes of his own family life, nostalgia for his boyhood with his violinist father, music (in his non-writing life he is a freelance orchestral conductor), nature, ecology, conservation, and the sheer delight of being outdoors. His excitement at catching a glimpse of a new bird or even an old favorite bird is infectious, as is his delight at being outdoors-even in a downpour.
Parikian writes with an easy, conversational tone. His book is full of amusing anecdotes and lots of dry wit (make sure to read the footnotes). Why Birds Suddenly Disappear is an enjoyable, educational read, and it may just make you want to take up birding yourself. I heartily recommend it.
July 17, 2018
An enjoyable and deliberately amusing account of the authors progression from birding novice to pretty competent over a year. Some of the turns of phrase were new to me , as were some of the musical references, though I did find the digressions about his conducting interesting (as were all the side stories, helping to break up what could be too much about the bird watching).
May 27, 2018
Men and birds, (the feathered type). What is it about why we become keen birders. I don’t just mean feeding our garden birds but actually going birding and trying to find birds in their natural habitat. Oh it does not end there, then we have lists and hi-tech bins and scopes that cost thousands not to mention cameras and then there is the lists. The birds you have seen in a calendar year. Lists for garden and your local patch and then you go chasing those very special rare birds that arrive on our shores during the Spring and Autumn. Welcome to the world of an avid birder. Yes, I have been there. Seen it and got the t-shirt. I want to introduce you to Lev Parikian. Lev is a very notable conductor and a birdwatcher. In Lev’s new book Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear (Unbound) he takes us through his story of when he was young he loved going birding and seeing new birds (or not as it transpires) and then he stopped only when he was fifty did his loves of birding return. This is his story of a year of birds, family, music and a look back through his younger days.
My library is stuffed full of bird books and stories of that writers birding year, some are really good and entertaining and some just do not cut it at all with me for a number of reasons. But Lev Parikian’s book is just that most wonderful read it is a riot of laughs and nostalgia. Starting in January 2016 this is his story of a lapsed birdwatcher aiming to see 200 birds in a year, that is REALLY seeing 200 birds in a year not ones he thinks he is seeing. Yes, Lev I have been there too.
When Lev was twelve-years-old he loved birds and birdwatching but like any keen young birder there is that urge to think you have seen a bird that in the cold light of day was not the bird you thought it was. Claiming to see a bird when actually you did not. But then after a few years and growing up the birding stopped and other things in life took over, like his love of music which in life became much more than an interest. Then of course there is cricket and girls. There is something uniquely different about the way Lev has gone about writing about his birding year. His absolute pleasure at discovering his love of the outdoors and his love of seeing and finding birds again really shines through. But there is still that target of wanting to see 200 birds in a full calendar year. Does Lev actually achieve his target?
Sometimes seeing something really very special is something that should be shared with someone close to you. You will experience that in this glorious read. Together with Lev we travel the length and breadth of this beautiful country seeking birds in their own natural habitat. From woods to estuary and the lowlands to the highlands and a barrel of laughs along the way.
What shines through for me is the love Lev has for his family and his music and that he has found the real beauty in nature again. It is a gift for each of us to enjoy and treasure. I just loved Why Birds Suddenly Disappear and it now takes pride of place along with the very best nature books in my library. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.
272 Pages.
My library is stuffed full of bird books and stories of that writers birding year, some are really good and entertaining and some just do not cut it at all with me for a number of reasons. But Lev Parikian’s book is just that most wonderful read it is a riot of laughs and nostalgia. Starting in January 2016 this is his story of a lapsed birdwatcher aiming to see 200 birds in a year, that is REALLY seeing 200 birds in a year not ones he thinks he is seeing. Yes, Lev I have been there too.
When Lev was twelve-years-old he loved birds and birdwatching but like any keen young birder there is that urge to think you have seen a bird that in the cold light of day was not the bird you thought it was. Claiming to see a bird when actually you did not. But then after a few years and growing up the birding stopped and other things in life took over, like his love of music which in life became much more than an interest. Then of course there is cricket and girls. There is something uniquely different about the way Lev has gone about writing about his birding year. His absolute pleasure at discovering his love of the outdoors and his love of seeing and finding birds again really shines through. But there is still that target of wanting to see 200 birds in a full calendar year. Does Lev actually achieve his target?
Sometimes seeing something really very special is something that should be shared with someone close to you. You will experience that in this glorious read. Together with Lev we travel the length and breadth of this beautiful country seeking birds in their own natural habitat. From woods to estuary and the lowlands to the highlands and a barrel of laughs along the way.
What shines through for me is the love Lev has for his family and his music and that he has found the real beauty in nature again. It is a gift for each of us to enjoy and treasure. I just loved Why Birds Suddenly Disappear and it now takes pride of place along with the very best nature books in my library. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.
272 Pages.
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May 24, 2018Review and interview on my blog, here: https://richlyevocative.net/2018/05/2...
Here’s an extract:
“Above all else, what I most enjoyed about reading the book was the sheer joy and genuine pleasure Parikian takes in the act of simply being out there, seeing these birds, whatever and wherever they are. There is of course an aim to the exercise, a numerical target to be hit, but that’s never really the point. In a Nan Shepherd sense, the lived experience and the moment are always more important than the desire for the peak of the mountain...”
Here’s an extract:
“Above all else, what I most enjoyed about reading the book was the sheer joy and genuine pleasure Parikian takes in the act of simply being out there, seeing these birds, whatever and wherever they are. There is of course an aim to the exercise, a numerical target to be hit, but that’s never really the point. In a Nan Shepherd sense, the lived experience and the moment are always more important than the desire for the peak of the mountain...”
September 4, 2018
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, it had laugh out loud moments and was a pleasure to read, I would like to read more of his books now. It has also spurred me into renewing my own list of birds spotted which was started 18 years ago.
June 3, 2018
This is a wonderful book. I follow the author on Twitter and that was how I heard about his Unbound project, which I contributed to.
It’s built around the revival of a childhood passion for birdwatching, and there are a lot of birds in it, but it’s also about music and families and growing up and lots of other things. It’s tender and warm and funny and educational and it’s really stuck with me in a way that I didn’t expect.
It’s built around the revival of a childhood passion for birdwatching, and there are a lot of birds in it, but it’s also about music and families and growing up and lots of other things. It’s tender and warm and funny and educational and it’s really stuck with me in a way that I didn’t expect.
August 11, 2019
Brilliant, Lev's observations often had coffee streaming down my nose, never a good look but one I'm sure he'd approve of. If you birdwatch, you'll love this. If you don't, you'll still love it. And then you'll join the RSPB and buy some binoculars.
August 20, 2023
Gripping in a way that probably only birders will understand and funny in a way the general public will get. It made me excited about going to find some birds and I enjoyed getting to know new species such as the "mule swat" and "boparscull".
June 2, 2018
Yes, this is a book about birds. But it is also a book about being human. It is about having a purpose in life, an interest shared with other people and the joy of making progress on that purpose. It is about how a purpose can become an obsession and the challenge of fitting that into everyday life. It covers curious brief encounters with humans as well as birds and our natural admiration of 'masters of their craft' regardless of whether that craft is birding or music. Reflective, self-deprecatingly funny and beautifully written, I thoroughly recommend it!
January 26, 2022
This book absolutely hit the spot for me. I do not call myself a bird watcher but over the last couple of years I’ve been striving to take more notice of the world around me. This book was quite inspirational and also very witty. The joy of looking at and for birds was celebrated. There was not a page I did not enjoy, I loved the insights into the author’s own life too and how it can be a tricky thing to balance hobbies and general life ( totally relatable as I am the same age group as the author). There was also a sense of excitement in the author’s quest to hit his own target. It’s definitely put me on a quest to look at the birds and armed with my Dad’s binoculars I’ve already clocked up 38 birds this year!
July 2, 2018
I love this book. It is smart, engaging and a joyful trip around a love for birding. It is very very funny and a perfect read in the midst of current dreadful news headlines and general goings-on.
July 20, 2018
A lovely book - very funny (wry, self-deprecating humour) and a great insight into how an obsession creeps up on you. But also full of life lessons. Part autobiographical (fascinating insights into the world of classical music and conductors) and part educational (about birds and birding). Unusual, interesting and well written, making it a real treat to read.
May 9, 2019
Another book where some bloke sets himself a year's challenge to do something or other. Another enjoyable book where someone with a fairly unusual job (conductor) chats eloquently about his life, current and past. There are the usual sorts of ups and downs you get whether it is orchids or birds or visitor attractions being chased down, but entertainingly and accessibly written and does not feel like a trivial read.
August 4, 2025
I first came across Lev Parikian via his excellent Six Things Substack, which includes his 100 Birds posts, which are clearly related to his book Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear?
As a youngster, Lev Parikian was an avid birdwatcher. He also told lies about his birdwatching success. One hundred and thirty species ticked off on his list? It was really more like sixty. When he turned fifty, he decided to go birdwatching again. He would aim to see two hundred British bird species in a year. And this time he wouldn't lie.
This book details the author's rediscovery of the joys and challenges of birdwatching. The narrative skillfully blends information with personal anecdote, plenty of humour and vivid descriptions such as this observation of a group of Canada Geese:
"A squadron of eight birds organising themselves into formation, calling to each other in fervid excitement, a frenzy of organised chaos coming together at the last second as the final goose slots into place. They churn the water and the air, sending their fellow waterfowl scuttling for cover.... I'm struck by the everyday beauty of the spectacle."
This sighting of a common bird is what really sets Lev off on his ambition to see 200 birds in Britain in one year. Two hundred seeming like a manageable target. So each chapter tells of a month's birdwatching, his visits to various bird reserves around Britain and his meetings with conservationists and bird experts. There's a list of birds seen that month at the end of each chapter so you can follow his progress as he goes along. He's not just ticking birds off a list though, he's learning about their behaviour, the evolution of flight and birdsong. As a conductor he's particularly interested in music, but admits to finding birdsong challenging (which I think is something most of us can relate to!).
His enthusiasm always shines through, he's always as delighted to see a common bird as a rarity and has little time for the type of birder who'll ignore a whole flock of lapwings in pursuit of a rarity. He also makes the point that a birder from the 1950s would wonder where all the birds have gone, lapwings nowadays are almost a rarity themselves.
One of my favourite parts of the book is where he visits Edinburgh and discovers the wonderful place for birds that is the Water of Leith (one of my favourite birding places).
"The Water of Leith is twenty-five miles long. The odds against there being a dipper on this short stretch must be ooh look, there's a dipper."
This is a very entertaining and informative book for anyone interested in birds, particularly anyone who grew up enjoying birdwatching and who has lost the habit. Reading this will definitely make you want to get back out into the field.
As a youngster, Lev Parikian was an avid birdwatcher. He also told lies about his birdwatching success. One hundred and thirty species ticked off on his list? It was really more like sixty. When he turned fifty, he decided to go birdwatching again. He would aim to see two hundred British bird species in a year. And this time he wouldn't lie.
This book details the author's rediscovery of the joys and challenges of birdwatching. The narrative skillfully blends information with personal anecdote, plenty of humour and vivid descriptions such as this observation of a group of Canada Geese:
"A squadron of eight birds organising themselves into formation, calling to each other in fervid excitement, a frenzy of organised chaos coming together at the last second as the final goose slots into place. They churn the water and the air, sending their fellow waterfowl scuttling for cover.... I'm struck by the everyday beauty of the spectacle."
This sighting of a common bird is what really sets Lev off on his ambition to see 200 birds in Britain in one year. Two hundred seeming like a manageable target. So each chapter tells of a month's birdwatching, his visits to various bird reserves around Britain and his meetings with conservationists and bird experts. There's a list of birds seen that month at the end of each chapter so you can follow his progress as he goes along. He's not just ticking birds off a list though, he's learning about their behaviour, the evolution of flight and birdsong. As a conductor he's particularly interested in music, but admits to finding birdsong challenging (which I think is something most of us can relate to!).
His enthusiasm always shines through, he's always as delighted to see a common bird as a rarity and has little time for the type of birder who'll ignore a whole flock of lapwings in pursuit of a rarity. He also makes the point that a birder from the 1950s would wonder where all the birds have gone, lapwings nowadays are almost a rarity themselves.
One of my favourite parts of the book is where he visits Edinburgh and discovers the wonderful place for birds that is the Water of Leith (one of my favourite birding places).
"The Water of Leith is twenty-five miles long. The odds against there being a dipper on this short stretch must be ooh look, there's a dipper."
This is a very entertaining and informative book for anyone interested in birds, particularly anyone who grew up enjoying birdwatching and who has lost the habit. Reading this will definitely make you want to get back out into the field.
May 25, 2018
The world of modern birding is a strange one. At the core it’s full of love and fascination and connection with all that’s sweet in life. But on the Outer Rim, in the Tatooines and Dantooines of the birding Republic, it’s not always so simple. I’ve met well-meaning birders obsessed with rarities and nothing else; who silently judge as you stare dumbstruck at a chaotic swathe of waders to find one shitty Med gull; who can’t believe you can’t identify that bar-tailed godwit. But these are the exceptions. 99% of birders are warm and welcoming people, happy to share scopes and point out those harder-to-spot species. The problem is that the birding community can seem exclusive without meaning to, and for those wanting to develop their knowledge alone, birding books tend to be either A is for Avocet types aimed at beginners, or 600-page encyclopaedias on treecreeper toes. Many are also written by extremely skilled birders who assume the reader already possesses a certain level of birding knowledge.
Cue Lev Parikian. Orchestral maestro, father, husband, wordsmith – and the Everyman of birding. Lev’s new book Why do Birds Suddenly Disappear? is a journey into birding from the outside in, and one that the majority of us can happily relate to. How many people loved watching wildlife when they were small, only to get distracted by growing up and booze and jobs and offspring? Suddenly you realise you haven’t taken the time to connect properly with nature for over a decade. This is exactly how I fell back in love with birding – or ‘birdwatching’ as I foolishly thought it was still called when I was 21. I’ve still got my childhood birding notebooks at home (complete with the compulsory first entry of ‘woodpigeon’), but over my teenage years I became much more interested in boys and parties, and it wasn’t until I finished my undergraduate degree that I started noticing the natural world again.
A passionate birder as a boy, Lev also fell victim to the distractions of growing up, until one day he decided to try and see 200 birds in one year – and this book was born. It’s an honest and self-aware narrative, exposing the fallacies of obsessive behaviour while at the same time, illuminating the magic of nature and the joy of drawing on the energy of other living creatures. From merlins in Northumberland to dippers in Edinburgh, traipsing for miles to see the slightest suggestion of a bird, Lev captures both the sublime and infuriating sides of birding with the storyteller’s charm he is so clearly gifted with.
I love birders. Hardcore, standing-in-the-rain, plumage-analysing birders that think about feathers from dawn to dusk. They are passionate, fascinating, and a great community to get involved with if you’re also bird-mad. The problem is – I’m not. If I have to give myself a label, I’m a naturalist. I love being outdoors in the trees listening to a nuthatch drip-drip-droop above my head, but I’m not bothered about actually seeing the bloody thing. And while many people today are disconnected from nature, I can’t help feeling that if this connection were reforged, they too would simply enjoy being outdoors rather than focusing all their energy on wing bar patterns. Birding can be an intimidating hobby for newcomers, but it’s narratives like this that will reassure and welcome them into the fray.
The beauty of Lev’s book is to remind us just how easy it is to reconnect with nature. You don’t need tick lists or money or expert knowledge – just a little patience and the alacrity to let the world surprise you. He also reminds us that it’s fine to start again, to pick up the threads of a passion from the past and begin to weave them back into our lives without the guilt of thinking you abandoned them in the first place. This is a warm, joyful and hilarious book; an uplifting read for those who have ever suffered at the hands of modern life, or for those who simply love the velvet symphony of a blackbird at dusk.
Cue Lev Parikian. Orchestral maestro, father, husband, wordsmith – and the Everyman of birding. Lev’s new book Why do Birds Suddenly Disappear? is a journey into birding from the outside in, and one that the majority of us can happily relate to. How many people loved watching wildlife when they were small, only to get distracted by growing up and booze and jobs and offspring? Suddenly you realise you haven’t taken the time to connect properly with nature for over a decade. This is exactly how I fell back in love with birding – or ‘birdwatching’ as I foolishly thought it was still called when I was 21. I’ve still got my childhood birding notebooks at home (complete with the compulsory first entry of ‘woodpigeon’), but over my teenage years I became much more interested in boys and parties, and it wasn’t until I finished my undergraduate degree that I started noticing the natural world again.
A passionate birder as a boy, Lev also fell victim to the distractions of growing up, until one day he decided to try and see 200 birds in one year – and this book was born. It’s an honest and self-aware narrative, exposing the fallacies of obsessive behaviour while at the same time, illuminating the magic of nature and the joy of drawing on the energy of other living creatures. From merlins in Northumberland to dippers in Edinburgh, traipsing for miles to see the slightest suggestion of a bird, Lev captures both the sublime and infuriating sides of birding with the storyteller’s charm he is so clearly gifted with.
I love birders. Hardcore, standing-in-the-rain, plumage-analysing birders that think about feathers from dawn to dusk. They are passionate, fascinating, and a great community to get involved with if you’re also bird-mad. The problem is – I’m not. If I have to give myself a label, I’m a naturalist. I love being outdoors in the trees listening to a nuthatch drip-drip-droop above my head, but I’m not bothered about actually seeing the bloody thing. And while many people today are disconnected from nature, I can’t help feeling that if this connection were reforged, they too would simply enjoy being outdoors rather than focusing all their energy on wing bar patterns. Birding can be an intimidating hobby for newcomers, but it’s narratives like this that will reassure and welcome them into the fray.
The beauty of Lev’s book is to remind us just how easy it is to reconnect with nature. You don’t need tick lists or money or expert knowledge – just a little patience and the alacrity to let the world surprise you. He also reminds us that it’s fine to start again, to pick up the threads of a passion from the past and begin to weave them back into our lives without the guilt of thinking you abandoned them in the first place. This is a warm, joyful and hilarious book; an uplifting read for those who have ever suffered at the hands of modern life, or for those who simply love the velvet symphony of a blackbird at dusk.
February 5, 2022
I so enjoyed this book! As someone who has recently gotten back into birding after a long break, I really appreciated so many things about this. It really is incredible how many birds you can see just by looking. I've already decided for this year that my goal is to see 100 species, which would be up by 17 from last year, I can't even imagine trying for 200.
There were so many times when I found myself laughing out loud or nodding along with the observations Parikian makes. The frustrations of the LBJs, the not quite good enough binoculars, feeling a bit out of your depth amongst the twitchers (which is a term I hadn't come across before, yet I can absolutely name several of them in the local area).
Reading this book has completely got me excited for more favourable weather so that I can get out and really start working on my list. As much as I love winter, I'm also really looking forward to spring (despite all the bugs that will come with it) so that I can get out and see the warblers in the woods beside my house.
I also learned what might be my new favourite word: gökotta. It is the Swedish word for the act of getting up early to listen to birdsong. Like, OMG, I can't believe there is a word for that! It is such a lovely and serene activity, I'm so glad that I now have a word for it.
I would have rated this slightly higher, except that early on in the book the author uses the term "yummy mummy" twice, and that just rubbed me the wrong way. Gross. There were also a couple other mildly sexist bits, though they were rare.
Overall, really enjoyed this and would recommend.
There were so many times when I found myself laughing out loud or nodding along with the observations Parikian makes. The frustrations of the LBJs, the not quite good enough binoculars, feeling a bit out of your depth amongst the twitchers (which is a term I hadn't come across before, yet I can absolutely name several of them in the local area).
Reading this book has completely got me excited for more favourable weather so that I can get out and really start working on my list. As much as I love winter, I'm also really looking forward to spring (despite all the bugs that will come with it) so that I can get out and see the warblers in the woods beside my house.
I also learned what might be my new favourite word: gökotta. It is the Swedish word for the act of getting up early to listen to birdsong. Like, OMG, I can't believe there is a word for that! It is such a lovely and serene activity, I'm so glad that I now have a word for it.
I would have rated this slightly higher, except that early on in the book the author uses the term "yummy mummy" twice, and that just rubbed me the wrong way. Gross. There were also a couple other mildly sexist bits, though they were rare.
Overall, really enjoyed this and would recommend.
May 22, 2020
This wonderful memoir follows conductor Lev Parikian's year of returning to birdwatching, having abandoned the hobby almost 40 years ealier. He sets himself an ambitious target of spotting 200 different types of birds in the UK over the following 12 months. The first few months are spent pleasantly enough, occasional trips to parks around London and out into the countryside, ticking off most of the UK's common birds. As the year goes on, however, Parikian becomes increasingly worried about meeting the target of 200 species, to the extent that by November and December he is increasingly dashing across the country following rumours of rarities, coming dangerously close to the "twitching" that he's tried all year to avoid.
The book is written with great humour and light-heartedness. Parikian is an engaging writer, and the interspersed tales of his family and his musical career are unfailingly interesting. The increasing desperation of his quest ratchets up the tension as the book nears is climax. Although Parikian never quite loses his love of the commoner species he has already ticked off, his behaviour becomes more and more deranged, and the results could stand as a great parable demonstrating the counterproductive nature of setting numerical targets for ourselves.
The book is written with great humour and light-heartedness. Parikian is an engaging writer, and the interspersed tales of his family and his musical career are unfailingly interesting. The increasing desperation of his quest ratchets up the tension as the book nears is climax. Although Parikian never quite loses his love of the commoner species he has already ticked off, his behaviour becomes more and more deranged, and the results could stand as a great parable demonstrating the counterproductive nature of setting numerical targets for ourselves.
June 24, 2022
I bought this for Mum and then borrowed it. I follow Parikian on Twitter which is how I heard of the book.
An entertaining, witty and thoughtful exploration of the author's unexpected reconnection with the birdwatching passion of his childhood/early teens, this is kind of a diary - a year of birdwatching with a goal (200 species) in mind. It's also about all sorts of other things - family, music (his day job's conducting, his dad was a famous violinist) fibs (he said he'd seen various birds as a kid but... maybe he didn't?) and the frustrations of seeking and recognising various birds, many of which are a) indistinguishable to the general viewer and b) elusive. So nothing much happens, I guess, although he travels about the country, often to places I've also visited, which is nice to read about, and spots or doesn't spot various birds. He writes well, and even the crickety bits are fun. I really enjoyed it.
An entertaining, witty and thoughtful exploration of the author's unexpected reconnection with the birdwatching passion of his childhood/early teens, this is kind of a diary - a year of birdwatching with a goal (200 species) in mind. It's also about all sorts of other things - family, music (his day job's conducting, his dad was a famous violinist) fibs (he said he'd seen various birds as a kid but... maybe he didn't?) and the frustrations of seeking and recognising various birds, many of which are a) indistinguishable to the general viewer and b) elusive. So nothing much happens, I guess, although he travels about the country, often to places I've also visited, which is nice to read about, and spots or doesn't spot various birds. He writes well, and even the crickety bits are fun. I really enjoyed it.
October 18, 2020
A lovely book. If, like me, you've re-kindled an interest in birding, this book is written by a kindred spirit. A classical music conductor by day, the author is a budding twitcher, or is that a birder? The book details his attempts to produce a single year list of sightings of individual birds. Lists in birding are about as common in train spotting and although I've been slow to the races on that count, this book might just encourage me to begin one of my own.
Light-hearted and well written. If you like books about nature, this is a good pick, although it is focused on birding in the UK.
Light-hearted and well written. If you like books about nature, this is a good pick, although it is focused on birding in the UK.
October 17, 2021
Terrific stuff
I like his humble approach to birding. I like his comments about the birds … not so reverential . Some bits are hilariously entertaining. I read his column in the guardian It’s quite poetical and uplifting. Birders are kind on the main. They have let me use their amazing photos for my Feisty Robin book. Artists too. I wish I possessed his way with words. Count me in Lev with your other books 😊🌟
I like his humble approach to birding. I like his comments about the birds … not so reverential . Some bits are hilariously entertaining. I read his column in the guardian It’s quite poetical and uplifting. Birders are kind on the main. They have let me use their amazing photos for my Feisty Robin book. Artists too. I wish I possessed his way with words. Count me in Lev with your other books 😊🌟
April 17, 2024
Well written, enjoyable, a good mix of stories, music and the author's life to prevent the birdwatching becoming boring. Doesn't quite reach the emotion I usually demand of a 4 star book (I am mean with stars) but was relaxing and gentle so I rounded up. I am in awe of the author's memory and ability both conducting and birdwatching, to hold so many things together in his mind, to know if a bird is on his tick list already and use so much information to identify birds exactly.
October 15, 2022
Simultaneously gentle and invigorating (and hilarious), this is a book I think I may return to again and again. Perhaps more than his vast knowledge of birds (I suspect he'd disagree with 'vast', but I'd disagree with him), and perhaps as much as his excellent writing, I admire Lev Parikian's self-discipline. I'm also very envious of it. On all fronts: lovely and something to aspire to!
April 16, 2023
We have recently come to enjoy birding and as such we are very much beginners. I really enjoyed this book and as a result have put a number of places on my list to visit but I don't think I will be setting myself any targets on number of birds to be seen. Maybe my target will be to go to places more often.
October 24, 2018
Treading a careful line between heart-breaking poignancy, keen-eyed observation of nature and laugh-out loud descriptions, this is a charming book with a twinkling sense of humour.
I have almost zero interest in birdwatching and I still loved it.
I have almost zero interest in birdwatching and I still loved it.
July 5, 2020
Lev Parikian decided to take up birdwatching again. He writes about his attempt to see 200 British birds in a year in an enjoyable and humourous manner.
While I know almost nothing about birds, classical music, or conducting I found this take of one man's quest to be highly enjoyable.
While I know almost nothing about birds, classical music, or conducting I found this take of one man's quest to be highly enjoyable.
December 23, 2025
As an amateur birder and amateur choir member, this delightful book brought so much joy that starting January 1, I will start my own Birding count. By first, I must do some research and listening of Sibelius. Bravo Lev! 👏👏👏
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