The best books for communing, joyfully and respectfully, with wild animals

Reading Craig Child’s encounters with wild animals made me feel closer to the animals where I live. I have also had intriguing and potent experiences with ravens and mountain lions, and his descriptions brought back these powerful memories.

So many of us resonate with the wildlife winding through our lives—secretly passing through our gardens and backyards, on the trails we walk in national forests, or in the city parks where we picnic. I resonated, certainly, with this author’s reverence and awe toward nature, as well as his lively prose and sense of fun and self-deprecation.

I listened to this book with increasing amazement, chapter after chapter of beautiful prose and a compelling story. More and more, I began to understand what being an animal in the wild might feel like, particularly the vulnerable state of being frightened, cold, hungry, ill, and desperate to survive.

I have lived some forty years in rural New Mexico, and my own observations confirm that life can be hard for any wild animal—violent and short. To see this told from the perspective of a young girl was breathtaking. I loved this character, with her innate spirituality and growing understanding of the beauty and mystery of her existence. 

As a child growing up in apartments in Phoenix, Arizona—usually blessed with a small patch of Bermuda grass and a small, highly chlorinated swimming pool—I loved reading stories about wild animals and wilderness survival. This is an absolutely wonderful tale about two young girls surviving a flood and being raised by Tasmanian tigers (also known as Tasmanian wolves) in nineteenth-century Australia.

It’s strangely believable and also deeply poignant. I listened to this as I went running on the trails and dirt roads where I live today, close to the Gila National Wilderness in southern New Mexico. I felt the presence of those now-extinct animals!

And I enjoyed learning about the life of this young self-identified “queer mixed race” author, navigating their racial and sexual identity in America today, as much as I enjoyed learning about the animals that they were writing about.

Imbler twines the two in an acknowledgment that we humans are, in fact, twined with the natural world. Her metaphors that link human communities with marine communities, or the predatory “Bobbit” worm with the story of Lorena Bobbit, are engaging and revealing. 

I read this children’s classic as an adult and loved it for the many reasons that both adults and children love this book: the characters, the adventures, and the deep satisfaction of imagining oneself as an animal that is not a human animal. For me, especially, the entrance into the world of European rabbits was extraordinary.

Where I live, we have desert cottontails and black-tailed jackrabbits (a species of hare), but our lagomorphs do not live in warrens or social groups. This is a story you can give yourself up to and live in, forgetting your own life and daily problems, as I often did when I was a child reading. So, there was also that return to this transcendental experience.