The best books to open your eyes to wildlife

Goldfarb’s tribute to the beaver offers a shining example of how to turn an animal’s image around. I will never think of the furry rodent with orange teeth the same again.

Beavers play countless roles in keeping ecosystems healthy. They create insect habitats, shelter endangered salmon, recharge aquifers, and strain ash out of creeks after forest fires. I gained a new appreciation for how the beaver’s engineering prowess makes river systems tick.

By carefully mixing natural history with entertaining personal encounters, Goldfarb informed me and made me laugh. These days, when I see evidence of a beaver on a walk beside a river, I cheer.

How can you not already love these underwater giants? But I didn’t know much about them before reading Gigg’s love letter to our undersea cousins. They live by breathing air and giving birth like we do, but most of their lives takes place in a hidden, watery world.

The horror our species inflicted on whales during commercial whaling became more repulsive as Giggs uncovered the layers of whales’ complexity and sociality. I learned that arthritis sufferers in the nineteenth century would bathe in holes cut into whale carcasses for their curative powers. I also tried to imagine an animal with blood vessels big enough for a child to crawl through and a heartbeat that can be heard through the water for over a mile. 

Wildlife recoveries in my native Britain are rare. It’s one of the most nature-depleted countries in Europe. But boar are back, tearing up the forest floor, spooking dog walkers, and adding the sort of vibrancy to a landscape that only a wild mammal can provide.

I loved hearing how the English have been shaken from their cultural slumbers by a smart, social, and tough animal. This book makes you think about the barriers to change and the pioneers leading the way. The writing is beautiful. I turned down dozens of pages to return later to replay the music of Lyons’ sentences.

Every book should teach you a few new words. This one certainly did. “Wild boar,” says Lyons, “seem to move through the forest with the force of a river in constant spate.” 

I knew, like most people, that pet dogs are descended from wild wolves. But when do you get to see this natural history play out in front of your eyes?

Romeo, a wild wolf that spent winters on a frozen lake at the foot of the Mendenhall Glacier, gave the skiers and dog-walkers of Juneau, Alaska, a lesson in the intelligence of our wild brethren. I marveled at Romeo’s gentle playfulness. I admired the wisdom that prevented him from getting too close to people, preferring to play with the pooches that people let off their leashes.

Jans’ book reveals how authorities struggled to know what to do with this animal that moved so easily back and forth between the wild and the civilized. Romeo’s end provides plenty of reason for reflection.

We are such a visual species that it is easy to forget how the other senses contribute to the colorful world we share. Moore’s elegant account of the sounds that rumple the aether through which we move opened my eyes (and especially my ears).

Moore is known for her ability to wrap beautiful words around important concepts. Like me, she is trained as a philosopher. Her blend of poetry and insightfulness is fully displayed in this rare homily for nature’s sounds.

Moore worries about their loss as the noise of industry drowns out nature’s own voice. But I would read a chapter before bed each day and drift off to sleep accompanied by lullabies sung by the remarkable kin who share our world.