Tim Birkhead will need little introduction to the majority of BTO News readers, as a well-known academic, pre-eminent ornithologist and writer of multiple books on birds, his reputation is far reaching. 

As a seabird specialist, and self-confessed guillemot obsessive, it should come as no surprise that he has chosen to delve in to the life, and especially the afterlife, of the imposing Great Auk in this latest publication.

I was always rather intrigued by the Great Auk. Of all extinct creatures it seemed somehow more tangible. Unlike Dodo, or Moa, or any number of wonderous species laid waste by humans in the last few centuries, this large monochromatic seabird was foremost a British bird. And having grown up birdwatching around Morecambe Bay, I had a very clear, mental picture of what one would look like, bobbing around on the grey surf, just offshore. As a child I was convinced that there must still be some small undiscovered colony somewhere in the vast north …

Having read this book, and been fortunate enough to host a talk with Tim recently, I have lost none of my wonder for this spectacular bird, though I sadly gave up on my dreams of its rediscovery decades ago.

The heartbreaking tale of greed and exploitation that runs through this sorry story makes for pretty grim reading. Birkhead excels as a communicator of science; his style is as accessible as it is informative, and his personality is evident on every page. Along with plenty of detail about the lives of Great Auks and their desperate demise, the book looks at depth into the intrigue and at times bizarre circumstances surrounding the post-extinction history of the birds’ physical remains.

The poor flightless auk was mercilessly persecuted, and even once extirpated the few remaining eggs, skins and other remains became desirable trinkets; items for the wealthy, and status-driven collectors. Stuffed specimens, eggs and bones became the currency of rich ornithologists (none of whom ever saw a living specimen) the world over. The few existing ‘artefacts’ of Great Auk were traded, bought, sold, and indeed lost. To many, the bird took on greater significance in death, than in life.

With many seabird populations currently declining at a worrying rate, was the Great Auk simply the first of these remarkable birds to disappear from our seas? The rapid and brutal effect of human exploitation on the large flightless alcid may have been less subtle than our impact is today on Guillemots, Razorbills and Puffins, but are we collectively just as guilty as our greedy ancestors?

Reviewed by

Jon Carter