During my 20 years of birding, I have only modestly dabbled in bird photography (with the same camera from the 2000s I’ve had since school), so when beginning to read this new RSPB book by Mark Carwardine I was curious to see how well it would read to a beginner such as myself, and whether it would inspire me to join the growing photographer community and to properly partake in this popular pastime. I was pleased by Mark’s clear message that you don’t need to travel to far-flung and exotic locations to take effective photographs. Focusing on your garden birds can offer a great source of enjoyment as well as a much more convenient opportunity to practise and hone your photography skills. As long as you remember a small number of core principles, there is nothing stopping you from taking professional-quality snaps from your doorstep. To emphasise this, the photographs in the book primarily come from Mark’s garden, and I particularly liked his inclusion of purposely-taken ‘bad’ shots, to reinforce his tips on what not to do when starting off. The pages are full of useful tactics to enhance your photography, as well as subtle tricks to make your photographs look as though they were taken during the all-too-brief ‘golden hours’ of the day, when natural light is at its best for taking effective shots. There is also a section on taking impressive photographs by producing your very own ‘artificial rain’ - though admittedly after the winter we’ve just had I think I’ll be passing on that particular trick for the foreseeable future! This book is certainly beginner-friendly, with Mark’s writing style coming across as a friendly mentor giving tips by your side. For those of you who are completely new, however, I would perhaps recommend reading the glossary at the back before commencing the book, as there might be some words and phrases that could be unfamiliar to you. I was also somewhat surprised not to see any diagrams of camera apparatus or accessories, though of course we have our phones and/or laptops to quickly look these up. Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this book and would highly recommend it to those wishing to explore and develop their photography skills. I certainly came to better appreciate the skill of taking good-quality shots which, like all hobbies, requires lots of practice and patience to master. With Mark’s helpful pointers, you’ll certainly get a head start, and I look forward to having them in mind myself when I’ll next have my camera while enjoying my garden birds.

As the title suggests, this book is presented as an atlas of the wildlife on our ‘Atlantic Archipelago’ from roughly 1519 to 1772. The term ‘wildlife’ covers a range of vertebrate species (from mammals to fish) together with a scatter of predominantly marine invertebrates, which together cover 151 species or grouped taxa. The mapped records and accompanying text draw on a few dozen key regional texts, largely produced by gentleman naturalists, such as Thomas Browne’s Notes and Letters on the Natural History of Norfolk, supported by material from a significant number of other sources. While the species accounts provide some fascinating insight into the challenges of securing an identification for a species from these historical sources, it is difficult to see the value of the maps or the statistical treatment of what are typically very sparse data. In some cases the maps are misleading; that for Grayling, for example, shows records at river level by shading every county with similar topography which that river runs through. With so few records, it might have been better to use some of the 398 pages to provide more detail on the sites mentioned within the original records. The attempts to provide information on the trend since 1772 for each species also feel unwarranted, largely because most of these simply say ‘uncertain’ or ‘probably increased/decreased’. In some cases it is difficult to see how the stated trend since 1772 aligns with data from other sources. How valid, for example, is the use of ‘No change’ for Eel, when there is documented evidence of Eel fisheries from the Domesday Book through to the 19th century, and a decline of c.70% in numbers since the 1970s in our remaining fisheries? The book provides valuable insight into how individual species were identified, named and viewed during the period of interest. You learn, for example, that the spelling ‘capercalze’ for Capercaillie in older texts stems from printers not having access to a separate character to represent the Older Scottish letter ‘yogh’ (derived from a ‘g’ but pronounced like a ‘y’). At times, however, the text sections are frustrating, either lacking additional detail on the records mentioned or including unhelpful and unsupported throwaway comments like ‘... possibly with a small year-round population in the Norfolk wetlands.’ (White Stork) and ‘It may have been a common vagrant.’ (Eagle Owl). Overall, this book feels like a missed opportunity. The period in question is of interest and importance to those looking to re-establish lost species, and I feel that had more of the book been devoted to exploring the individual records and the nature of the sources, then it would have been far more helpful in this regard. A more rigorous academic treatment, much like the approach adopted by Michael Warren in his Birds in Medieval English Poetry, would have delivered a more useful book. The sloppy unsupported statements and attempts to apply a statistical rigour to such sparse data suggests that a stronger editorial hand might have helped to steer this book to a more helpful place. Further evidence of this comes from things like the Great Grey Shrike account being accompanied by an obvious Red-backed Shrike illustration, and the Wheatear by what appears to be a Jay. This is a shame, particularly given the author’s clear knowledge of the central subject, as evidenced by their peer-reviewed publication record.

Abdul Jamil Urfi’s latest work on his beloved Painted Storks takes us to India and provides an accessible but richly informative account of the lives of these globally Near Threatened birds. Urfi has a deep association with the wild colony of Painted Storks that breed within the Delhi Zoo, and the chapters draw on his years of careful observation of this interesting urban population. He also takes us to humid swamps, marshes and woodlands in the wider Indian countryside, where as well as Painted Storks, a cast of other long-legged birds; herons, ibises and other stork species, wade through the pages. Far from being a single species account, Urfi paints a picture of Indian wetlands and the wildlife that inhabit them through the eyes of storks and the people who work to understand and conserve them. The introduction alone shines with Urfi’s enthusiasm for the species and gives his rationale for choosing Painted Storks as a single species to study. Using the stork as an example, Urfi walks the reader through concepts in ornithology such as nesting behaviour, foraging ecology, and why some large waterbird species like storks form colonies. I particularly enjoyed the chapter on storks and people, which was not just limited to how Painted Storks are received and the folklore surrounding them in India but gives an Asian perspective of European stork folklore as well. Arguably the most important chapter is the last, devoted to conservation. Although Painted Storks appear to be adaptable birds that have in places gone along with increasing urbanisation, there remain many challenges to both the storks and the wetlands that they depend on. While the book is very nicely laid out, with high-quality pictures and illustrations, I had one small gripe; the text is peppered with interesting and informative boxes that present asides from the main body of the chapter, but sometimes these are quite long, and in at least one case a text box extends over three pages! That makes it pretty much a section in the book in its own right, and by the time I had finished reading it I had forgotten what I was reading before. This book mixes carefully conducted field research and intimate knowledge of single species’ ecology, with a wider appreciation for Indian natural history. The book serves as both a detailed account of the lives of Painted Storks, and also as an introduction to Indian wetland ecology that will appeal to professional ecologists and students in India, and those with an enthusiasm for Indian wildlife.

At first glance, this book might appear to be another volume exploring the declines of bird species, as a result of Anthropocene activity. But reading beyond the title, it soon becomes clear that the eponymous gulls are disappearing in name only. There is currently a great deal of debate surrounding the names of birds, much of which is focused on the controversial announcement by the American Ornithological Society that it will be renaming species which bear names honouring historical figures. Developments in taxonomy too have impacted on scientific and common names as orders, families and species become redefined and renamed in the wake of genetic insights. But bird names have long been the subject of change, for one reason or another, and many birders find this an engaging and fascinating topic. With so much interest in the nomenclature of birds, Ray Reedman’s latest book provides a timely addition to the genre. Personally, I love these kinds of books, and, like many birdwatchers, I have several titles on my shelves which explore and celebrate the etymology of bird names, both vernacular and scientific. The Vanishing Mew Gull seems to combine the best parts of these existing volumes, also adding to them, providing a very accessible, informative, and genuinely enjoyable read. The book follows modern taxonomic standard, starting with wildfowl and ending with buntings, followed by a small number of American blackbirds, warblers, and grosbeaks. Each family section is prefaced by a general overview of the origins of the scientific name of the group, followed by individual species accounts. Both scientific and common names are dealt with, and Reedman also treats us to occasional historical names and those found in folklore. All birds recorded in the Western Palearctic are covered, including such soon-to-be-renamed Nearctic vagrants as Wilson’s Warbler and Swainson’s Thrush. Both widespread and locally common feral species and frequent escapees are also included, for those who like that kind of thing. While one could sit and read this from cover to cover, for me the beauty of this book lies in its value as a source of frequent reference and as something to simply dip into. Opening the book at random pages, the reader is likely to be met with something that raises an eyebrow, or a smirk, or solicits an involuntary noise that implies “well I didn’t know that.” For example, I was rather charmed to discover that the name Linnet (and indeed the Linaria component of the bird’s scientific name) is derived from Linum or Flax, a plant whose seeds are favoured by the finch (the second part of its scientific name cannabina, refers similarly to hemp for the same reason). And I was greatly amused, perhaps childishly, to discover that Stercorarius (skuas) means ‘dung eater,’ after the birds’ proclivity for carrion and regurgitated food items. My only slight gripe was not in the written content but the actual book itself. The ivory-coloured pages and rather old-fashioned layout and monochrome images somehow lend the book a sense of ‘first draft’ rather than completed work. But, that minor aesthetic consideration aside, The Vanishing Mew Gull contains a wealth of information that is certain to educate and entertain anyone with an interest in birds and language.

The island of Hispaniola, comprised of the Dominican Republic and Haiti, is among the Caribbean’s most exciting birding destinations. With an excess of 300 species recorded, the island is home to an impressive 30+ endemics (more than any other Caribbean island) with all but one of those, Grey-crowned Palm-tanager, found in the accessible Dominican Republic. One of the most celebrated endemic birds of the region is the Palmchat, which is the sole representative of its genus and is the national bird of the Dominican Republic. This new slimmed-down update of the first edition, published back in 2007, is eminently more portable and it has also been revised and updated to reflect recent taxonomic changes. The authors have also opted to split two species yet to be formally acknowledged (Hispaniolan Kingbird and Hispaniolan Eleania) and use the less familiar, though to my mind more appropriate and evocative, Hispaniolan Highland-Tanager and Green-tailed Ground-Tanager for White-winged Warbler and Green-tailed Warbler, respectively. This book follows the standard layout of similar contemporary field guides, with colour plates facing the species text. Overall the illustrations by Dana Gardner are good, and more than adequate for identifying most birds in the field, while the concise text provides information on status, distribution, habits, vocalisation and identification. The introductory chapters are excellent, giving the reader and prospective visitor a sense of what to expect when birding on the island, plus highlights the value of eco-tourism to this relatively under-visited tropical gem. The authors also hope that the book will continue to inspire island residents to appreciate local bird life and work towards helping conserve the countries’ natural treasures. Reading this guide made me long to return to the Caribbean, and indeed to Hispaniola which I last visited in 2000, to soak up its many avian and cultural delights.

The result of two two-week trips by 19 artists, all members of the Society of Wildlife Artists (SWLA), this beautiful book documents the birds and landscapes of Denmark’s Waden Sea National Park. While the artistic styles vary, from pencil and watercolour to oil and scrap metal sculpture, the similarities of tones used – drawn from the places visited – create a unifying vision of the area’s rich wildlife and haunting presence. As powerful as the images is the richly woven text by Colin Williams, touching on the poetic at times in the way that it allows the reader to share the writer’s eye, rather than simply recounting an experience. For the most part the artworks cover species that will be familiar to UK readers, underlining that many of the birds that use the Wadden Sea – think wildfowl and waders – also haunt our shores. As you might expect from a book put together by Nye Hughes – the quietly creative designer – the layout flows gracefully, the respectful space around text and artworks helping to create a book that is deeply reflective and resonant in its sense of place.

Hamza Yassin is well-known for his work as a wildlife cameraman and presenter. He has worked on a whole host of television programmes, including David Attenborough’s Wild Isles, and has presented his own documentaries, in between winning Strictly Come Dancing of course. His new book, Be a Birder, is a truly joyful introduction to the world of birdwatching and never fails to spark enthusiasm in the reader. Although aimed at beginners, this book is excellent for any level of birdwatcher – I’ve certainly learned some new facts through reading it. This book is the perfect tool to take out and about on your first bird walks as it provides a taste of the species you might find. It’s split into sections by habitat, such as ‘Cities, Gardens and Parks’ or ‘Moors and Mountains’, and each section contains 8–10 species typical of that habitat, so wherever you are in the UK you can discover what’s around you. The species range from the common, like a Blackbird, to the unusual and exciting, like a Wryneck. The book provides an overview of each species, including information such as conservation status, things to look out for and how easy they are to spot. Hamza also describes each bird in three or four keywords which is a fun and easy way to help the reader remember them, such as a Redwing being a ‘visiting winter berry-fiend’ or a Green Woodpecker being a ‘large, loud laugher’! The wonderful thing about Hamza’s book is that it’s like carrying your own personal ornithologist around in your pocket. It goes far beyond the typical ID book and contains all the fun stories and anecdotes you’d pick up from going out on a walk with a birdwatcher. He has a fascinating fact for every species which makes you feel like you’re getting to know the birds personally. Knowing the size, weight and distribution of a bird is one thing, but it’s knowing that a Great Spotted Woodpecker has a bouncy flight pattern or that Long-tailed Tits like to hang out in big groups that really helps you spot them out in the wild! Through Be a Birder, Hamza has opened the door of birdwatching to anyone of any age. Both informative and fun, his passion and excitement shines through the text and is highly contagious, it’s hard not to catch the birding bug!

Back in 2002, one of my first jobs in conservation was being part of a four-person RSPB team that monitored and protected the nests of Stone-curlews in the Breckland area of Norfolk, and my love of Stone-curlews is still as strong today. The patch I was assigned to was an estate farmed by Chris Knights, which had a well-trained team of gamekeepers and farm staff who were very adept at finding and protecting the nests. This patch is the inspiration for his book, which looks at Chris’s lifelong interest in these fascinating birds. With their cryptic plumage and large yellow eyes, Stone-curlews are curious birds with very interesting behaviour that most people only get to see distantly in the heat haze at Breckland reserves such as Weeting Heath. As a photographer, Chris is fortunate to farm on a large estate which has a very healthy population of Stone-curlews, and so has easy access to these birds where he can erect hides close to nests and bring to life all aspects of the intimate life of these birds. The book is written with a real passion for both the species and the Breckland landscape. It is a real labour of love from over 60 years photographing them, with stunning photographs throughout which capture many postures and behaviours, often quite comical, that most people would never see, and really endear you to them. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading and reviewing this book, and it has brought back lovely memories of that summer spent with these special birds, and anyone with an interest in not just Stone-curlews but birds and wildlife in general will enjoy it.

Michael McCarthy is perhaps best known for his environmental journalism and nature writing. His skills were recognised by BTO back in 2011, when he was awarded the annual Dilys Breese Medal for outstanding communication of science to new audiences. Fergus The Silent marks a departure from his usual work, in that it is a foray into fiction. You have to admire the ambition of somebody whose first published fictional work is a 440-page novel! Given its length, you won’t be surprised to hear that Fergus covers a lot of ground, from the damage parents can inflict on their children, to toxic academic ambition, seabird conservation and a particularly tricky moral dilemma. The main plot revolves around Miles Bonnici and is set at the turn of the millennium. At the start of the book, we learn about Miles’ career trajectory to a fellowship at the ‘Niko Tinbergen Institute’ at Oxford University, having had a Nature front cover for a paper on extra-pair paternity in Guillemots breeding on the Pembrokeshire island of ‘Skarholm’ during his PhD. However, his interest in birds is purely as a means to surpass the career of his brilliant but unloving physicist father. Miles gets together with Jenny Pittaway, a New Zealander working in Oxford as she finds her way in the world after her own university studies. Miles proceeds to break her heart, but only realises why this (and the birds) matter when he’s sent to report on the effects of the Erika oil spill on the west coast of France by the ‘United Kingdon Offshore Conservation Agency’. The devastation he witnesses finally cuts through his ambition and exposes his soul, specifically when he finds the body of ‘Arty Bu-bu’, a Guillemot from Skarholm whose behaviour underpinned his famous Nature paper. We don’t meet the Fergus of the book’s title until the novel’s second half. The island of ‘Lanna’, the most remote in Britain and Ireland, is threatened with its own oil disaster when exploration starts taking place. Lanna has been closed since 1939, and no seabird surveys take place there. The data on its importance for seabirds could prevent licenses for drilling from being granted. However, Lanna’s seabirds are closely guarded by Fergus, the mysterious warden who spends every breeding season on the island and is weighed down by a secret about the wildlife there. Miles convinces Jenny to come with him to Lanna to survey the seabirds, where they discover Fergus’s secret and grapple with its implications. Since I could hardly precis the plot into less than two paragraphs (and even then I have stopped well short of ending to avoid any spoilers), you’ll realise that Fergus The Silent has many twists and turns, and we meet a large number of characters in a variety of places. I enjoyed working out which UK and European academic and seabirder luminaries inspired the various characters, and unsurprisingly, the author’s descriptions of the natural world and the damage human activity can inflict upon it are excellent. However, I was less convinced by the female characters in the book, who I found a little two-dimensional and shoehorned into traditional gender roles. I also felt like some parts of the plot could have moved along a little more quickly. I see there are some glowing reviews out there from some of the very same people I suspect might have partly inspired some of the characters. Despite my small misgivings, I did think Fergus The Silent was a page turner. So why not get hold of a copy and see what you think?