The Story of Birds is just that – a chronological pass through the evolutionary history of birds – from their origins in the Jurassic, their diversification in the Cretaceous and explosion in the Tertiary. If The Story of Birds was a BTO Strategy Action Area, it would certainly be ‘Charting Change’. Steve Brusatte is presently one of the foremost palaeontologists working in the UK and has a skill in making this subject exciting and engaging. And he has history; this is the third in a series of books – all in a similar format – looking at the evolutionary history of a vertebrate group. First it was Dinosaurs (Brusatte’s particular area of expertise), then Mammals and now Birds. Whilst Dinosaurs and Birds being in separate books might give the impression that these are entirely separate groups, the central tenet and opening chapters of the book dispel any doubts you might have. Brusatte makes it abundantly clear that ‘Birds are dinosaurs’. That Blackbird pulling up worms in the park is the descendent of small, feathered Theropod dinosaurs. Indeed, and as an example of the personal and warm nature of Brusatte’s writing where stories of friends, colleagues and family are woven in throughout, Brusatte’s young son – when asked “what is your favourite dinosaur?” – replies “a penguin”. He has been well trained. And well trained you will feel when you read this book. After ‘Birds are dinosaurs’, one is taken through the origins of flight (chapter 2), the earliest bird groups (including the wonderfully named ‘Confusiornithids – chapter 3). Chapter 4 deals with the explosion of bird diversity and Chapters 7 and 8 – arguably the best – cover some truly remarkable birds; three metre tall, 700 kg ‘Demon Ducks’ and seabirds with a seven-metre wingspan and ‘false teeth’ just scratch the surface. The book ends with a nod to the troubled present (including BTO datasets) and a look to the future. There is little not to like about this book. It is meticulously researched, and anyone tempted to skip the ‘Notes’ section should think again – therein you will find the most up to date sources at the cutting edge of the subject. One small gripe I have surrounds the use of images. For a subject that is as much about relatedness as it is about the origin of bird-defining features, there is just one drawing of a family tree or ‘phylogeny’. The book could also have benefited from some high-quality colour plates, particularly given how some of the figures are some of the most important fossils ever discovered (the ‘Berlin specimen’ of Archaeopteryx no less). But perhaps this is a case of “ain’t broke, don’t fix it” – Brusatte’s other two books in the series do the same. On the subject of “ain’t broke”, the author is from Illinois, USA, and the language used is unashamedly American. If you don’t like your birds to be “awesome” and the evidence to be a “slam dunk”, then you might find this book a little grating. But if you can put that aside, you will be in for a real treat. As a former/failed palaeobiologist myself, I was really looking forward to reading The Story of Birds and it certainly didn’t disappoint. So much so, I have already started on another of Brusatte’s books: The Rise and Reign of the Mammals.

I spent just over a decade working at RSPB Lakenheath Fen in Suffolk, where our smallest falcon, the Merlin, overwinters. Birdwatchers used to come looking for them with high expectations. When people used to ask me for any tips for looking for this elusive species of falcon, I mostly used to tell them that by the time you have realised that you had been watching a hunting Merlin, it was long gone. Views of this species usually tend to be tantalisingly brief, so you had to be lucky to connect with one. This book provides a fascinating insight into a species that many birders based in the UK, including myself, probably don’t know too much about. Merlins are notoriously fearsome for their size, and will pursue their prey persistently in often low level displays of aerobatic mastery. If you are ever fortunate to encounter a perched bird, you can sometimes pass within a very short distance of it, as it glowers at you with disdain. What I enjoyed most about this book was how much of the content was drawn from in the field observations. This is especially impressive, given that monitoring such an elusive and mysterious raptor typically involves hour upon hour of watching a featureless and often birdless environment. One thing that fascinated me in particular was the section that listed prey items of Merlin. I knew that they mainly caught small birds in flight, especially larks and pipits in the UK. However, I didn’t know that they also fed on invertebrates, such as dragonflies. This is a behaviour that I have always associated more with the larger Hobby. Whilst on the subject of prey, another interesting, if challenging to read at times section, was about how frequently Merlins actually find themselves as prey for larger birds of prey. This includes species such as Peregrines, Hen Harriers, Goshawks and even Golden Eagles. This serves as a reminder that nature is often spectacular, but also can be brutal by human standards. Another section that fascinated me was about the link between Merlins and humans. Falconry is a well known pastime, and the Merlin was often known as the ‘Lady’s Falcon.’ Whilst this is perhaps not the most politically correct thing to say by today’s standards, it refers to the fact that ladies often flew Merlins, due to their small size. Regardless of their diminutive stature, I imagine it took someone of considerable experience to fly a Merlin, if watching one hunt is anything to go by, regardless of their sex! This informative book is mainly text, but there are also some high quality and images included in it. If you would like to find out more about one of the most mysterious bird species that occurs regularly in the UK, I would recommend giving this a read.

The premise of The Waterlands is following a raindrop from source to sea. However, that synopsis does the book, which takes the reader on a journey through different English and Scottish wetland landscapes (with various international examples also discussed in passing), a great disservice. The book has nine main chapters, each beginning with a short paragraph updating the reader on the fortunes of the raindrop, before diving into a comprehensive account of various waterlands, from the Flow Country in the far north to the River Test and other chalk streams in the south. Author Stephen Rutt, who explains his own relationship with water is complex following an upsetting early memory of falling into the River Cam, charts each waterscape’s creation long ago in deep geological time, and brings them bang up to date with the threats they face from pollution, over-abstraction, invasive species and climate change. We learn about the cultural value of various waterways, and how they have been used and abused by humans throughout history. At the end of each chapter, there is a brief dreamlike interlude of immersive nature writing, catapulting the reader into a water world moment. The book was completely engrossing, and I got caught up in the plight of each location. I found myself cheering on the restoration of Lakenheath Fen, the rescue of the Flow Country from the “arrogant power” of those who wanted to use it for economic gain, and I felt particularly indignant on behalf of the River Clyde and “the chemical hell” of its water. Stephen Rutt is a birdwatcher, and that shines through in his vivid depictions of his watery avian encounters. Overall, I found The Waterlands a beautiful and thought-provoking read – highly recommended.

The Physics of Birds & Birding uses birds as examples to explain how fundamental principles of physics shape what we see and hear. The book covers a wide range of topics, including classical mechanics (forces and motions), cell physiology (protein pumps), electromagnetic fields, waves and sound, colour (including the molecular origins of pigments), vision (how birds’ visual systems differ from ours) and aerodynamics of flight. It then connects these ideas to birding equipment such as binoculars and cameras, explaining the optics behind magnification, brightness, and resolution. It also covers acoustic recorders, showing how sound is captured, processed, and interpreted. As a result, this book will appeal most to scientifically-minded readers, as the links to birds are often quite tangential. That said, the final two chapters – on thermoregulation and flight – are more explicitly about birds, and in a field as vast and intensively studied as avian flight, the level of detail is pitched about right. Less successfully, some of the information elsewhere in the book is now dated. For example, the account of how raptors locate and target prey relies on earlier studies that have since been superseded, including ideas about spiral flight paths and the use of ultraviolet cues from vole trails. This material would have benefited from a brief update – something that could easily have been achieved with a modest review of more recent literature. Overall, the book treats birding as a starting point for exploring physics, rather than as a practical guide to observing birds in the field, and in doing so it effectively reveals the deeper connections that underpin the natural world. If you are comfortable with physics driving the narrative, then you will find this book an engaging read – it’s full of insights that will deepen a birder’s understanding and sense of wonder about the world around them.

South-west Scotland is a region close to my heart; for much of my life it was little more than an hour’s drive away, and I would regularly head to its coasts, woodlands, and hills in search of relative peace, wildlife, and a sense of ‘wildness’. Now, living as I do in the flatlands of Norfolk, the rolling vistas of south-west Scotland seem like another world altogether. Ian Carter, by contrast, moved from the Cambridgeshire Fens to Devon, before retiring north to Galloway in 2022. A professional ornithologist of many years, his desire to find a place where nature was somehow less impacted by human presence drew him to this rather remote corner of the UK. This is a book not just about the often-spectacular wildlife of this nature-rich area, but also about the sheer joy of discovering a new place and how its varied habitats came to be. Ian Carter writes in the truly authentic voice of one who not only really understands nature but is constantly and positively overjoyed and awed by it. An ornithologist he may be, but he is also a skilled amateur enthusiast in all disciplines of natural history, from botany to geology. Human history looms large too, as he discusses the impacts of our presence on the land, from ancient to modern day. Despite much evidence of the hand of human intervention, Carter is still able to find and define the appeal of a less-manicured landscape when he writes of Galloway, “There may be no wilderness left, but there is ‘wildness’ here in abundance.” Few places on these islands can claim such distinction. The author’s joy in getting out and exploring, observing, and appreciating his new backyard oozes from the pages, and as I joined him on each glen, and beside every burn, I felt as though I was in the company of a great teacher, constantly learning something new. There is of course the ever-present reminder that our lands are not in as good a shape as they could be, for nature at least. But that doesn’t stop Carter from finding plenty to enthuse about. He sums this up neatly when he writes, “These days, if you are an ornithologist who aspires to learn the names of a few more wild flowers, if you enjoy walking through meadows where grasshoppers leap up from your feet with every step, if you want to watch myriad butterflies and bees skip from one plant to the next, or if you habitually snack on edible leaves or mushrooms as you walk, then it is to one of these small surviving scraps of land that you must come.” Somewhat sandwiched between the double allure of the Lake District and the vast, rugged and classic Highland and Island landscapes to the north, Dumfries and Galloway is routinely overlooked by birders from south of the border. This corner of Scotland certainly deserves more attention, and this book will surely encourage more people to investigate its jagged beauty.

It’s always a thrill to see a Crossbill! I’ll never forget my first sighting of Common Crossbill (Loxia curvirostra), the species that we see most regularly in the UK. It was at Lawson’s Clump in Wareham Forest, Dorset. A flock of around 50 announced their presence with their loud, excitable calls, and they landed at the top of a tall conifer tree. There was a mixture of raspberry red males and bottle green females. It was fascinating to watch them as they fed on seeds from the conifer cones that this fascinating family of birds so relies upon. So, onto this book! In a nutshell (or perhaps in this case, a conifer cone shell, if there is such a thing!) it covers in detail how the different species of crossbill around the world have adapted to feeding on the type of conifer cone that it feeds on. Of course, in order to do this, crossbills are the only species of finches that have crossed mandibles, hence the name. This book explains why having a crossed mandible helps these sturdy finches to prise apart conifer cones in order to feed on the seeds within them. To help illustrate this point, I remember a few years ago when there was a significant irruption of crossbills to the UK. As well as good numbers of Common Crossbills in Thetford Forest near where I was living at the time, there were also small numbers of the more scarce Parrot Crossbill (L. pytyopsittacus) and Two-barred Crossbill (L. leucoptera). This was a real treat, as it provided the rare opportunity to study these two species. Although I didn’t think too much of it at the time, in comparison to Common Crossbill, the ‘Parrots’ had larger beaks and the ‘Two-barreds’ had smaller beaks. Now that I have read this book, I have a better understanding of why this is likely to be! To put it very simply, there are many different types of conifer trees across Europe. Therefore, different species of crossbills have adapted so that their beaks are the right shape and size to feed on their favourite type of conifer cones! This book is predominantly text, but there are several high quality images in it. If you are interested in finding out more about how crossbills, and other species for that matter, have adapted over the years to feed on their favourite foods, you need to read this book! As many of you will know, finches are a very well studied group of birds, mainly in relation to how they have evolved to fit their specific ecological niche. This book is a very welcome addition to that dynasty of research, as crossbills are such fascinating birds!

Clinging to the Edge is the story of one breeding season at the Beacon Ponds Little Tern colony on the North Sea coast in East Yorkshire. It offers an intimate portrait of these endangered birds, covering everything from foraging and breeding to predators and conservation. The book is written from one person’s perspective, that of Richard Boon who, as Chair of the Beacon Ponds Little Tern Project Management Committee, a volunteer for Spurn Observatory Trust as well as the RSPB and BTO, is best placed to write this 'how-to’ manual and insight in the sharp end of species conservation. Richard’s talent for writing anecdotes about the trials and tribulations of the colony and the detail that is given to the day-to-day monitoring, maintenance of electric fences and protecting the birds from predators such as grass snakes and otters, makes it a charming read. At 152 pages, the book is concise, comprised of monthly accounts spanning from April to August of the 2022 season. You gain a real sense of the area and the colony over this time frame and feel as though you are there, walking across the “ripples, bowls and ridges” of the beach near Spurn Point. This colony was first mentioned in text in John Cordeaux’s 1872 treatise Birds of the Humber District and so Clinging to the Edge continues a tradition of charting the journey of the Beacon Ponds colony. And with Little Tern numbers going the way of so many other species and declining in the UK, putting this knowledge to paper for prosperity is more important now than ever.

Robin Prytherch: A Life with Buzzards is a charming anthology of Buzzard scenes sketched by Robin Prytherch and sent out by him to his friends as Christmas cards between 1995 and 2020. These 26 drawings (copied from pen-and-ink drawings or pencil sketches) have been compiled and reproduced here for the first time, along with each year’s accompanying text on the reverse noting Robin’s observations about the single bird, pair, or family unit depicted in each scene. Robin Prytherch (1939–2021) is a well-known name synonymous with Buzzards, having spent over 40 years observing them in a small area of North Somerset, close to his home in Bristol. Although admittedly not a common Christmas card theme, the depth of his knowledge and understanding combined with the hand of a talented artist produced a set of drawings in which the individual personalities of the birds jump off the page. The species’ typical wide variation in plumage is also faithfully depicted, making it easy to match each image to the detailed explanatory description. Watching the birds over multiple decades enabled Robin to build up unparalleled view into their lives and behaviours. The sketches record their changing relationships, territories, fortunes and misfortunes: from Tess, the devoted mother, fledging a staggering 43 chicks over her lifetime, to Gos and his bigamous relationship spanning multiple years. The affection with which Robin held these birds is apparent on every page, making this short book a pleasant and informative read, giving both illustrated and written insight from an expert with real comprehension of Buzzard behaviour.

Dr Fionn Ó Marcaigh is a zoologist from Dublin, who received his PhD from Trinity College in 2023 for a thesis on the evolution of birds on islands. Encounters with Corvids is his first published book. Corvids are a much-maligned family of birds that rarely get much positive attention, and I must admit that I’ve never really looked at them myself in any detail before now. This book sets out to change the public perception of ‘crows’ and the author’s empathy towards the seven species of corvids that are found on the island of Ireland is clear, if anthropomorphic at times. Each chapter is superbly illustrated and devoted to a different species, interwoven with a mix of the author’s personal experiences, associated Irish folklore and some fascinating facts about each species. Who would have thought that the Magpie arrived in Ireland only in the late 17th century, given how common and widespread they are now, or that one of the few endemic taxa in Ireland is the subspecies Irish Jay? Corvids also feature often in Irish mythology, notably the Mórrígan (from the Irish ‘Great Queen’), a Celtic goddess of war, who could take the form of a Crow. This stemmed from these corvids’ habit of feeding on human remains left at battlefields, leading them to be associated with warfare. The common theme throughout the book is that corvids are intelligent birds that have adapted so well to the changing landscape of Ireland. Their ability to prosper across intensively managed farmland has led to Ireland having some of the highest densities of Magpie and Hooded Crow in Europe. The author encourages us to celebrate their success rather than treat them unfairly. Perhaps he has a point.