Crow Country | Mark Cocker | Book Review | Jonathan Cape | Vintage | Nature Writing

 

I picked up my copy of Crow Country by Mark Cocker in an antiques shop in Brighton while there house sitting back in October. Inside, I found two publicity clippings about the book, as well as an old, green (!) leather bookmark from Salzburg. It added something to the magic of the copy I held – noting also that the edition was bound in see-through plastic to protect the dustjacket. It makes one wonder, if someone put this much thought into preserving the book and its marks in the press, why part with it? And to whom did my copy belong?

Besides the many physical treasures inside, this turned out to be a book genuinely worth preserving. I actually haven't read 'nature' books for a while. I don't know if it's me being out of the loop, or the sheer number of new nature books appearing at all times. Perhaps it is also due to being distracted by easy fiction during my injury and also the 60+ books on the backlist of Notting Hill Editions that I want to get through. Point being, this was a refreshing and exciting return to the genre.

'Watching those rooks in their planetary-like revolutions above the trees stirred the very foundations of my birding self, and life has never been quite the same since.'

And so begins an adventure into the secret life of rooks: Mark Cocker is an avid birder and naturalist who, having moved into the vicinity of the Yare Valley, becomes fascinated with the huge rookeries surrounding his home. Day by day, for over six years, he watches the rooks gather at dusk to roost, and separate again in the morning. He looks at them from all angles: that of the naturalist, the folklorist, the curious tourist, the insider. He gets to know the rooks intimately, becomes attuned to their daily habits, and witnesses some truly amazing sights – such as thousands of rooks coming together overhead.

The joy of this book is in the applying of that most enjoyable traditions of nature writing: getting to know one's immediate surroundings inside out. Cocker writes beautifully about the history of the Yare, the green fields that were once sea, painting film-like visual images of sediment settling and becoming flint, the disappearence of the water, the appearance of the arable fields that are so flat, so empty – yet he finds enjoyment in them. This is something we can all take away from reading Crow Country: that no area is too grey, too urban, too empty to completely lack interest. Nature always finds a way, be it in a mushroom growing on a city bin, an owl hooting outside my window on a busy road, or pigeons preening high up in the trees above the bustle (all of which I've recently had the pleasure to notice and enjoy, thanks to this book).

And yes, rooks: another family of birds that gets overlooked due to overfamiliarity, like the poor pigeons I always feel the need to defend from being deemed pests. 'Don't be put off by any sense of familiarity,' Cocker writes. 'Rooks are enveloped in a glorious sky-cloak of mystery. They're not what you think they are.' And as you turn the pages, hundreds of mysteries unfold about these beautiful, black birds. (Though admittedly, I still couldn't tell a jackdaw from a rook if I saw one.)

I hope you've noticed 'sky-cloak of mystery', or enjoy his description of a robin as 'a tiny breeze-ruffled brook of notes'. Cocker takes special care with his writing, carving words until they're shaped just so, without ever tipping into the cliché. To keep doing so for over 200 pages is an art form, and to read him is pure delight. It isn't all sentimental descriptions either: he presents the perfect combination of personal reflection and extensive reference work, so that one learns and enjoys simultaneously.

'Don't be put off by any sense of familiarity. Rooks are enveloped in a glorious sky-cloak of mystery. They're not what you think they are.' 

One of the highlights of the book for me is the penultimate chapter that is an exploration of curiosity. Cocker makes a case, a plea for passion, questioning why cool detachment is the norm, and why we single out and ridicule those with a dedicated passion for something (be it 'rooking', acting, the Beatles or any other obsession). He argues that to be curious, to investigate is an essential part of being human, and biophilia – a love of life or living things – can give meaning to life when none seems obvious. It's nice to see that in some corners of the world, emotion and feeling are still valued. It's what makes us human, isn't it?

Personally, Crow Country didn't just bring back joy in reading good nature writing: it also brought back my curiosity. Having moved to a new home recently, I feel inspired to get out and get to know the birds and the trees and forest walks that are on my doorstep. It makes me want to witness the natural wonder of a rookery's dusk gathering, falling silent before flying up again and eventually settling together in the depths of the trees. I'm even listening out for my local rooks and jackdaws now, hoping I can follow them one of these days to their evening resting place.

Treasures found in Crow Country