Why Animals Talk: The New Science of Animal Communication | Arik Kershenbaum | Book Review | Viking

 

[Review originally published on Bookmunch: View Post]

In the 1920s and ‘30s, Nobel Prize-winning Nico Tinbergen and Karl von Frisch began an investigation into the foraging habits of honeybees. The most important of these was the honeybee ‘dance’: von Frisch eventually succeeded in decoding this ‘language’, deducing that bees flew in a special pattern and performed specific movements upon finding nectar in a flower, helping to lead other bees to the nectar.

Their contributions to ethology – the science of animal behaviour – elevated the field into the popular consciousness, and helped lift the veil on human exceptionalism that was prevalent in all animal experiments until the 20th century.

Arik Kershenbaum’s new book, Why Animals Talk, is an in-depth exploration of animal communication, taking six case studies to investigate various components of language to discuss some fundamental questions. Before we even consider the why, we consider the fact: do animals talk? Is communication the same as language? And if so, do they communicate like we do? Do they have things to say beyond what we know?

Our tendency to anthropomorphise animals means we hope we can eventually just ‘translate’ animal language into ours. This type of thinking can lead us to genuinely believe dolphins are telepathic, or that chimpanzees simply prefer not to talk to us. In effect, what Kershenbaum highlights is that the various, distinct ways that animals organise their societies are all pillars of language, even if the concept is a vague one: ‘It is definitely not the case that dolphins don’t build machines because they don’t have a language. Rather, they don’t have a language because they don’t need to build machines. That is the point of this book.’

Interestingly, it turns out quite a lot of animals use syntax (or at the very least, their communication is organised by some kind of logic). Generally, it seems the development of language is more often than not governed by evolutionary logic and pressures: the more complex a society the animal lives in, the more requirements they have to communicate complex messages. Wolves howl for specific reasons (though one of these reasons is for pure pleasure and peer pressure, which I love); chimpanzees have an ability to conceal the truth.

The case studies included are surprising and varied. Some, we expect to be included, such as the chimpanzee or the dolphin. Others, like the wolf or the hyrax (a small animal not dissimilar in looks to the quokka) are perhaps more intriguing. Yet as one proceeds with the chapters, key similarities become apparent. This conclusion of the chapter on chimps could apply to any of them: ‘They have what they need: no more, no less. No matter how similar to us, their communication is not “like ours” – it’s precisely “like theirs”. As it should be.’

For the most part written with the casual reader in mind (except perhaps the final chapter on humans, which delves deep into linguistics), Kershenbaum provides more questions than answers – which I like to think is the best approach for any investigation into what he calls a ‘relatively young science’. Nevertheless, this idea is cemented: that language is a complex concept, and that we all communicate differently. The many questions raised demonstrate just how varied, exciting and complicated animal societies are, and while we as humans exist in our bubbles, hundreds of thousands of smaller, independent societies exist out there in jungles, on mountain tops, in forests and in oceans, almost completely unknown to us, existing and functioning in their own way.

Though it raises more questions than gives answers, Kershenbaum’s book is a great adventure in animal behaviour and linguistics. One mustn’t be disheartened: ‘We can still talk to animals, it’s within us,’ he writes. ‘It’s just a  different kind of talking from the one we think we know.’