Bird Watching — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Birds

Authors: Selous, Edmund, 1857-1934, Smit, Joseph, 1836-1929 [Illustrator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2015 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Birds; Bird watching Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 106,151

Reading time 462 min

Text sections 12

For Bird Watching — A Reader’s Guide, the stored edition analysis reports 106,151 words, 7 hr 42 min estimated reading time, and 12 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 31.3 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Birds,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #50175

Edmund Selous's 1901 field observations, recorded in real-time, focus on bird behavior with a precise, self-aware narrative voice. The author cautions that his statements reflect only what he has witnessed, not general habits. The text includes detailed scenes of guillemot chick feeding and affectionate interactions among paired birds.

Editorial Edition Score 4.9/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
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Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg50175

Read the Text

ey had been quite dull and listless before, but as soon as it fell they spread themselves over the plateau, and the dancing began. It was not only when the birds threw up their wings and, as one may say, let themselves go, that they seemed excited. The constant quick running and stopping whilst the wings were folded appeared to me to be a part--the less excited part--of the general emotion out of which the sudden frenzies arose. There was also the usual vocal accompaniment. The wailing note went up, and was caught and repeated from one part to another at greater or lesser intervals, the whole ending in flight as before."

When I first saw these dances I thought that they arose out of the excitement of the chase--that chase of moths or other insects flying low over the ground which I have noticed--that they were hunting-dances, in fact. I thought the motions of the wings were to beat down the escaping quarry, and I confounded the little springs and leaps into the air, arising out of the dance and being a part of it, with those other ones made with a snap and an object not to be mistaken; but I soon discovered my error. Insect-hunting is only indulged in occasionally, when a wandering moth or so happens to fly by. The general hunt which I have described was incident, I think, to an unusually large number of insects in the air over the warrens, by which not only a band of starlings--as before mentioned--was attracted, but, afterwards, swallows and martins. On such occasions, dancing might conceivably grow out of the excitement of the chase, so as to appear a part of it, but though the two forms of excitement may sometimes intermingle, the tendency would probably be for the one to diminish and interfere with the other. At any rate, almost every dance which I have witnessed has been a dance pure and simple.

What, then, is the meaning of this dancing, of these strange little sudden gusts of excitement arising each day at about the same time and lasting till the birds fly away? We have here a social display as distinct from a nuptial or sexual one, for it is in the autumn that these assemblages of the great plovers take place, after the breeding is all over; the deportment of the courting or paired birds towards each other--their nuptial antics--is of a different character. With birds, as with men, all outward action must be the outcome of some mental state. What kind of mental excitement is it which causes the stone-curlews to behave every evening in this mad, frantic way? I believe that it is one of expectancy and making ready, that these odd antics--the mad running and leaping and waving of the wings--give expression to the anticipation of going and desire to be gone which begins to possess the birds as evening falls. They are the prelude to, and they end in, flight. The two, in fact, merge into each other, for short flights grow out of the tumblings over the ground, and it is impossible to say when one of these may not be continued into the full flight of departure. They are a part of the dance, and, as such, the birds may almost be said to dance off. Surely in actions which lead directly up to any event there must be an idea, an anticipation of it, nor can the idea of departure exist in a bird's mind (hardly, perhaps, in a man's) except in connection with what it is departing for--food, namely, in this case, a banquet. So when I say that these birds "think of the joys of the night" need this be merely a figure? May it not be true that they do so and dance forth each night, to their joy?

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Edmund Selous opens Bird Watching with a careful disclaimer: his observations are his own, and any remark that a bird acts in a certain way means only that he has seen it do so on one or more occasions. This self-imposed limitation shapes the entire work, giving it the feel of a field notebook rather than a general treatise. The prose is immediate—notes were made during or just after each event—and the voice is that of a patient, curious watcher who is unafraid to admit uncertainty. In the guillemot passage, for instance, he describes a chick being fed a sand-eel, noting that he cannot quite see whether the fish is dropped or placed in the bill. Such moments of honest hesitation lend credibility to the detailed scenes he does capture.

A Self-Conscious Observer

Selous’s preface establishes a distinctive narrative stance. He writes that it is often difficult to avoid making general statements, but he wishes it understood that his remarks are always particular: “a remark that any bird acts in such or such a way means, merely, that I have, on one or more occasions, seen it do so.” This epistemological caution is not merely a disclaimer; it permeates the prose. When describing guillemots on a ledge, he notes that the number of birds “will be found to be approximately the same” each time they are counted—a phrasing that reflects repeated, verifiable observation rather than a claim about fixed behavior. Similarly, he remarks on the disparity in laying times among puffins, adding “so far as I have been able to observe,” a qualifier that keeps the statement anchored to his own experience. The result is a voice that feels both authoritative and humble, inviting readers to trust the details precisely because the author acknowledges the limits of his knowledge.

Watching Guillemots: Intimacy and Invisibility

The extended guillemot passage reveals Selous’s skill at rendering subtle interactions. He describes paired birds cosseting each other with the tips of their bills, the female bending her head with “an expression as of submitting to an enjoyment.” The chick is often invisible, hidden under a parent’s wing, and Selous notes that the transfer of the chick from one bird to another happens “quite invisibly, as far as the chick is concerned.” He uses this limitation to create tension: the reader sees only what the watcher sees. When a bird brings a fish, the chick becomes visible only momentarily, its throat moving “as though swallowing something down.” Selous’s language is precise—he speaks of the parent making “a kind of little tent or awning” with her wings—and his comparisons are apt, likening the chick being sat upon to the suppressed guinea-pigs in Alice in Wonderland. The scene is built from small, concrete actions: the nibbling, the shifting, the drooping of wings. It is a model of how to describe behavior without over-interpreting it.

Pace and the Shape of Attention

The narrative pace in Bird Watching varies with the subject. In the guillemot section, time slows: a single feeding sequence is drawn out over several paragraphs, with each gesture—the bending of the head, the raising of the bill—given its own moment. Elsewhere, the pace quickens. The table of contents lists chapters on watching great plovers, ringed plovers, redshanks, peewits, stock-doves, wood-pigeons, snipe, wheatears, dabchicks, oyster-catchers, gulls, skuas, ravens, curlews, eider-ducks, shags, guillemots, birds at a straw-stack, birds in the greenwoods, rooks, blackbirds, nightingales, and sand-martins. This variety suggests shifts in tempo: a chapter on rooks may involve sustained observation of a single flock, while one on birds at a straw-stack might capture quick, opportunistic visits. Selous’s prose adapts accordingly, sometimes lingering, sometimes moving briskly. The reader is encouraged to attend to these changes in rhythm as part of the experience of watching.

Selous’s Bird Watching rewards a patient reading that mirrors the patience of the observer. The book is best approached not as a systematic guide but as a series of discrete, vivid encounters. Pay attention to the qualifiers—the “I think,” “it would seem,” “as far as I have been able to observe”—for they mark the boundaries of what can be known from a single vantage point. The illustrations by Joseph Smit, listed in the front matter, offer visual counterparts to the textual scenes. Reading with a map of the British coast and a willingness to sit with uncertainty will deepen the experience.

The rain kept me indoors, and I lost an afternoon to Edmund Selous’s careful guillemot notes—his insistence that he only records what he saw, nothing more. That honesty lingered. Later, half-dozing, I pulled down The Burgess Bird Book for Children — Context and Discussion, and found the same patient watching, softened into story. One book simply opened into the other, like a window left ajar.