The Peregrine by J.A. Baker is one of those rare novels that can never fully be captured or presented by words that exist outside of the novel itself. It is perhaps one of the most brilliant and shining examples of vivid and vivacious prose. There is no dialogue, only description. The story is about a man who follows the peregrine falcon and documents its behaviors and particularly its hunting habits. The book is formatted in daily journal entries documenting where the peregrine was found, the other birds and animals within the ecosystem, and ultimately what the peregrine was doing when it was found.
The author becomes increasingly attuned and fascinated by the peregrine’s predation. It comes on gradually; at first, the narrator’s awe is implied in their prose, by the way they describe the peregrine’s magnificent, magisterial stoop. It’s as if the author has found an infinite amount of ways to describe the bird; given that there isn’t a plot or dialogue, it’s impressive that the author manages to capture the bird’s life in such detail without it ever becoming mundane or repetitive, despite not much variation in the peregrine’s actual actions.
The narrator eventually invokes his sense of self directly. He comments on how his heart raced or how close he managed to get to the bird without it wanting to flee like it would other humans. We get the impression, as readers, that he’s transitioning into the bird; he mimics their lifestyle. He steps over all their prey and comments on its mutilated body as if he were the one who killed it and is now about to feast. He does make explicit comments, in the latter half of the book, on how humans essentially reek of death and destruction. This no doubt aligns with the narrator’s picture of the evolution of the species as declining due to human selfishness and intrusion. All of which is true and unfortunate.
But I also get the sense that the narrator’s fascination with the peregrine, and perhaps his latent desire to become one, borders on misanthropic. He has a sort of disdain for his lack of wings, his human form. The book reminded me of The Black Swan in that sense. His comments become increasingly hostile when he refers to humans, including himself. He lives the lifestyle of the peregrine, sharing moments with them that most people could never dream of. His intimate relationship becomes one marked by mutual respect and acknowledgment; as if the peregrines he’s studying are granting him honorary peregrine status. He loses himself so fervently in the world and routine of the peregrines that one begins to wonder where the obsession will end.
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