MY FIRST confession: I’m a charter member of the Smart Bird Fan Club. I love reading about crafty cowbirds and remarkable ravens; I’d rather watch a crow than a cardinal. Yes, I’m that neighbourhood nut who praises crows to the point of exasperation, “But look at how cleverly they vandalised your garbage can!”
So I expected to adore Irene Pepperberg’s book, , from word one. After all, the Alex in question was a wonderfully talkative and gifted African grey parrot who could mentally organise objects by shape, colour and quantity at a level that matched the abilities of a small child. “Four” he would respond, when asked the number of corners on a rectangular piece of wood. “Green” when showed a small blue key and a larger green key, and asked the colour of the larger.
Alex (an acronym for Avian Learning Experiment) died unexpectedly in September 2007, apparently from heart failure. was the most emailed story of the week in The New York Times, but my favourite tribute appeared in in London: “America is in mourning. Alex, the African grey parrot, who was smarter than the average US president, has died at the relatively tender age of 31.”
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, a psychology professor at Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts, worked with Alex throughout his life, and in Alex & Me she too has written a tribute, an emotion-driven story of a bird that became both colleague and friend. “Alex taught me that we live in a world populated by thinking, conscious creatures,” she writes, admitting that she eventually came to love him – a difficult acknowledgement for a scientist. Her grief at his death is palpable in these pages.
That may be the problem. Despite some charming moments and genuine insights, the basic feel of the book – murkily depressed and sometimes just murky – made me wish that she’d held out for a longer recovery period. The narrative is often dark, from her bleak childhood to her failed marriage to her struggles for funding, recognition and decent laboratory space.
Against this background, Alex glows, lighting up the research details with his delightfully impatient personality. He was prone to shout “Pay attention!” when being ignored, and to order the lab’s other parrots to speak more clearly. In one instance, Pepperberg describes working with him on sounding out the individual phonetic components that make up a word. If asked “What colour is ‘or’?” the correct answer would be “orange”, and so on. But Alex didn’t want to work – he was hungry. “Want a nut,” he repeated. When Pepperberg didn’t give him one, “he finally got very slitty-eyed, always a sign he was up to something”, she recalls. “He looked at me and said slowly, ‘Want a nut. Nnn… uh… tuh’.”
“Alex would order the lab’s other parrots to speak more clearly”
It was at moments like this that I wished the book were twice as long. I wanted more of these rich details, less hurried descriptions of the research, and more thoughtful context. The section on the background and history of African greys, for instance, is a bare and brisk paragraph: “Greys are now one of the most popular of bird pets. Indeed, parrots have a long history as pets, going back 4000 years. Egyptian hieroglyphics show images of pet parrots, and noble Greek and Roman families kept greys too.” This says little more than the parrot’s , which in fact reads: “The history of African grey parrots kept as pets dates back over 4000 years. Some Egyptian hieroglyphics clearly depict pet parrots…” Call me a bird nut, but I wanted more.
My last confession: I admire Pepperberg’s courage, determination and pioneering work. I admire Alex, too, in all his character and intelligence. But I cannot wholly admire the book. Both the researcher and her remarkable subject are worth more than this.
Alex and Me
HarperCollins