100 Books Like The Book of a Naturalist

A selection of Hudson’s letters to publisher’s reader Edward Garnett was published the year after Hudson’s death. The collection was expanded in an edition published soon after the first, and in this one Garnett added a preface in which he quoted at length from and responded to some of the criticism the first edition had brought on him.

Writing in the Sunday Times, Edmund Gosse felt that the letters didn’t show Hudson at his best, owing to the provocations of his correspondent that might be guessed at from Hudson’s responses. But Hudson was wise enough and had known his opposite number long enough to work out when he was being ‘dug out’. Sometimes, however, he was in no mood to resist rising to the bait. 

"Old Huddy is amusingly down on me in many passages," Garnett wrote to John Galsworthy, when the collection was first published. "A bit of a… show more.

I particularly enjoyed this book. Hudson’s ornithological expedition in this desolate wilderness was made partly ‘idle’ by the mishap he had when examining a faulty pistol, shooting himself in the knee.

He described his solitary confinement in a remote cabin while his sole companion went off to seek help. He shared his bed with a venomous snake, and was later ferried to hospital by bullock cart, a journey of many hours over rough terrain.

"My miserable journey ended at dawn at the Mission House. Later in the day, on awakening, I found myself in the hands of a gentleman who was a skilful surgeon as well as a divine. My bullet, however, refused to be extracted. Every morning for a fortnight my host, with a quiet smile on his lips, would present a succession of probes – oh those probes of all forms, sizes and materials: wood, ivory, steel and… show more.

In December 1903, as he was away from his London base, Hudson asked his wife Emily to send a copy of his manuscript of Green Mansions to Edward Garnett, and confided to his literary reader his misgivings about it: 

"[I] was again struck painfully by the cumbersomeness of the form. Perhaps some little alteration might be made here… the introductory chapters seem too slow: the story doesn’t move at all, it simply sits still and stews contentedly in its own juice; and it doesn’t even stew, or boil, a barbolloner, but simmers placidly away, like a saucepot of cocoa-nibs that has all the day before it. This too might be remedied to some extent. There are, I daresay, some good points in the book, especially the hero’s feeling for nature; and he being a Venezuelan some might say that it is all wrong. But of course it is a… show more.

In November 1915 Hudson was in the care of nurses in a Cornish convent hospital, much burdened by news from the Western Front. ‘Shall I live to see peace on earth again?’ he asked Don Roberto Cunninghame Graham in a letter.

"To me nothing is left but memories, and I’m here putting some of my boyhood’s days in a book which will have a certain interest because it gives a sort of picture of the country and people before it began to be civilised."

He was writing a memoir. A combination of Don Roberto’s missives, fevered dreams, and possibly medication sparked Hudson’s visions of his Pampas childhood. He asked his nurses for paper and pencils and began to scribble what would become his acclaimed memoir, Far Away and Long Ago. Virginia Woolf said she greeted the book "like an old friend". It remains a classic of its genre.

I found this a profoundly moving book. Late Light describes the author’s own journey, an Indonesian Australian making a home for himself in England, as he finds strange parallels opening up between his own life and the lives of the "unloved" animals he encounters.

Malay’s voice is intelligent, questioning, gentle, and meditative – quietly, movingly, he asks questions that reach through to the heart of what it means to be alive today.

I loved this road memoir by one of our most gentle and graceful writers, the poet Richard Shelton, who mentored hundreds of incarcerated writers in Arizona prisons.

He writes of a return to the “delightful maze” of the town of Bisbee, where he first worked as a teacher in 1956, a place where the old copper miner's shacks cling to the hillsides of the Mule Mountains as precariously as the villas on a Mediterranean island, and where the people have shrugged off life's hard punches as insouciantly as a prizefighter.

Resplendent with nature writing, you can practically smell the creosote on the sentences. I think this is one of the most tonally accurate volumes ever written about this region.

Here is an excellent introduction to the “birders,” those amateurs, professional collectors, scientists, and artists—men and women—who have investigated ornithology in North America. The author, a Canadian, covers 22 fellow enthusiasts from Wilson and Audubon through Peterson, Bateman, and Sibley. She relates how each of her subjects studied and built upon the work of their predecessors to construct what we know today. 

Her book is well-constructed, easy to follow, and delightful to read. There are a few monochrome illustrations, portraits, and maps. I discovered this fine book during my research for my most recent book, and much admired the writing style and structural plan.

This book reminds me that our outer journeys are also journeys through our inner landscape.

Matthiessen tells the moving story of a Himalayan pilgrimage in search of enlightenment after his wife’s death. The quest helps him make peace with his loss, as well as gives him a more profound understanding of the fleeting beauty of life.

The narrative especially resonates for me because it takes place in the Himalayas, a part of the world I’m closely connected to: I lived in Nepal when I was a small girl and have spent a lot of time with my Tibetan family in Darjeeling, India. 

This is an excellent and fascinating book on the scientific culture of Renaissance Italy, where intellectuals and the wealthy elite began collecting and cataloging curiosities long before their northern European counterparts. Findlen demonstrates a key way in which Renaissance intellectuals could look back to an idealized ancient past while also creating new knowledge and institutions – namely the museum. This book is beautifully written, full of engaging stories, and shows a side of early modern science often ignored.

This book is a fascinating look at ornithology through the ages, from mythology and legend to the evolution of our scientific understanding of birds today. It includes beautiful illustrations from medieval monks to early naturalists through the 20th century. Even the most casual birdwatcher will learn something fascinating from this book; I read it slowly, digesting a section at a time, and it’s one I’m sure I’ll return to again and again.