Unveiling “Be More Bird”: Does Candida Meyrick’s Book Rise or Simply Echo Old Clichés?

In the summer of 2020, Candida Meyrick, who writes under the name Candida Clark, acquired a Harris hawk named Sophia Houdini White Wing, affectionately called Bird. Bird is a predatory bird that roams the fertile expanses near the New Forest in Dorset, primarily hunting rabbits, although it shows a preference for cock pheasants. Lately, Bird has shown interest in the peacocks maintained by the Meyrick family on their property.

The book by Meyrick starts with the premise that Bird possesses a complex inner life, suggesting that we humans, who cannot fly, might learn something valuable from her perspective. The book is structured around 20 short “life lessons” derived from what Meyrick imagines to be Bird’s thoughts. For example, Bird’s preference for catching her own meals over accepting handouts has been interpreted as advice to “remain faithful to your higher self.” Similarly, Bird’s composure when faced with aggressive buzzards is turned into a lesson to “stand firm, recognizing your own strength.” Other advice includes “Remain modest and persistent” and the somewhat perplexing “Always show up; and when you can’t, don’t.”

Unfortunately, this approach of assigning human-like thoughts to Bird sometimes overshadows the more fascinating aspects of her physical existence. For instance, being female, she is significantly larger than a male of her species. Her mother was capable of hunting a roe deer. Harris hawks are known for their calm demeanor compared to the more unpredictable goshawks and the overly fast peregrines, which might not be suitable for young handlers (Bird was initially purchased for Meyrick’s son).

Bird’s physical conditioning mirrors that of a high-performance athlete. Her optimal hunting weight is 2 pounds 4.2 ounces. If her weight increases to 2 pounds 6.5 ounces, she might feel overfed and attempt to return to the wild, believing she can survive independently—although she would unlikely live as long as the 25 years typical for a hawk in captivity. If her weight falls to 2 pounds 2 ounces, she becomes lethargic and dependent on Meyrick for food, contradicting her own supposed maxim of staying true to oneself.

Additionally, there is the moulting period. Between the spring and autumn equinoxes, when hunting with hawks is prohibited, Bird rests and regrows her feathers. Meyrick, however, infuses this natural process with deeper meaning: “She sheds everything undesirable she has accumulated – the poor-quality feathers, resentments, and all disarray during the moult… emerging rejuvenated, with fresh plumage, and more purely herself.”

This could be motivational for humans seeking a fresh start, but it’s a stretch for a Harris hawk focused on outsmarting a tasty peacock. It’s during these moments of exaggeration that Meyrick seems to recognize her own overreach, critiquing herself for the grandiosity of her language, which she admits often misses the mark. When Meyrick describes memory as “celestial, airborne, just like Bird,” the meaning becomes elusive.

Meyrick’s choice to frame her book around these avian-inspired “life lessons” might be an attempt to distance her work from Helen Macdonald’s H Is for Hawk, which explored similar themes in 2014 and has been adapted into a film featuring Claire Foy. Another contemporary work, Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton, recounts how the author preserved her mental health during lockdown by caring for a rescued hare. Whether Meyrick is intentionally tapping into this trend of nature memoirs or not, her book comes across as forced and uninspiring—a criticism that Bird, in her unspoken wisdom, might aptly convey in a more encouraging tone.