The Art of Falconry, by Frederick II of Hohenstaufen Book

...Much later, I realized that I had begun to turn the opportunity of a lifetime into a familiar, vulgar dance…

What immediately comes to mind after reading throughout the past couple months three O'Brien memoirs prior to this one is that Dan O'Brien values his outdoor alone time with his animals more than with any other human ever mentioned in his books. Not that he doesn't love these people too. Because he is never at a loss for personal friends and associates is most likely the reason why O'Brien steers for more time alone. And there is a sadness that accompanies him along his lonesome trail which, for me at least, is an omen for what must one day come. But I am envious of his strong and independent character. And I wish I was more like him. But I am not and likely never will be. In contrast, I rely on the friendship and love of my partner in life, and if she is not near or soon to be in my vicinity, I am not a happy camper. Rarely do we separate for more than a week at a time, and hardly ever throughout our first thirty years living together. So as much as this memoir is about nature and the raising of birds and his beloved hunting dogs, it is just as apropos to his making choices and losing something in the process. But the emphasis in the book never points to my personal observations. Instead, this sadness and loss only comes through in the excellent writing of Dan O'Brien and as a consequence within the normal course of his vibrant living.

Often I have written about the importance of a writer's personality coming through on the nonfiction page, and also how instrumental it is in my wanting to read book after book by the same author. O'Brien's goodness and zest for life saturates almost everything he does. His concern for wildlife, conservation, restoring the lands, our climate and people all play pivotal roles in what he has to say. And his captivating stories honestly portray nature and humanity in all their warts and glory. But there simply isn't enough of the man Dan O'Brien to go around, and it is possible that the people who need him the most play second fiddle to dogs and birds and a hired hand. And he cannot help it; O'Brien is without a doubt doing the best he can. He has been smitten by the wilds and no outside luxury or amenity can pull him away from what he must achieve out of doors with the animals and plants that need to thrive in order for the world and all of us humans to survive. Clearly there is never any want for meaning in his life. Only that incessant pang of sadness again and again emanating from his entire being that fails in his not becoming some sort of Superman or Kong in unrealistic magnitudes for the giving of himself and all his time. And this perhaps is another reason why his choices of lovers, friends, birds, and dogs are so remarkable.

Dan O'Brien knows how to write. He tells a good story. He is a writer worth reading, and if I am given the time to indulge myself, perhaps again and again.