reviews, features & interviews
Life List, book of birds
By libby
April 26, 2009 · 5 Comments
I had to share this online intro to Life List by Olivia Gentile. The book is a bio of a champion birdwatcher, Phoebe Snetsinger, whose obsession took her to the ends of the earth. The bird illustrations are by family friend and fabulous artist Rebecca Layton, who used to be a Philly gal and now lives in Austin, Texas. Austin never had it so good.
If you hang on past the flash razzmatazz, the Life List website calms down and gives you more info and a link to where to buy it! I bet that birdwoman Roberta signs right up!!! Oh, and in honor of the birds, I’m going to Twitter this!
Tags: olivia gentile, rebecca layton
Readers Comments (5)
Too bad the comment section doesn’t have that Facebook “Rob likes this” button to hit. Thanks for posting this. I think I know one or two people that would like this book. I’d never heard of it before now.
My bird obsession began when I was a child and found a hairless newborn baby bird in the backyard. We tried to keep it warm and fed it (milk? is that possible?) from an eye dropper. It died and we buried it in the backyard. Birds are fascinating (even pigeons, yes). I will surely look this book up, Libby–thanks!
Looks wonderful…just added to my list!
Hi, Rob, so many books!!! who can keep up? I’m a big fan of bios and memoirs and how people lived their lives–I’m always hoping for some insight on how to live mine. I used to watch birds when I lived in California; and for a while I kept a little toy spotter on the kitchen windowsill facing my back yard. But except for a rare sighting of a goldfinch, mostly it’s robins, cardinals, bluejays, and house finches. I haven’t heard a mockingbird here in years! So I put the spotter away and watch the squirrels and possums instead.
When I was a kid, we “rescued” baby birds that fell from nests on a regular basis. I remember little boxes lined with cotton and milk and eyedroppers; ours too always died. One burial took place in the empty lot behind the houses on my street. I stood on a boulder, overlooking the proceedings, as my friend Jesse dug. Alas, I slipped off the rock and gashed my thigh on a piece of broken glass. I still have the scar. I don’t think I played in that lot much after that.