Bookmonger: ‘Tuco’ a bird-brained memoir, in a big-hearted way

“Tuco” by Brian Brett

I make a practice of looking up when I’m outside – last night I spotted a shooting star, other times it’s the moon doing a veil dance with the clouds. But more often it’s the life winging overhead: a flock of turkey vultures catching a thermal to continue their migration south, a pair of mallards beating their way with creaking wings to a local watering hole, or crows chasing a hawk out of their territory. There’s almost always something interesting going on above our heads.

It was the bird connection that drew me to British Columbia writer Brian Brett’s latest memoir, “Tuco: The Parrot, the Others and a Scattershot World.”

Tuco is the name of the African grey parrot who lived with Brett and his family for a quarter of a century. As Brett deftly shows us, Tuco had sharp intelligence, a large vocabulary, and an appetite for tricks and humor. He was a very engaged member of the family. But Tuco also was an “other” – a caged bird in a houseful of people and cats and dogs.

Brett relates to this because he, too, identifies as an “other.” Born an androgyne, he went through his childhood, adolescence, and young adult life being bullied and abused by people who were uncomfortable with his differentness.

He credits his close relationship with Tuco for helping him think more deeply about the human propensity we have for “othering” people (political parties, religions, ethnicities) – and, for that matter, any other species – in a way that seems to sanction a lack of empathy.

Brett extrapolates this to ponder human complacency regarding climate change, unsustainable resource use, and societal and political tensions. He avers that our reluctance to acknowledge and effectively grapple with the problems we’re facing now is a failure to empathize with the plight of our descendants, who will be dealing with a trashed planet.

But “Tuco” is much more than a jeremiad. It is also a wide-ranging appreciation of the evolution of biological wonders. Brett starts with ornithology – birdcalls, behaviors, and abilities – you’ll never again be able to use “bird brain” as a derogatory comment.

He probes the relationships between humans and birds – these stretch back millennia. Birds have been kept as food sources and as pets. Birds have been hunted to extinction, and used as symbols of patriotic pride or religious power.

But Brett, fascinated with evolution, also digresses into the ingenious adaptations that can be found in lizards, honeybees, squid, rats, whales, and even dinosaur fossils.

Repeatedly, the author makes the point that the world is full of communication – and he is incredulous that we aren’t more interested in tuning in and trying to understand these communications – again, truly to empathize.

Several times in this book, Brett returns to the vagaries of the “scattershot world” he refers to in the subtitle, and his writing style, too, is somewhat scattered. But there are so many profound and provocative ideas in this memoir, I don’t hesitate in recommending it.

This story was originally published November 12, 2015 at 10:00 AM with the headline "Bookmonger: ‘Tuco’ a bird-brained memoir, in a big-hearted way."