Matt Ridley’s ‘Birds, Sex & Beauty’: Why mammals are prose and birds are poetry
In the dim, frigid pre-dawn hours, Matt Ridley crouches inside a hide on the Pennine moors, breath fogging in the chill as he watches the black grouse perform their intricate mating dance. Such moments are recounted with vivid detail in his latest book, ‘Birds, Sex & Beauty’. A captivating journey into the world of avian courtship, it sets the stage for a meditation on Charles Darwin’s theory of sexual selection, an idea that was once dismissed as too bizarre but is now increasingly being recognised as a cornerstone of evolutionary biology.
The book centres on one of nature’s most dramatic spectacles: the ‘lek’, where male birds perform elaborate mating rituals to attract females. Feathers flash, dances unfold and the air abounds with elaborate songs — all driven not by survival, but purely by female preference. It challenges the conventional view — evolution is not just about “survival of the fittest” but also “survival of the sexiest”.
This is Darwin’s sexual selection in action, a concept Ridley traces back to its contentious origins. He revisits the intellectual sparring between Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace, who co-discovered natural selection but grew sceptical of sexual selection’s focus on beauty over utility. Ridley also nods to Ronald Fisher’s Sexy Son Hypothesis, where females pick males for traits that promise attractive offspring, weaving these threads into a tapestry of evolutionary thought.
Take the extravagant tail of the peacock, once considered a biological oddity, which researchers have used to vindicate the theory of sexual selection. There are many such examples in the book, from bowerbirds in Australia to the birds-of-paradise in tropical islands and curlews in the UK, that demonstrate how the effects of female preference have led to the evolution of traits that are as much about attracting mates as they are about surviving predators.
This duality raises profound questions about the nature of beauty itself, suggesting that what we perceive as an aesthetic may in fact be deeply rooted in the biological imperative of reproduction.
The book invites readers to ponder over broader implications. Ridley provocatively, and as per his own admission, a bit reluctantly, extends the discussion to human evolution, hinting that our own cognitive and cultural developments might be influenced by similar forces of mate choice. His observations on the parallel between the elaborate mating displays of birds and human social behaviours, such as the allure of luxury items or even the aesthetics of art and music, offer a refreshing perspective that narrows the gap between biology and culture.
What makes prose sing is the seamless manner in which the technical intertwines with the lyrical. He marvels at the avian perception of ultraviolet hues, colours that humans can’t fathom, surmising that “mammals are prose; birds are poetry”. This flair for language, honed through countless experiences in the field, draws readers into the wonder of his subject.
Ridley’s work not only reaffirms the enduring relevance of Darwin’s insights but also expands our understanding of beauty in the natural world that illuminates aspects of our own existence. For anyone intrigued by the interplay of science, nature and art, this is a wonderful read.
— The writer is an outdoor enthusiast
Book Review