Book Review: We Should All Be Birds: A Memoir by B. C. Buckbee
When I first stumbled upon We Should All Be Birds on Instagram, I felt an instant pull. The cover hinted at a touching journey—one that explored the intricate bonds between humans and animals. As someone who often finds solace in the company of birds, I eagerly picked up this memoir by B. C. Buckbee, expecting an emotional whirlwind that would leave me in tears over the profound friendship between the author and his pigeon, Two-Step. What I found was a tender and vulnerable narrative, but one that occasionally drifted from the heartfelt promise suggested by its title.
Dictated due to Buckbee’s illness, the memoir adopts a journal-like structure that fluctuates between humor and poignant reflection. It features snippets of Buckbee’s life and his relationship with Two-Step, making for both charming highs and introspective lows. One moment that struck me was when he quipped, “Traffic (an invasive species),” illustrating the absurdity found in everyday life. His description of Two-Step’s first word—“CxwszA”—invited me into a world of curiosity, yearning to understand the thoughts of this little bird.
The early vignettes serve as grounding points, solidifying Two-Step’s importance in Buckbee’s life during darker times. Still, the memoir takes an unexpected turn as it shifts focus toward Buckbee’s past, including his struggles with dismissive doctors and fraught familial relationships. Herein lies my main contention: while these elements are undeniably significant, I felt the narrative itself often fell flat. The emotional undercurrent that started strong with Two-Step began to fade, leaving me desiring a more interwoven narrative—a braiding of timelines that could reflect both Buckbee’s physical challenges and the profound bond he formed with his feathered companions.
As for Buckbee’s relationship with “L.,” it hovered in murky waters of complexity. While we are meant to grasp the weight of their connection, the presentation felt more enigmatic than clarifying. The instances of her leaving him felt unexplained, leaving me wanting closure that the memoir didn’t provide. These threads could have enhanced the emotional depth if fleshed out further.
Despite these critiques, the memoir is infused with meaningful reflections. Moments like loving another so fiercely you’d “hold on until there is nothing to do but let them go” struck a chord, quietly devastating in their simplicity and truth. Buckbee captures a raw vulnerability that resonates deeply, particularly for those with chronic pain or anyone who has fiercely cared for another being—be it human or animal.
Would I recommend We Should All Be Birds? Yes, but I would tread carefully. It may not resonate with everyone, but it possesses the quiet power to reach those who have experienced love, loss, and the entangled complexities of care. My reading experience has lingered, leaving me pondering the fragile, often chaotic beauty of the bonds we forge in life. For anyone wrestling with their own heartache or searching for solace in companionship, Buckbee’s journey might just echo your own.
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