Beauty and the Accidental

The day after I finished reading Kyo Maclear’s new memoir, Birds Art Life: A Field Guide to the Small and Insignificant, three things happened that took each of her themes in turn. First, we saw the swans. By “we,” I mean me and my partner, Keith—although in emulation of Maclear’s own subdued manner, it might be more appropriate to call him “the art historian.” Apart from a brief mention in the small print of her acknowledgements, Maclear does not identify her own birdwatching companion by name, even though they went on joint excursions into the urban wilds of Toronto for an entire year. Instead, she speaks of him obliquely as “the musician.” I am guessing she chose this greyed-out identification to suit the muted pallet of her book, with its moody black-and-white photographs, whimsical pen-and-ink drawings and quiet, meditative words. After all, she had come to this project looking for comfort and reassurance. Her beloved father—the man who anchored her life as...