Irene M. Pepperberg. Alex and Me. New York: Harper, 2008. E-book.

Alex and Me is a remarkable story about a scientist and the African Grey Parrot she owned and studied. From her observations we learn a lot about animal behavior and, yes, animal intelligence. In some ways Alex and Me is Dr. Pepperberg’s autobiography because Alex’s story becomes hers. Its subtitle sums up her purpose: How a Scientist and Parrot Discovered a Hidden World of Animal Intelligence—and Formed a Deep Bond in the Process.

Eight years ago I reviewed Wesley the Owl, another book about a bird and its caretaker scientist. There might be some parallels, but Alex and Me differs because the author consciously trained her bird. Now the author of Wesley the Owl contributed a lot to our knowledge of Barn Owls and birds of prey generally through her observations, but there was little she could do to train it.

Pepperberg shows that the main difference between a bird like the owl and the creatures that appear most intelligent to humans—crows, apes, porpoises, dogs—is that in nature the “smart” animals are the social ones. They learn things from others. “[They] live a long time and their social groups are complex.” (683)

The author tells us that Alex actually stood for Avian Learning Experiment. In scientific literature and presentations, she is careful to avoid the word word but use terms like label and vocalization. She provides plenty of instances to show that Alex would communicate to her and many others with, uh, human vocalizations. A few conclusions she draws:

[A]nimals are far more than the mindless automatons that mainstream science held them to be for so long. (2154)

Clearly, animals know more than we think, and think a great deal more than we know. (2200)

Alex taught me that we live in a world populated by thinking, conscious creatures. Not human thinking. Not human consciousness. But not mindless automatons sleepwalking through their lives, either. (2220)

“What I learned from him,” [said a fellow researcher], “also supported what I always have known to be true: that there is just one Creation, one Nature, one good, full, complete Idea, made up of individuals of all shapes and designs, all expressing their oneness with one God. We are not different because we look different, but we all reflect the eternal beauty and intelligence of one Creation in our own peculiar way.” (2243-2245)

As C. S. Lewis’s Narnian professor would say, “It’s all in Plato.” Alex and Me is biological, but it becomes metaphysical.

Alex and Me contains a relevant autobiography as well. Dr. Pepperberg tells how she had always had a pet parakeet (“budgerigar”) from the time she was four. She notes that when she got into the doctoral program in chemistry at Harvard, she was fortunate because in 1969 the United States stopped offering draft deferments for graduate students, so there were not as many men applying.

The Vietnam war had initially boosted enrollments; now the draft suppressed them. The department was forced to take in many more women than its usual token one because it needed teaching assistants. (485)

She has a few stories of navigating through the male-dominated STEM departments in several universities back then. She had difficulty throughout her career getting a tenured position, probably because even though she was published and often presented at conventions, her study of African Grey Parrot intelligence was outside the mainstream.

Alex and Me also takes a hint from the complaint in No More Dead Dogs. It is not a spoiler to say that Pepperberg tells us of Alex’s death in the first chapter. I believe she partly does that just to get it out of the way. She does not want Alex and Me to become another Old Yeller. She wants to share her observations and experiments in a way that a layman can understand. Getting his death out of the way helps both the reader and narrator detach themselves a bit to see her point about animal intelligence.

That first chapter also notes Alex’s reputation, something that people often talk about when someone dies. Indeed, The Economist, the British newsmagazine, publishes just one obituary per issue. The week Alex died he was featured in its obituary. He had an international reputation by the time he passed on.

While Alex was trained to do and say many things, we learn that some things are still instinctive. Alex would get restless and scared when a tornado was approaching; he always sensed one before people did. (Birds would be aware of differences in air pressure in ways that walking creatures like people are not.)

Alex enjoyed looking out of windows on days she brought him home from the University of Arizona laboratory where she worked, but one day he kept saying, “Wanna go back.”

I looked out the window and quickly realized what alarmed him. A pair of western screech owls were building a nest in the roof over the patio. They apparently struck terror into poor Alex even though he had never seen an owl in his entire life…I pulled the drapes so he could no longer see them. Still no use.

“Wanna go back…Wanna go back!”

It was a great demonstration of object permanence [something even humans have to learn]. Even though Alex could no longer see the owls, he knew they were still there. And even though they were outside the house and he was safely inside, he was still terrified. (1584-1587)

Alex knew numbers one through six and actually had a handle on zero. He understood colors and some textures. He was tested by many people to insure that he was not just picking up visual clues from his handler.

One smart bird. One smart scientist. One smart book.