Helen MacDonald describes the Brecklands—the landscape north-east of Cambridge, England, her home—in terms of its natural biodiversity, while also describing human encroachment on that landscape. It is a land of fens and forests, air force bases and old housing developments. Its name translates to “the broken lands” (3). She describes herself driving through the Brecklands seven years before the writing of her memoir, in a state of profound alienation from urban life, to witness goshawks in the wild.

Goshawks are frighteningly efficient hunters. Though a few inches larger than the more commonly visible sparrowhawk, the goshawk makes a grander impression in person than allowed for by a technical description. “In real life, goshawks resemble sparrowhawks the way leopards resemble housecats,” she writes (4). Nevertheless, goshawks are scarce near human habitats, preferring the deep woods. Even within their habitat, goshawks are difficult to spot.

In such a habitat, MacDonald searches for clearings, her pace matching that of a nervous deer. Though an academic, she finds her way around the forest using intuition to match her learning. She notes that the Brecklands were once a prehistoric gathering place for flint. It was also once a large, interconnected set of human-operated rabbit warrens.