What should we call the wild animals we spot from our windows? A surfeit of skunks? A dray of squirrels? A patient watch of wildlife enthusiasts might even catch sight of a skulk of foxes or a scavenging sloth of bears. The practice of inventing collective nouns for animals is an ancient pastime which derives from medieval hunts, but the list has been augmented in every age—and it remains an entertaining pastime today.

A Barrel of Monkeys brings together more than one hundred collective nouns for animals, from a bloat of hippopotamuses to a caravan of camels, a tower of giraffes, and a leap of leopards. The rivalry between male rhinoceroses becomes especially apt when the rowdy ungulates are characterized as a crash of rhinos.  An ambush of tigers is an apt characterization of the skillful hunters that silently stalk their prey. A blend of wordplay, puns, and alliteration, some of the terms collected here are now commonplace, like a pride of lions. Others aren’t heard much these days, but many—like a dazzle of zebras or a prickle of porcupines—richly deserve a comeback.

With charming illustrations by the eighteenth-century artist and naturalist Thomas Bewick, A Barrel of Monkeys is the perfect follow-up to A Conspiracy of Ravens, the Bodleian Library’s book of bird words. Not even a crash of rhinos can stop readers from smiling at this second collection.

A charm of goldfinches. An ostentation of peacocks. A murder of crows. The English language brims with witty words for flocks of birds! Thought to have originated from hunting manuals, the practice of inventing collective nouns for birds has since evolved into a sport all its own, with new words striving to perfectly capture the essence of each bird.
           
A Conspiracy of Ravens presents readers with a compendium of collective bird nouns from the distant and not-so-distant past. Some of the nouns are portentous, like a tiding of magpies. Others, like a murmuration of starlings or a chattering of choughs, convey sound. Still more reflect with literary flourish the beauty of the bird: what could be more celebratory than a crown of kingfishers or an exaltation of larks? Featuring songbirds, aquatic birds, garden favorites, and birds of prey, this book collects more than one hundred of the best and most imaginative expressions and illustrates them with charming woodcuts by the eighteenth-century artist and naturalist Thomas Bewick.
           
A beautiful and entertaining read, A Conspiracy of Ravens will delight bird-lovers and word-lovers in equal measure.

Epitaphs are words to be remembered by, short poems or phrases literally written in stone. They can be practical, carrying some variation of the familiar “Here Lies,” but they can also be brilliantly creative with personally meaningful quotes or words written especially by or for the deceased. From the simple to the cleverly cryptic, epitaphs are meant to leave a lasting impression—and many certainly do.

Epitaphs brings together more than 250 epitaphs from cemeteries, churchyards, monuments, and historical records. Some announce the cause of death with a surprisingly macabre sense of humor: “Here lies John Ross. Kicked by a hoss.” Others wryly remind readers of their own impending mortality, such as a tombstone whose rhyming inscription reads “As I am now you will surely be. / Prepare thyself to follow me.” In death as in life, many of the most famous writers were not at a loss for words. Emily Dickinson’s concise wit is evident in her headstone’s inscription “Called Back.” Yeats encouraged the horsemen of the apocalypse to “pass by.” Shakespeare’s funerary monument at Stratford-upon-Avon carries the warning “Curst be he that moves my bones,” an inscription many believe the Bard himself wrote to prevent his corpse from being exhumed in the name of research, a common practice at the time.

As tribute to a form of expression that is very much alive, Epitaphs collects some of the most intriguing examples, many of which perfectly encapsulate the person buried beneath them.