American Scientist

THE CALL OF THE HONEYGUIDE: What Science Tells us About How to Live Well With the Rest of Life. Rob Dunn. 352 pp. Basic Books, 2025. $32.00.

It’s one of the great sorrows and mysteries of our species: How humans are so adept at assuming our independence and superiority, and how easily we forget that partnerships with the rest of the living world not only exist, but are essential to our very survival. Rethinking that dangerous assumption will allow us to fully accept that we are absolutely dependent upon the billions of other species with whom we share this one-of-a-kind planet, argues ecologist Rob Dunn in his latest book, The Call of the Honeyguide: What Science Tells us About How to Live Well With the Rest of Life. Indeed, mutualisms, or relationships in which two or more species interact and mutually benefit, might be the most important force in the evolution of life, and, if we are to survive, we best remember them. But there’s another important question that Dunn asks: Why not delight in these mutualisms?

Celebrating mutualisms,  is inherently wonder-filled. Whether it is microorganisms in our gut, ants tending to fungi and aphids, primates “planting” the seeds of preferred fruits and thereby growing forests, or adaptations of dog’s faces in order to elicit our sympathy, there is pure magic in the ways in which creatures depend upon one another—and in turn, modify one another.

Dunn, a professor of applied ecology and the senior vice provost at North Carolina State University, provides a myriad of examples and stories of partnerships. The book meanders across the globe and across time, from early humans in the savannah to a creek near the author’s home, from termite mounds to the pets curled up on our pillows. Our lives, we discover, are absolutely shaped by mutualisms, whether we recognize them or not.

One particularly delightful chapter, “A Wolf in the Bedroom,” details the long and varied mutualistic relationships that humans had with wolves, then dogs—a partnership that perhaps began as a collaborative hunting partner situation, as canines were able to extend the senses of humans, and ending with the deep love stories we see all around us (Barbra Streisand even cloned her favorite dog!). As Dunn notes, “By 15,000 years ago, a dog was buried in a human gravesite,” perhaps the earliest evidence of this deepening relationship as canines moved into humans’ lives, and ultimately, our homes. Indeed, rather than referring to our furry friends as “domesticates” or “companion species,” he prefers “inquiline,” from the Latin for “lodger” or “tenant,” as dogs are now guests who live in our homes. From sled dogs to hunting buddies to our poodles curled up on our laps, there’s no denying the power of that evolving relationship.

Importantly, though, this book is more than a litany of cool examples of mutualisms and adaptations. It is an investigation into the psychology of why we tend to ignore mutualisms in the first place. Dunn makes the case that we have “cultural and sensory blinders,” which might result from the fact that humans (including biologists) simply don’t spend much time framing their thoughts in terms of cooperation and peace. Instead, there’s a prevailing focus on conflict: competition, predation, and parasitism. The resulting exploration of the emphasis on conflict nudges readers to rethink the ways in which we approach science—and life—in the largest sense. For example, perhaps we can stop focusing on negative interactions and start paying more attention to the ways in which nature is not so tooth-and-claw and, instead, works together quite brilliantly. By doing so, our awareness of this relationality might just become internalized, thus changing the way we behave and the language we use, which in turn empowers us to recognize and restore relationships upon which we depend. “If we are to improve the longevity and well-being of individuals of our species, we are going to need to find ways to live in mutualism with more and different species,” Dunn writes.

Peppered with quotes from literary heroes such as Ada Limon, Jane Kenyon, E.O. Wilson, and Ursula Le Guin, along with images and illustrations, this book is ultimately a melodic “call to action for a more mutualistic, less lonely future.” We humans are not lonely at all; we must simply open our eyes to the sincere relationships around us.

As with many such books, what begins as delight turns into a desire for action. For starters, we can admit culpability: “Conservation biologists explain to cultures why their sacred forests are valuable. Doing so assumes those cultures didn’t know in the first place,” Dunn writes, arguing that Western scientists would do well to listen and learn from Indigenous knowledge, focusing especially on our interdependence with nature and other species. Luckily, there are more solutions, and he concludes, “In my experience, there are a handful of core things we can do to reimagine our mutualisms. We can begin to talk more, and more often, about the kinds of relationships we desire with the rest of life. We can work with artists, architects, and other creatives to imagine the forms and futures those relationships might entail. . . . We can also ‘simply’ pay more attention to the relationships in our own lives.”

The book’s final directive is to do just that. The Call of the Honeyguide is an invitation to listen to the call of the countless invitations from other species; to be more like the honeyguide, a bird native to Africa and which has a specific call to beckon humans to bees’ nests. The bird hopes the human will break open the nest to access the honey, which benefits not just the human, but also the bird, who is then granted access to the wax. By listening to the metaphorical honeyguides of our planet and responding with care, our life will be all the sweeter.