To All The Octopuses I’ve Loved Before

a review of The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness by Sy Montgomery

Animals are perfect for all the gifts they give us: empathy, serotonin, the beak of a dead duck poking out of his soft jaw (Snickers M. Balmuth). Most of all, they gift us with tasty metaphors that help us, mere humans, make sense of a world we cannot understand despite our big ol’ brains and opposable thumbs. I’ve been lucky to know so many animals. When I was 7, I kept a caterpillar in a glass jar to prove to our landlord I could look after a dog (ultimately, I did not look after the dog). I relocated a batch of garden snails after they were eating my mom’s plants to the park, luring them with a good time (a bottle of Heineken poured into Tupperware) and moving their soggy bodies to the green space around a playground on my walk to school. It was The Hangover in snail format. Of course, aforementioned Snickers M. Balmuth. In primary school, I wept into his fur saying “nobody understands me, snicky!” and he’d look back with a trademark skeptical stare that said “Stiff upper lip, old chap. Less tears, more kibble. Thanks.”

Sorry guys

Even animals we do not know—lions, tigers, bears, and the like—we can connect with on a deeper level than some second cousins. *Gets on soapbox* I mean… MONKEYS?! THEY ARE AMAZING. Animals remind us we are part of a vast interconnected ecosystem of wonder and not vapid silos in desk chairs waiting for texts back. Anything that accomplishes such vital work is perfect, except for outer space of which I’m not a fan.

In The Soul of the Octopus, aka “To All The Octopuses I’ve Loved Before,” Sy Montgomery writes about the lives and deaths of the octopuses she befriended. These octopuses lived at the New England Aquarium, which is a great place to go whilst astronomically stoned. Octopuses live around 2 years on average and are fated to these slow deaths in which they have the worst amount of cognizance of their impending demise.  First of all, they rarely mate in captivity. When male and female octopuses are placed in the same tank for mating purposes, it often ends in a bloodbath which is #girlboss vibes but bad for procreation. Aging female octopuses feel their narrative arc turning and start gathering their eggs for fertilization that will never happen. They tend to the eggs meticulously, dusting them off or whatever with their many tentacles. And then they die, holding on to their unfertilized eggs and I am left with a new metaphor to articulate my deepest fear.

Montgomery’s love for octopuses is contagious but lacks humor. Sorry, but it’s objectively hilarious that people keep getting squirted upon by octopus and we’re just gonna move on from that to talk about your scuba expedition…? More octo squirting, more fun. Finally, I’m sorry about all the times I ate octopus at Mediterranean restaurants. I promise never again.