Luke Dempsey’s A Supremely Bad Idea follows the frenetic birding adventures of three obsessive birdwatchers—Dempsey himself, along with his eccentric friends Don and Donna—as they crisscross America in a sometimes thrilling, often self-indulgent quest to see as many birds as possible. The book promises a mix of natural history, humor, and personal narrative. It delivers on the last two, but often at the expense of the first.
Ok, there are Pro´s. Dempsey is a witty writer. His dry, self-deprecating tone makes for an easy, often laugh-out-loud read. The trio’s road trip misadventures—soggy tents, bad motels, and roadside oddities—are rendered with enough irreverence and detail to keep the pages turning. The heart of the book lies in the relationships between the birders. Their camaraderie, arguments, and quirks make them feel like characters out of a Wes Anderson film. If you’re reading this for the human drama (and comedy), you will be only slightly disappointed.
But the weaknesses are overwhelming.
For a book about birds, it doesn’t seem particularly interested in birds. Species are often mentioned in passing, reduced to checkmarks on a list. There’s little ecological or behavioral context, which makes the birds feel incidental—odd for a book ostensibly about birdwatching. The birds seem like mere backdrops. Ironically, there’s barely any room for birds in this book about birdwatching. Species are mostly just listed by name, without context or description. There’s no sense of beauty, no genuine fascination, no memorable details. For example, three pages are devoted to an encounter with an annoying bird guide who almost scared the three observers away from the ultra-rare Elegant Trogon (Trogon elegans), only to then be pointed out by a bystander to the Elegant Trogon in a tree on the other side. This is not more, but a half-sentence. And this for a highly sought-after species, mentioned all the previous 30 pages. It’s like reading a book about art that only lists museum visits.
Dempsey often veers into long tangents that prioritize his own reactions over the subject matter. The humor, while engaging at first, can become grating when it overshadows any meaningful content. His persona threatens to crowd out the actual reason for the journey—the birds and the places they inhabit.
There are hints that the book could have said something more profound about obsession, nature, or conservation. But these moments are fleeting. Instead, the narrative loops through joke-laden road trip stories without building toward a larger point.
A Supremely Bad Idea is a breezy, entertaining memoir that captures the madness and joy of birding through a narrow, personality-heavy lens. If you’re looking for depth, insight, or inspiration to pick up a pair of binoculars yourself, this book might leave you wanting. But if you enjoy eccentric road trips and don’t mind that the birds take a backseat to the banter, you’ll probably have a good time.
Verdict: Entertaining but shallow—more personal antics than avian insight. The book is funny, fast, but frustratingly superficial.