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---
description: Beasts are more human--and humans more bestial--than we think
title: Our Inner Animal
image: https://static.time.com/v3/assets/bltea6093859af6183b/blt593e76366a3ca0c5/698a473d9d83e86e36b9870c/360_aanimals_0126.jpg?branch=production&amp;width=750&amp;quality=75&amp;auto=webp&amp;crop=16:9
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![](https://static.time.com/v3/assets/bltea6093859af6183b/blt593e76366a3ca0c5/698a473d9d83e86e36b9870c/360_aanimals_0126.jpg?branch=production&width=750&quality=75&auto=webp&crop=16:9)

* [Entertainment](/section/entertainment/)

# Our Inner Animal


by 

[Lev Grossman](/author/lev-grossman/)

Jan 15, 2009 5:00 AM CUT

![](https://static.time.com/v3/assets/bltea6093859af6183b/blt593e76366a3ca0c5/698a473d9d83e86e36b9870c/360_aanimals_0126.jpg?branch=production&width=3840&quality=75&auto=webp&crop=3:2)

by 

[Lev Grossman](/author/lev-grossman/)

Jan 15, 2009 5:00 AM CUT

Humans! They do like their words. Studies–by scientists who stuck recording devices on them and then counted–suggest that they speak some 16,000 words a day. Vervet monkeys, prairie dogs and European starlings have rudimentary language systems, but for serious verbiage, you have to hand it to Homo sapiens.

Take these two specimens. Hannah Holmes is a tall, blond, personally assertive science journalist. Temple Grandin is an eminent scholar of animal behavior who also happens to be autistic. These humans have written two books that look very different but are, in their warm-blooded, four-chambered hearts, very similar. In The Well-Dressed Ape (Random House; 351 pages), Holmes attempts to produce a thorough description of Homo sapiens using the kind of language we ordinarily reserve for animals. In Animals Make Us Human (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 342 pages), Grandin does the opposite: she describes animals in terms we usually associate with human beings. Both writers are after the same thing. They want to demolish the hard line that separates people from animals; you might call it the doctrine of human exceptionalism. They’re both tunneling under the bars of the cage, but they’re doing it from different directions.

Holmes and Grandin share the habit of putting everyday phenomena under the kind of scientific scrutiny usually reserved for giant squid and black holes, which causes them to notice things that regular civilians wouldn’t pick up on in a lifetime. For example, Holmes points out that even though humans are covered in hair follicles–we have more of them than chimpanzees do–most of our fur grows in an “extravagant topknot” on our heads. In the context of the wider animal kingdom, this is a bizarre, even perverse evolutionary innovation. We also have more sweat glands than any other animal on earth–we can sweat almost a gallon an hour. We don’t think of ourselves as poisonous, but our mouths are as full of noxious, infectious bacteria as is a Komodo dragon’s, and a human bite can be seriously toxic.

The premise of The Well-Dressed Ape is that everybody knows human beings are really animals but nobody cops to it linguistically. Just talking about ourselves the way we talk about animals is a step toward self-knowledge. “We Homo sapiens,” Holmes writes, “so eager to describe the rest of the world, have been chary about committing our own species to paper.” Holmes describes us quite wonderfully, and she’s a tireless compiler of biological trivia. She scours the extremes of the earth for anomalous and specially adapted humans, like the Tierra del Fuegians, who (before they died out) wore no more than a loose animal skin even in sleet and snow, and the Yana Indians of California, whose men and women speak different dialects. She has an engaging passion for rankings, as if all earthly fauna were competitors in an endless evolutionary Olympics. Our sense of taste, for example, outperforms a pigeon’s and a tiger’s (it turns out that tigers can’t taste sweetness–sorry, Tony) but is crushed in turn by that of a lowly catfish, which has taste buds not just in its mouth but all over its body.

Grandin isn’t much of a writer (nor, on the evidence, is her co-author, Catherine Johnson), but she’s at least as astute an observer as Holmes, plus she’s an actual scientist and an influential designer of humane cattle-handling systems. Grandin is also famous for being one of the world’s most professionally eminent autistic people, which gives her work an ineffably distinctive perspective. In Animals Make Us Human, she’s particularly interested in a kind of behavior called a stereotypy: an abnormal action that someone can’t stop repeating. Autistic people often have stereotypies. So, it turns out, do unhappy animals.

Animals Make Us Human is a practical, species-by-species guide to making animals happier, grounded in Grandin’s belief that “all animals and people have the same core emotion systems in the brain.” For most people, her chapters on dogs and cats will be the most immediately rewarding–it never would have occurred to me that one reason cats’ emotions are so hard to read is that they have no eyebrows–but there’s a world of insight to be gained from her work on farm animals as well as more exotic zoo animals. Grandin shows a startling tenderness as she teases out what’s troubling a wolf who couldn’t stop pacing and a herd of antelopes who had panic attacks on their daily walks. (The culprit was a yellow sign; yellow is a scary color for many beasts.) Anybody who thinks autistic people lack empathy should read Animals Make Us Human.

There aren’t many worse insults for a human than to be called an animal, but these books–which do just that, at great length–are instead strangely ennobling. They make you realize how much effort we expend every day convincing ourselves that we’re different and what a relief it is to admit that we’re not. It’s lonely here at the top of the tool-using hierarchy–why don’t we let down our fur and join the club? If they’ll have us, that is. If animals could describe us in return, the results might not be so flattering.

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