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272 pages, Paperback
First published January 2, 2009
As absurd as it probably sounds, the big hairy ones have never really scared me much. It's the small to medium-sized spiders that really get me. I can't explain why, but I guess it's because the legs are thinner and more… creepy-crawly. That's why I picked up this book: Not because I'm afraid of the big ones I'll likely never encounter in person, but because of the small ones I could find in almost any corner or under any rock in my backyard. Not to mention how easy it is to lose track of the tiny ones, which is definitely one of the worst things about spiders—and one of the first things this book brought my attention to.
While discussing some of the most reasons behind arachnophobia, Kelly mentions that one of them is the fact that they're incredibly fast. One second there won't be a spider, and the next second, well, there is. It wasn't until reading this that I realized, yeah, that's definitely one of the things that I've been afraid of. I can trace that particular fear back to a concrete incident, too: One evening several years ago, I was sitting in the living room watching TV. Our cat starting meowing really loudly, really annoyingly from the kitchen. I got up to see what she was on about, and right there in the middle of the kitchen, was the biggest spider I had ever seen in real life. I shooed the cat away from it to keep her safe in case it was dangerous, then ran to my room to get something long to put a shoe on so I could squash the spider without getting close to it. By the time I got back, the spider was gone. It was terrifying, honestly, and I hated knowing that such a huge spider had been wandering around my house and I had no idea where it had gone off to.
And just like most people, including Kelly, will tell you, figuring out the source of your fear will help you to overcome it. I thought about it and realized how absolutely silly it was for me to be so scared about where the spider had come from and where it had gone, not because I knew it wasn't dangerous, but because that spider had never shown its face before. It had never caused us any trouble. It had lived its entire life away from us, popped its head out for a few minutes, come face-to-face with my huge cat, and disappeared back into obscurity. It had been ingrained in me to kill any spider as soon as I saw it and that's just what I was going to do—and now I'm glad that I didn't, because that spider was probably way more afraid of me (and my cat) than I ever could be of it.
While reading this book, I was brought face-to-face with both monochrome and color images of spiders, big and small, cute and a bit creepy-looking. The entire time, they were presented to me in a light I had never seen before: As friends. Kelly gave each spider a name. Anyone who has ever interacted with animals knows that, once you name something, that's it. You're bonded to that animal forever, whether you like it or not. And when I thought about it, I realized I had done the same thing with a small spider that once lived in my bathroom.
In a small corner by the bathtub, I saw a tiny little spider sitting in a newly constructed web. I don’t know why I didn’t kill it, but I named it Kanato and enjoyed watching it. Then I thought that I should catch him and take him outside, so I gathered a thin book and a cup to catch him with. As soon as the book I was going to put under the cup to keep him contained touched the web, he retreated into a hole and I never saw him again. Although I don't know what happened to him, I enjoyed being bathroom pals with him while I was able to.
By naming a spider, by treating it not as a spider but as an individual, a huge difference is made in the way I can look at it. The way Kelly named her spiders and talked about them and their experiences was incredibly entertaining for me. I get attached to things very easily, and when I'm watching nature documentaries it makes me incredibly sad to see the animals die, even though I know full well that it's just the circle of life. I’m still sad that Kanato disappeared. When Kelly talked about the deaths of some of her spiders, I actually felt sad about their loss. Me, sad because of spiders! That's not the sort of thing I would ever expect from myself, but there I was, imagining these spiders as tiny little people going through their lives and meeting horribly tragic ends because of the way they had been described to me.
Learning about the anatomy and functionality of spiders was fascinating from a scientific standpoint, of course, but the true gem here is learning about their behavior. Once you understand how and why a spider does what it does, they become much less disconcerting. Kelly did an incredible job of describing their behaviors, and before I knew it, I was as interested in the stories of these spiders as I was in the stories of characters on my favorite soap opera. Regardless of if they're absolutely huge or absurdly tiny, each spider has learned how to adapt to its environment and make the most of it just the way we all do. Looking at their world from the perspective of someone who has also experienced arachnophobia—as Kelly describes that she has—the same way I have, but has learned how to love them, was infinitely more helpful than looking at them from any other perspective I've ever seen. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book and learning about the spiders in my home and backyard, as well as the ones far, far away from me. I can safely say that I'm on my way to totally, genuinely loving spiders, and this book has definitely helped me along, even if it takes me a minute to finally get there.