Today's fact: you can distinguish real shrunken human heads from goatskin counterfeits because the real ones have nose hair. Evidently there's quite a trade in fake shrunken heads. Don't believe me? Check eBay. (G'wan, check). But don't be fooled.

I learned this little tidbit from the book Trail of Feathers: In Search of the Birdmen of Peru. The author, Tahir Shah, opens his tale with an auction for human heads where another participant (neither get the heads) tells Shah that if he were a young man, rather than trying to collect human heads, he would search for the Incan Birdmen. A few days later, an envelope containing a notched and bloodied feather arrives at Shah's house.

So begins Shah's odyssey, a voyage that introduces him to a string of eccentrics, historians, rugmakers, and shamans all of whom have theories on how the Incans "flew like birds". At first he wonders whether Incans really flew at all, to which one British autodidact tells him, not only did the Incans fly, but so did the ancient Egyptians, the Syrians, and very likely, your great grandmother. Then he wonders how they flew, but character after character informs him in ominous tones, "the question isn't how they flew, but why". And finally he explores why the Incans flew, which is perhaps the most and least tenable question.

Feathers is one of the oddest books I've read, a sort of amalgamation of Heart of Darkness and "The Three Stooges" - with a touch of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas tossed in. For a tale filled with blood, jungles, robbed graves, llama fetuses, and a wealth of shrunken heads, it is intensely charming.

Part of the charm comes from Shah's flair describing unlikely circumstances. (At one point, while looking for headhunters deep in Ecuadorian Amazonia he finds a 1950's style diner, complete with bubble-gum popping waitresses.) Part comes from Shah's being something of a dandy (he's an Afghani prince). While he tries to negotiate the darkest jungles South America has to offer, we don't feel ashamed at wriggling uncomfortably as a condor's feet are sewn to the back of a bull, or when a camp cook prepares a pair of prize beetles for dinner. We know shah is wriggling, too. And part comes from his easy writing, which manages to capture some of his wonder, all the while winking at the reader.

This isn't a book that will make you want to buy a ticket to Peru, eat llama fetus soup, drink a beer made from masticated roots, or burn rugs, necessarily. And nor is it supposed to. It is a book that will make you laugh out loud, however, and one that will make you wonder if maybe your great grandmother didn't fly, after all. Most importantly, you'll be among the in-crowd the next time you need to buy a shrunken head.

Go to Amazon, get current, and save dough.

FROM THE FORTIFIED STORY VAULT:

"Whence Wings?" - an unexpected Look at the Mayfly 8/02

Things Too Fierce to Mention: That Which Is (Not) a Bug. 6/02

Review - Rowing to Latitude: Journeys Along the Arctic's Edge 3/02

Boniface, Plastic Joseph, and a Big Dead Dog: A Love Story 11/00