As Huxley was Darwin's "bulldog," so Gribbin and Cherfas have undertaken to bulldog the theories of Berkeley scientists Allan Wilson and Vincent Sarich—who've added a new twist to evolutionary studies by measuring the genetic distance between species. In 1967 they published a classic paper announcing that there was only a l percent difference between human DNA and the DNAs of gorilla and chimpanzee. (The three species are exceedingly close—as close as dogs and foxes, or horses and zebras.) What's more, Wilson and Sarich were able to date their molecular distance measurements, postulating that human and ape species shared a common ancestor as recently as 4(apple) billion years ago. According to the authors (both New Scientist staffers), the 1967 paper scandalized paleontologists who either dismissed it out of hand or advanced arguments that showed how little they understood the biochemical techniques and calculations involved. Thus, the need to champion the cause. Unfortunately, they do this in wearyingly repetitive detail, scoring paleontologists as prejudiced, smug, or beside themselves at the very thought that humankind only recently separated from the hairier animals. When they do provide some reasonably new information, they are proficient, enthusiastic expositors. But the facts are difficult to track down amid the noise.
Pub Date: Sept. 27, 1982
ISBN: 0070247390
Page Count: 279
Publisher: Pantheon
Review Posted Online: May 17, 2012
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1982
A fine, wide-ranging anthology from the pages of one of the world's most popular magazines. National Geographic has for a century cultivated an austere, formal image as a heavily illustrated but scholarly vehicle for conveying knowledge about the planet and its peoples. Its staff, writes former editor-at-large McCarry (Second Sight, 1991) in his good-natured introduction, was considerably less austere, to the point of being eccentric and even somewhat dangerous, qualities that sometimes escaped the printed page. The editors saw to that, imposing the somber personality of the magazine on its contributors; even so, McCarry notes, ``whatever the editorial climate, several generations of Geographic writers doggedly continued to turn out prose that was mostly literate and entertaining.'' After addressing the history of the bare native breast and the quirks of longtime helmsmen Gilbert and Melville Grosvenor (the former instructed an editor never to accept any contribution by one Magoffin, whose ``ways are not our ways''), among other matters, McCarry proceeds to offer a well-considered sampling of material drawn from issues over Geographic's 109-year run. Much of the material is new or very recent, including Barry Lopez's luminous essay on the California desert and David Remnick's perilous travels through the new, mafia-overrun Russia. Other pieces are decades old, but they have historical and literary interest that keeps them from seeming too dated—even when correspondent Theodore Roosevelt refers knowingly to Nairobi, Kenya, as ``a town of perhaps 5,000 to 6,000 people'' and combat journalist David Douglas Duncan easily writes of ``hurling bombs with a mighty shout into Jap faces.'' The mix of old and new, coupled with McCarry's wry commentary, makes for a constantly edifying reader.
Pub Date: Nov. 1, 1997
ISBN: 0-7922-7012-6
Page Count: 472
Publisher: National Geographic
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1997
An informal discussion of how the deceptively solid boundaries and names appearing on maps (past and present) represent the intersection of geography with history, fantasy, prejudice, propaganda, wishful thinking, and pure chance. Maps are an attempt to depict an unstable world with a complex past and, as Nelson (Moonshiners, Bootleggers, and Rumrunners, not reviewed) notes, to ``send ominous messages and trace ethnic and religious fault lines.'' At any given time, more than a hundred boundaries are disputed, but some maps skirt reality or create their own. For example, Arab maps ignore Israel or call it Palestine, and Syrian maps claim territory for Syria that has been part of Turkey for 50 years. But then, imaginative map-making has an established history. During the Middle Ages, the kingdom of Prester John was a staple of European maps. Even an increase in firsthand accounts did not ensure accuracy; for example, Columbus insisted that he that he had reached the Orient, and accommodating cartographers stretched Asia to fit his claims. One place may acquire several designations because of transliteration snags, mispronunciation, or misunderstanding, as when Chinese told foreign traders that they were from Chin (their ruling dynasty) rather than Kung-ho-kuo (their country). Some names reveal fragments of local history: Mohawks sneered at the hunting skills of Algonquins residing in New York State's northern mountains by calling them Hatir¢ntaks (``they eat trees''), whence Adirondack. Others trace changes in government, as when St. Petersburg changed to Leningrad and back again. Place names can be wonderfully descriptive, such as Mose-os-Tunya, ``smoke that thunders,'' or imperialist, such as Victoria Falls, thus named by David Livingston. Such claiming by naming continues even today: While orbiting the moon, astronaut James Loving dubbed one of its peaks Mount Marilyn, for his wife. Enlightening entertainment for those who browse the atlas so long that they forget what they meant to look up. (50 maps)
Pub Date: Nov. 1, 1997
ISBN: 1-56836-174-2
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Kodansha
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1997
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