Lucent, lyrical prose evokes Macfarlane’s aesthetic, ethical, and powerfully tactile response to nature’s enchantments.
A prizewinning naturalist explores the connection between what we say and how we see.
“A basic literacy of landscape is falling away,” writes Macfarlane (The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot, 2012, etc.) with regret. “A common language—a language of the commons—is getting rarer.” He was dismayed when a new edition of the Oxford Junior Dictionary eliminated words such as acorn, catkin, heather, and nectar in favor of blog, broadband, and voicemail to reflect, the publisher explained, “the consensus experience of modern-day childhood.” In this fascinating, poetic compilation of vocabulary invented to describe the natural world, the author aims to “re-wild our contemporary language for landscape” and enrich our “vibrancy of perception.” “Language is fundamental to the possibility of re-wonderment,” he writes, “for language does not just register experience, it produces it.” Throughout, Macfarlane chronicles his peregrinations across different landscapes, including flatlands, highlands, water, coast, and woods, sometimes in the company of friends, often with references to nature and travel writers he admires (Roger Deakin, John Stilgoe, and Barry Lopez, to name a few) and to earlier word researchers. Each chapter is followed by a glossary of terms for aspects of “land, sea, weather and atmosphere” gleaned from English, Gaelic, Cornish, Welsh, Breton, and other dialects of the British Isles. Readers will discover, for example, that a “bunny bole” names the entrance to a mine in Cornwall; a “lunky” is a “gap in a fence or dyke (big enough to let sheep through but not cattle)” in Galloway; “oiteag” is Gaelic for a “wisp of wind”; and in Shetland, “skub” describes “hazy clouds driven by the wind.” Macfarlane has found 50 words for various permutations of snow, including “ungive” to describe thawing, in Northamptonshire. Many terms, the author contends, function as “tiny poems that conjure scenes.”
Lucent, lyrical prose evokes Macfarlane’s aesthetic, ethical, and powerfully tactile response to nature’s enchantments.Pub Date: Aug. 2, 2016
ISBN: 978-0-241-96787-4
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Penguin
Review Posted Online: May 4, 2016
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 2016
A tasty, educational treat for tech heads and other web denizens.
The internet was not meant for the likes of us—and yet we have it, through means that tech historian McCullough capably recounts in this wide-ranging history of the internet era.
It wasn’t so long ago that technologists dismissed the thought that ordinary mortals would have a use for a computer and not so long ago that the internet was a skeletal version of its present self, confined to computers administered by the military-industrial complex. Chalk the change up, writes the author, to the opening of the net to civilian traffic—and then to techies at the University of Illinois who, building on earlier platforms, launched the first browser in 1993, early on called X Mosaic “because it was designed to work with X Window, a graphical user interface popular with users of Unix machines.” If any of the terms in the preceding clause are mysterious, then this book may prove tough slogging, but it has plenty of odd drama. For example, Bill Gates came calling on what later became Netscape, hoping to build an alliance; when rebuffed, he retooled Microsoft in order to build a browser of its own, having quickly divined how important the internet would become. McCullough’s story is populated by numerous geeky heroes, notable among them Steve Jobs but most far less familiar, along with some free-riders and businesspeople who realized that the internet’s free gift to the world was something that could be turned into a cash cow. Writes the author, “the Internet might have been launched in Silicon Valley, but to a large extent, it was monetized by startups in New York City.” Most of the individual components of McCullough’s story, which closes with the arrival of the “completely, conceptually perfect” iPhone in 2007, are well-documented, but few other histories of modern technology connect them so fluently. In this, the narrative resembles Steven Levy’s by now ancient Hackers (1984) and John Markoff’s more recent What the Dormouse Said (2005); it compares favorably to both.
A tasty, educational treat for tech heads and other web denizens.Pub Date: Oct. 23, 2018
ISBN: 978-1-63149-307-2
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Liveright/Norton
Review Posted Online: July 30, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2018
A comprehensive, fact-packed examination of the deep's largest denizens, tracing the patterns that connect mythology, biology, and the human imagination. Marine illustrator Ellis (Men and Whales, 1991) starts with the legends and teases out their kernels of fact, drawing on material from medieval bestiaries to cutting-edge scientific discoveries. Sailors ogling mermaids from afar were really staring at manatees, he concludes; the biblical Leviathan was probably the whale (which would be overhunted in later times). The scores of people who have reported sightings of giant sea serpents certainly saw something, Ellis believes, probably a red- crested ribbon fish or the arm of a giant squid basking near the surface. He moves his discussion a step further than simple myth debunking, however, by showing how these creatures have been remythologized in the contemporary consciousness. The whale, once a commodity, is now a symbol, its image adorning T-shirts and its song analyzed for signs of an intelligence greater than our own. Hollywood's special effects have introduced sharks and giant squid as diabolical forces carefully plotting to wreak havoc on the human race. No matter how many Latin names are bestowed on these animals, the author asserts, their evasiveness will continue to ensure their status as ``monsters.'' Ellis has included a hefty dose of marine biology, especially regarding squid and octopus, and his technical writing deflates much of the excitement his subject can provide; titillation has been banished in favor of analysis. The title promises entertainment, but the book might actually be more useful as a reference text—the attention to detail (sightings, strandings, anatomy) is exhaustive, sometimes excessively so. Still, a handful of mysteries are allowed to remain mysterious. Intelligent and often provocative writing, but devotees of Ripley's Believe It or Not will find these sea monsters a bit too tame for their taste. (120 b&w photographs and drawings, not seen)
Pub Date: Nov. 14, 1994
ISBN: 0-679-40639-5
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 1994
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