by Tim Flannery ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 5, 2011
A lyrical, informed investigation into the human as ecological agent, and a provocation to act responsibly.
Flannery (Environmental Sustainability/Macquarie Univ.; Chasing Kangaroos, 2008, etc.) scrutinizes humankind’s relationship to Earth and manages to find optimism at this critical, crossroads moment.
What is the nature of Earth, asks the author, and how flexible and resilient is it? What course will civilization take relative to ecological systems? Flannery suggests that two tendencies have been spawned by evolutionary theory: Medean, which hypothesizes that our selfish species will self-destruct by exploiting resources to the point of ecosystem collapse; and Gaian, which states that Earth is a self-regulating, living organism capable of a comfortable steady state, and that humans can learn from their mistakes. Flannery is one of those rare science explicators who combines both graceful style with utter cogency. When he throws his hat in the ring with the Gaians, which seems like a long shot in the face of all the ruinous environmental behavior exhibited by humans—and which Flannery explains in detail—readers will happily join him there, for he has plenty of evidence of the natural world, humans included, working in cooperative coevolution: interactions that can “lead to the development of ever more intricate relationships, which can, in some circumstances, create a sum of biological productivity that is greater than its parts.” Flannery smoothly moves through time and space, rooting out countless instances of cooperative, sustainable behavior—what could be called the ecstasy of the commons—tempered by an ingrained biophilia and a more capacious notion of self-interest.A lyrical, informed investigation into the human as ecological agent, and a provocation to act responsibly.
Pub Date: April 5, 2011
Page Count: 336
Publisher: Atlantic Monthly
Review Posted Online: Feb. 23, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2011
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A quirky wonder of a book.
A Peabody Award–winning NPR science reporter chronicles the life of a turn-of-the-century scientist and how her quest led to significant revelations about the meaning of order, chaos, and her own existence.
Miller began doing research on David Starr Jordan (1851-1931) to understand how he had managed to carry on after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake destroyed his work. A taxonomist who is credited with discovering “a full fifth of fish known to man in his day,” Jordan had amassed an unparalleled collection of ichthyological specimens. Gathering up all the fish he could save, Jordan sewed the nameplates that had been on the destroyed jars directly onto the fish. His perseverance intrigued the author, who also discusses the struggles she underwent after her affair with a woman ended a heterosexual relationship. Born into an upstate New York farm family, Jordan attended Cornell and then became an itinerant scholar and field researcher until he landed at Indiana University, where his first ichthyological collection was destroyed by lightning. In between this catastrophe and others involving family members’ deaths, he reconstructed his collection. Later, he was appointed as the founding president of Stanford, where he evolved into a Machiavellian figure who trampled on colleagues and sang the praises of eugenics. Miller concludes that Jordan displayed the characteristics of someone who relied on “positive illusions” to rebound from disaster and that his stand on eugenics came from a belief in “a divine hierarchy from bacteria to humans that point[ed]…toward better.” Considering recent research that negates biological hierarchies, the author then suggests that Jordan’s beloved taxonomic category—fish—does not exist. Part biography, part science report, and part meditation on how the chaos that caused Miller’s existential misery could also bring self-acceptance and a loving wife, this unique book is an ingenious celebration of diversity and the mysterious order that underlies all existence.A quirky wonder of a book.
Pub Date: April 14, 2020
Page Count: 224
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: Jan. 1, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2020
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by Bill Bryson ‧ RELEASE DATE: May 6, 2003
Loads of good explaining, with reminders, time and again, of how much remains unknown, neatly putting the death of science...
Bryson (I'm a Stranger Here Myself, 1999, etc.), a man who knows how to track down an explanation and make it confess, asks the hard questions of science—e.g., how did things get to be the way they are?—and, when possible, provides answers.
As he once went about making English intelligible, Bryson now attempts the same with the great moments of science, both the ideas themselves and their genesis, to resounding success. Piqued by his own ignorance on these matters, he’s egged on even more so by the people who’ve figured out—or think they’ve figured out—such things as what is in the center of the Earth. So he goes exploring, in the library and in company with scientists at work today, to get a grip on a range of topics from subatomic particles to cosmology. The aim is to deliver reports on these subjects in terms anyone can understand, and for the most part, it works. The most difficult is the nonintuitive material—time as part of space, say, or proteins inventing themselves spontaneously, without direction—and the quantum leaps unusual minds have made: as J.B.S. Haldane once put it, “The universe is not only queerer than we suppose; it is queerer than we can suppose.” Mostly, though, Bryson renders clear the evolution of continental drift, atomic structure, singularity, the extinction of the dinosaur, and a mighty host of other subjects in self-contained chapters that can be taken at a bite, rather than read wholesale. He delivers the human-interest angle on the scientists, and he keeps the reader laughing and willing to forge ahead, even over their heads: the human body, for instance, harboring enough energy “to explode with the force of thirty very large hydrogen bombs, assuming you knew how to liberate it and really wished to make a point.”Loads of good explaining, with reminders, time and again, of how much remains unknown, neatly putting the death of science into perspective.
Pub Date: May 6, 2003
Page Count: 304
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2003
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