Can we predict what aliens will look like? On some level, no, which has given science fiction writers the liberty to let their imagination run wild. On another level, yes, writes zoologist Arik Kershenbaum. But we need to stop focusing on form and start focusing on function. There are universal laws of biology that help us understand why life is the way it is, and they are the subject of this book. If you are concerned that consideration of life’s most fundamental properties will make for a dense read, don’t panic, The Zoologist’s Guide to the Galaxy is a spine-tingling dive into astrobiology that I could not put down.
The Zoologist’s Guide to the Galaxy: What Animals on Earth Reveal about Aliens – and Ourselves, written by Arik Kershenbaum, published by Viking in September 2020 (hardback, 356 pages)
Fundamental to answering the question of what alien life might be like, Kershenbaum argues, is to recognize that evolution by natural selection is the most important law in biology, “an inevitable mechanism, not just restricted to planet Earth” (p. 8). Rather than trying to answer particulars (Will aliens have two legs? Six? Or none?), he focuses on process: “Movement, communication, cooperation: these are evolutionary outcomes that are solutions to universal problems” (p. 11). Thus each chapter discusses “some feature of animal behaviour on Earth that is not unique to Earth—that can’t be unique to Earth” (p. 14). These three quotes nail down how Kershenbaum managed to hook me in right from the start of his book.
A key observation to support his argument that natural selection will not be limited to planet Earth is convergent evolution. I find this one of the most exciting topics in evolutionary biology and have written about it extensively last year when reviewing three books in The Vienna Series in Theoretical Biology from MIT Press. Brief refresher should you need it: convergent evolution refers to the ubiquitous pattern of evolution repeatedly hitting on the same or similar solutions to a problem in different organisms. Kershenbaum introduces it here with some examples and also touches on the contingency vs. convergence debate, of which Stephen Jay Gould and Simon Conway Morris are the most prominent spokesmen. Convergent evolution can hold lessons for astrobiology, though George R. McGhee’s book Convergent Evolution on Earth did not quite deliver on its promise to do so. Kershenbaum, however, does. There is no reason to think that convergent evolution would be limited to life on Earth because “we live in a universe where not everything is possible” (p. 46). The laws of physics circumscribe a limited set of possibilities, something that Charles Cockell so memorably expressed by writing that “physics is life’s silent commander“.
So what are these characteristics that we can expect to evolve universally? Kershenbaum considers six, from very basic to likely rarer: movement, communication, intelligence, cooperation, information exchange, and language. Even though these are very fundamental properties of life that you could talk about in abstract terms, what makes The Zoologist’s Guide to the Galaxy so accessible is Kershenbaum’s pithy writing style. I will highlight three examples to give you a taster.
“[Kershenbaum] focuses on process: “Movement, communication, cooperation: these are evolutionary outcomes that are solutions to universal problems“”
Take movement: “We move because we must, not because we can […] Life needs energy, and if energy is not evenly distributed, life must go in search of it” (p. 70–72). Earth life has tried pretty much every mechanism we can think of to move in a fluid medium (air or water) or on the interface between a fluid and a solid, so expect alien life forms to float, paddle, or develop legs.
Cooperation similarly seems likely. There is a range of benefits to individuals cooperating, not in the least the threat of predation. “Predation is universal, because no ecosystem can exist for long without someone trying to take a bite out of somebody else; the selective pressure on acquiring as much energy as possible is just too strong” (p. 171). When and whether it is evolutionarily advantageous to evolve cooperation is something we can answer mathematically using game theory, “a simple technique, applicable on any planet” (p. 192). We should not be surprised to find aliens with complex social structures, dominance hierarchies, and reciprocal behaviour.
A full-blown language, on the other hand, seems uniquely human. This chapter leads you through the difficulty in defining language and grammar, the contentious topic of language evolution, and an interesting dive into xenolinguistics, or how you would recognize whether a signal carries the signature of language. These are all areas of active research where no consensus has been reached between different schools of thought. Nevertheless, Kershenbaum identifies two fundamental features that an alien language would have: it is a means to communicate complex concepts, and it evolved by natural selection.
“There is no reason to think that convergent evolution would be limited to life on Earth because “we live in a universe where not everything is possible“. The laws of physics circumscribe a limited set of possibilities […]”
This core of six chapters is padded out with a fascinating chapter that considers artificial life forms. After all, evolution as we know it acts blindly, without foresight. “But what if it were all different? What would life look like if it did know where it was going?” (p. 258). Well, perhaps not all that different. “Game theory […] is ruthlessly inevitable” (p. 280), so expect conflict and cooperation. Furthermore “some things like mutation, and even death, can’t be eliminated just by being incredibly smart” (p. 286).
The whole is bookended by two more philosophical chapters. The first asks what an animal is and whether aliens would be considered animals. Though we would not share ancestry, the point of this book is to show that we would likely share fundamental processes and properties. The last chapter considers the impact that the discovery of alien life would have on us and whether we would recognize such life forms as a fellow form of humanity. Throughout, there are footnotes to general literature, and an annotated list of suggested reading provides plenty of material if you want to delve deeper.
Kershenbaum admits that you probably wanted him to tell you what aliens look like, and his book contains less speculative zoology than e.g. Imagined Life. However, by the same logic of giving a man a fish vs. teaching him how to fish, understanding the rules that life follows is ultimately more rewarding. Kershenbaum’s smooth writing style makes it a proper page-turner.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
The reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone National Park is one of the best-known examples of wildlife conservation. To celebrate its 25th anniversary and summarise the many lessons learned, Yellowstone Wolf Project leaders Douglas W. Smith and Daniel R. Stahler, together with wildlife ecologist Daniel R. MacNulty, bring together research from over 70 colleagues in this large, edited collection. The combination of academic content, excellent photography, guest essays, and an online bonus documentary with interviews make this the go-to reference work for anyone wanting to go beyond the headlines on this reintroduction project.
Yellowstone Wolves: Science and Discovery in the World’s First National Park, edited by Douglas W. Smith, Daniel R. Stahler, and Daniel R. MacNulty, published by the University of Chicago Press in December 2020 (hardback, 339 pages)
The first thing that struck me about Yellowstone Wolves is how well-organised the book is. Six parts contain nineteen chapters, none going beyond twenty pages, and most include a clearly signposted conclusion. To give equal airtime to so many different studies and opinions is remarkable—the six years the editors spent on this book have borne fruit. The second thing is how readable the book is. To do justice to the subtleties and complexities of real-world ecosystems means digging into scientific research. Thus, it discusses methodologies and research results and provides graphs galore, 
but without bogging the reader down with excessive jargon or complex statistics. Only occasionally, when the discussion turned to species interactions or ecosystem ecology, did I feel that I was reading an academic paper.
So, what have we learned from 25 years of having wolves back in Yellowstone? This book covers a wide range of topics, more than I can hope to discuss here. Sensibly, it opens with a short history of the park, wolf extermination, and the reintroduction—a dramatic story complete with last-minute lawsuits that almost scuppered the whole operation.
“The first thing that struck me about Yellowstone Wolves is how well-organised the book is. […] To give equal airtime to so many different studies and opinions is remarkable”
After some basic wolf biology, the bulk of the book discusses long-term research. This covers pathogens and parasites, the genetic studies that inform wolf pedigrees and explain why you see both black and grey wolves in the park, and, notably, the different aspects of wolf packs. How they form, how long they last, how they defend territories and compete with one another, and how they change over time. This introduces some of the legendary wolves from Rick McIntyre‘s Alpha Wolves of Yellowstone series, or the very popular female O-Six, but also reveals the value of older wolves to their pack, or the surprisingly high mortality due to intraspecific (i.e. wolf-wolf) conflict when wolves are not constantly hunted by humans.
My impression, however, is that the seven chapters across parts 4 and 5 will be the most relevant to many readers. Why? First, because the chapters on community ecology (particularly wolf-prey interactions) touch both on the concerns of the hunters and ranchers who opposed wolf reintroduction, and on the challenges faced by generations of park managers. Second, because the topic of ecosystem ecology (the effects of wolves on ecosystems) catapulted the park to internet fame.
We are going to need some history here.
Woven throughout this book is the story of how predator removal at the beginning of the 20th century saw elk populations boom, leading to concerns of too many elk overgrazing and trampling the park and surrounding farmland. From 1920 to 1968 park management and hunters culled and relocated tens of thousands of elk, leading to concerns of too few elk and, from 1969 onwards, new policies that let nature take its course. Predictably, without predators, there was a new elk boom. This is the context in which wolf reintroduction was finally put on the table.
“Of course, wolves eat elk, but the devil is in the details […] these chapters seek to correct misconceptions [as] wolves are not the ungulate killing machines some imagine”
Elk numbers have since declined again, causing—you cannot please everyone—renewed consternation. This time, though, wolves get the blame. Of course, wolves eat elk, but the devil is in the details: “what is in doubt is the size and timing of [their] contribution” (p. 187). So, these chapters seek to correct misconceptions. Though wolves are formidable pack hunters capable of taking down large prey, failure is frequent and the risk of injury high. Lacking the powerful bite and retractable claws of big cats or the muscular forelimbs of bears, wolves are not the ungulate killing machines some imagine, instead preying on young, old, and sick elk, or scavenging e.g. bison carcasses. Furthermore, elk decline started months before the wolves returned 
to Yellowstone in 1995. In subsequent years other predators such as cougars, bears, and coyotes also flourished, while hunters continued to shoot substantial numbers of elk just outside the park. Guest contributors weigh in here with lessons learned from other long-term wolf studies in national parks such as the island of Isle Royale, Banff, and Denali.
The other controversial topic tackled is ecosystem effects: the idea that the impact of predators on prey affects the prey’s food base, rippling down the food web and influencing a whole ecosystem. Now, such trophic cascades do occur in nature, but in Yellowstone’s case, the narrative has been hijacked by that one viral video clip, How Wolves Change Rivers. It presents a straightforward story of wolves killing elk, which reduced elk overgrazing of trees, in turn stabilising river banks and leading to the return of numerous animals. Broken ecosystem? Just add Wolves
! Obviously, I am being facetious. In her contribution to Effective Conservation Science, Emma Marris examined the clip, the accusations of oversimplification, and the power of a good story. Ben Goldfarb, in his book Eager, noted that it downplays the effect of beaver reintroductions.
“the topic of ecosystem ecology […] catapulted the park to internet fame […] trophic cascades do occur in nature, but in Yellowstone’s case, the narrative has been hijacked by that one viral video clip”
Given this background, I was very curious to see how this book dealt with the matter. In one word: circumspect. The clip is only hinted at: “Some videos on the topic have garnered online audiences of millions. Although scientists have discredited some of these works as romantically simplistic […]” (p. 257). One chapter has a research group present the argument in favour of trophic cascades. They admit that indirect effects on vegetation have not been observed everywhere in the park where wolves now roam and add that players such as beavers, bison, wildfire, and disease complicate the picture. The next chapter has another research 
group consider more complex networks of interactions between wolves, other predators such as bears and cougars, scavengers, and herbivore prey. They open by writing that: “the preceding chapter considered […] processes in a single oversimplified food chain (i.e. wolves-elk-aspen/willow) in Yellowstone. Here, we discuss a broader set of food web relations that are too often ignored in the push to explain the links between wolves, elk, and vegetation” (p. 223). And so the discussion rumbles on.
The book ends with very relevant chapters on park management that explain the rationale behind visitor rules, celebrate dedicated wolf watchers, and hash out a framework for the perenially controversial topic of transboundary wolf management. That last one, in layman’s terms, gives recommendations for wildlife agencies on dealing with predators that cross the borders we draw on maps and come into conflict with stakeholders such as ranchers or hunters living near national parks.
As noted elsewhere, Yellowstone’s wildlife is subject to continuous change. By reintroducing wolves, scientists have had the unique opportunity to study the complexities of living, breathing ecosystems. Written by the very people who spent decades in the field doing the research, Yellowstone Wolves is a formidable achievement that presents a wide range of scientific topics in a well-organised, readable, and beautifully illustrated book.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
When I recently reviewed The Real Planet of the Apes, I casually wrote how that book dealt with the evolution of Old Work monkeys and apes, ignoring New World monkeys which went off on their own evolutionary experiment in South America. But that did leave me wondering. Those New World monkeys, what did they get up to then? Here, primatologist Alfred L. Rosenberger provides a comprehensive and incredibly accessible book that showed these monkeys to be far more fascinating than I imagined.
New World Monkeys: The Evolutionary Odyssey, written by Alfred L. Rosenberger, published by Princeton University Press in September 2020 (hardback, 350 pages)
Most people are probably not very familiar with these monkeys. Technically known as platyrrhines, they are predominantly arboreal (i.e. living in trees), small to medium-sized primates. You might know the insanely loud howler monkeys from nature documentaries. Perhaps you have heard of capuchin monkeys or spider monkeys. But you could be forgiven for not having heard of marmosets and tamarins, or the even more obscurely named titis, sakis, and uacaris. A total of 16 genera are recognized, but outside of the scientific literature and abovementioned technical books, these monkeys are not all that well known. And that is a shame as, from an evolutionary perspective, this is a unique group.
Now, before Rosenberger gets to this, it helps to better know these monkeys. Accompanied by many excellent illustrations and photos, the first half of New World Monkeys is dedicated to their ecology, behaviour, and morphology. Topics covered include their diet and dentition; locomotion and the anatomy of hands, feet, and prehensile tails; but also brain size and shape; and their social organization and ways of communicating via sight, sound, and smell.
The platyrrhines are a diverse bunch with some remarkable specialisations. In the family Cebidae we find the smallest members, some of whom, the Marmosets and Pygmy Marmosets, have teeth specialized for gouging the bark of gum trees and feeding on the gum that is released in response. In the family Pitheciidae we find the only nocturnal member, the Owl Monkeys, which have concomitant morphological adaptations such as enlarged eyes. In both this and the closely related Titi Monkeys, individuals have the adorable habit of twining their tails when e.g. socializing or sleeping. The family Atelidae is home to species with exceptionally prehensile tails whose underside ends in a pad with a fingertip-like surface. The Muriquis and the aptly-named Spider Monkeys use them as a fifth limb in locomotion, as demonstrated by a striking photo of a Black-faced Spider Monkey on plate 13. Here we also find the well-known Howler Monkeys, whose skull is heavily modified to support the exceptionally loud vocal organs in their throat and neck.
“[…] the whole radiation has been remarkably stable for at least 20 million years. Today’s New World monkeys are virtually unchanged from their ancestors […] This stands in sharp contrast to the evolutionary history of Old World monkeys […]”
Despite these differences, platyrrhines are closely related and form what is called an adaptive radiation. Just like the textbook example of Darwin’s finches, many members have evolved unique adaptations and ways of living to minimise competition and maximise resource partitioning. Two ideas feature prominently in this book to explain how platyrrhines have evolved and what makes this adaptive radiation both so diverse and so interesting.
One idea is what Rosenberger calls the Ecophylogenetics Hypothesis. If I have understood him correctly, this combines information on a species’s ecology and phylogeny, its evolutionary relationships. It can offer hypotheses on how ecological interactions have evolved, but it also recognizes that ecological adaptations are shaped and constrained by evolutionary relatedness. For the platyrrhines, taxonomically related members are also ecologically similar. To quote Rosenberger: “[…] phylogenetic relatedness literally breeds resemblance in form, ecology, and behavior” (p. 96) and “Each of the major taxonomic groups that we define phylogenetically is also an ecological unit […]” (p. 97).
The other idea that makes the platyrrhines so interesting is dubbed the Long-Lineage Hypothesis. An extensive chapter on the fossil record documents how the whole radiation has been remarkably stable for at least 20 million years. Today’s New World monkeys are virtually unchanged from their ancestors, living the same lifestyles and occupying the same ecological niches. Some fossils have even been classified in the same genus as their living counterparts. This stands in sharp contrast to the evolutionary history of Old World monkeys where there has been a constant churn, whole groups of primates evolving and going extinct with time.
“Without ever losing academic rigour or intellectual depth, Rosenberger quietly proves himself to be a natural-born teacher and storyteller […]”
What stands out, especially when Rosenberger starts talking taxonomy and evolution, is how well-written and accessible the material here is. He takes his time to enlighten you on the history, utility, and inner workings of zoological nomenclature, making the observation that “names can reflect evolutionary hypotheses“. Here, finally, I read clear explanations of terms such as incertae sedis (of uncertain taxonomic placement), monotypic genera (a genus consisting of only a single species), or neotypes (a replacement type specimen). Similarly, there are carefully wrapped lessons on how science is done—on the distinction between scenarios and hypotheses, or how parsimony and explanatory efficiency are important when formulating hypotheses. 
Without ever losing academic rigour or intellectual depth, Rosenberger quietly proves himself to be a natural-born teacher and storyteller, seamlessly blending in the occasional amusing anecdote.
A final two short chapters conclude the book. One draws on the very interesting question of biogeography, i.e. on how platyrrhine ancestors ended up in South America, which was long an island continent. Rosenberger convincingly argues against the popular notion of monkeys crossing the Atlantic on rafts of vegetation* and in favour of more gradual overland dispersal. The other chapter highlights their conservation plight as much of their tropical forest habitat has been destroyed by humans.
With New World Monkeys, Rosenberger draws on his 50+ years of professional experience to authoritatively synthesize a large body of literature. As such, this book is invaluable to primatologists and evolutionary biologists and should be the first port of call for anyone wanting to find out more about the origins, evolution, and behaviour of these South and Central American primates.
* One mechanism that Rosenberger does not mention is that tsunamis could be behind transoceanic rafting, as argued in a recent Science paper. This looked at marine species in particular and I doubt it would make much of a difference for terrestrial species. Most of the objections Rosenberger gives would still apply.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
The wolves that have been reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park are some of the most intensely monitored animals on the planet. One person, in particular, has dedicated his life to watching and studying them: biological technician and park ranger Rick McIntyre. The Reign of Wolf 21 is the second book in the Alpha Wolves of Yellowstone trilogy and chronicles the life of, arguably, Yellowstone’s most famous and loved wolf.
The Reign of Wolf 21: The Saga of Yellowstone’s Legendary Druid Pack, written by Rick McIntyre, published by Greystone Books in October 2020 (hardback, 264 pages)
If you pick up this book, it is likely that you read and enjoyed the previous book, The Rise of Wolf 8. A foreword by Marc Bekoff and a brief refresher titled “Previously in Lamar Valley” bring you up to speed on the most significant events so far. After this, the book picks up where the last one left off, focusing on the second half of wolf 21’s long life, from 2000 to 2004.
Let me get one thing out of the way first: you do not read this book for its beautiful prose, but because, like McIntyre, you are absolutely fascinated by wolves. He effectively turns his collection of field notes into a blow-by-blow account. As any proper ethologist would, this means McIntyre factually describes their behaviour: the hunting, migrating, mating, denning, fighting, playing, socialising, defending of territory, and all the other behaviours that make up the daily lives of wolves. It is, admittedly, a narrative style that might not suit everyone. Only occasionally will he allow himself to imagine their motives or thoughts, though I never felt his explanations were implausible given the behavioural observations underpinning them.
Sprinkled throughout are sparse personal anecdotes of interactions with park visitors or mention of relevant results from scientific studies. By 2000, McIntyre was working in Yellowstone National Park full-time and was no longer moving between different assignments. It was also when he started his unbelievable 6,175-day-streak of being in the park each and every day. Thus, even more so than the previous book, the focus here is solely on the wolves.
“[…] the result of his singular devotion is, again, an unprecedented chronicle of the life of an exceptional wolf.”
McIntyre’s idiosyncratic writing style notwithstanding, the result of his singular devotion is, again, an unprecedented chronicle of the life of an exceptional wolf. We find wolf 21 as the alpha* male of the Druid Peak pack, still ruled over by the tyrannical alpha female, wolf 40, and her sister, wolf 42, who is 21’s love interest. Wolf 40 quickly gets her comeuppance, leaving 21 and 42 to finally be together and lead the pack. And lead it they do. By the end of 2001, 42 and three other females all have offspring, the majority of which survive thanks to the gentle and cooperative leadership of the alpha pair. At this point the Druid pack balloons to a record-breaking 38 members, the largest-ever recorded wolf pack anywhere.
Here is where there is one noticeable improvement compared to The Rise of Wolf 8: the book’s structure. Whereas the first book had one map and a few family trees at the beginning, this book is divided into parts, one for each year, containing several chapters. Each part is prefaced by a range map of territories for that year, and family trees of all the packs that play a role. I remarked upon the need for more visuals when reviewing the first book, and, though I take no credit for it, I am glad to see that McIntyre made that change. And you will need them because this superpack can, of course, not last. As the new generation matures, male suitors show up and other wolves strike out on their own, so that by 2002 four new packs form, all led by former Druid females. The newcomers to those packs and their offspring quickly make for a tangled web so that by the end of the book it can become a bit of a struggle to tell apart the different wolves.
Besides wolves 21 and 42, two others play particularly important roles. Wolf 253, a son of 21, ends up with a permanent injury to his hind leg from a snare and, later in life, injuries to a further two other legs. Nevertheless, he proves to be tough as nails and remains a devoted Druid member. And then there is an outsider, wolf 302, a dashing bad boy from the neighbouring Leopold pack who is very popular with the ladies. Possibly a nephew of 21, he breeds with quite a few Druid females, effectively cuckolding 21. In many ways, 302 is the opposite of the devoted leader that 21 is and the two maintain a long-running contentious relationship.
“[…] when the inevitable end came I will not deny that I cried, that is how much McIntyre had me invested in their lives.”
The Reign of Wolf 21 again allows a peek into the private lives of wolves, revealing both how individuals have unique personalities and characters (something Frans de Waal and Carl Safina have convinced me of), but also describing remarkable behaviours. Two stood out in particular in this book. First is how wolves will readily face down other predators such as bears and mountain lions—and be successful despite the danger. The other was an entertaining chapter containing observations on the mutually beneficial relationship between wolves and ravens.
Wolves 21 and 42 end up having a long and very successful reign, living to be almost nine years old, twice as long as your average Yellowstone wolf. Safina’s Beyond Words already contained a touching description of how it ends, and, by my interpretation, McIntyre foreshadowed it in The Rise of Wolf 8: “Years later I would stand on the hill in that meadow, next to the conifer, and experience the most profound moment I ever had with 21, but that is a story for another time” (p. 227). Even so, when the inevitable end came I will not deny that I cried, that is how much McIntyre had me invested in their lives. Does he insert some dramatic flair in his description here? Certainly. But if anyone knew these wolves intimately, it is McIntyre, and what he writes is entirely plausible in my opinion.
With this epic story of wolf 21 now told, who will be the subject of the final book? The epilogue of The Rise of Wolf 8 announced that the next two books would deal with the story of 21, his relatives, and his descendants. No details have been revealed as I write this, but it could be wolf 911, whose story we are promised on page 80, or wolf 302’s attempted takeover of the Druid pack mentioned on page 229**. Whichever it will be, I will gladly sit down with the third book and immerse myself in their lives once more. For now, as a narrative counterbalance to the hard science described in, for example, the recently published Yellowstone Wolves, these first two books in the trilogy are without equal in their level of intimate detail.
* (26/01/2023) Several readers on Reddit pointed out that the term “alpha wolf” has fallen out of favour. Wolf biologist Dave Mech, who initially helped spread the term, has publicly disavowed it and expressed frustration with how it continues to linger. Despite McIntyre having met Mech on several occasions, he continues to liberally use this term.
** About a month after this review was published, Greystone Books revealed the final instalment in this trilogy: The Redemption of Wolf 302
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
What is the price of humanity’s progress? The cover of this book, featuring a dusty landscape of tree stumps, leaves little to the imagination. In the eyes of French journalist and historian Laurent Testot it has been nothing short of cataclysmic. Originally published in French in 2017, The University of Chicago Press published the English translation at the tail-end of 2020.
Early on, Testot makes clear that environmental history as a discipline can take several forms: studying both the impact of humans on the environment, and of the environment on human affairs, as well as putting nature in a historical context. Testot does all of this in this ambitious book as he charts the exploits of Monkey—his metaphor for humanity—through seven revolutions and three million years.
Cataclysms: An Environmental History of Humanity, written by Laurent Testot, published by The University of Chicago Press in November 2020 (hardback, 452 pages)
To be frank, Testot deals with the first 2,988,000 years in the first two chapters. Understandably, as the pace of progress was initially slow, and comparatively little information is available to us from the palaeontological and archaeological records. Thus, he starts his history proper with the agricultural revolution ~12,000 years ago. Given the synthesizing nature of this book, Cataclysms will be a feast of recognition for readers that are familiar with the literature.
Some examples include the near-simultaneous rise of agriculture in several places, with geography playing an important role in which plants and animals were available to domesticate, or the fall of the Late-Bronze Age civilizations in the 12th century BCE. The myth of virgin rainforests and the long history of agriculture practised in the jungle. The microbiological onslaught that accompanied the Columbian exchange when Christopher Columbus and other explorers brought new epidemics to the Americas, or the scourge of mosquito-borne diseases that later decimated European colonialists overseas. The medieval Little Ice Age and the global crises it precipitated, or the worldwide impact of the Tambora volcanic eruption. The Great Acceleration in the 20th century and the recognition of the Anthropocene. All of these have been chronicled at length in books and other publications.
“Given the synthesizing nature of this book, Cataclysms will be a feast of recognition for readers that are familiar with the literature.”
Testot also mentions episodes that I was barely familiar with; partially, I suspect, because he can draw on the French history literature. For example the eruption of the Samalas volcano that seems to have served as a transition between the Medieval Warm Period and the Little Ice Age. Or the 15th-century mining for silver in the Andes and the immense pollution that caused. Or the environmental roots of the expression “mad as a hatter” (it involves the 17th-century beaver trade). Cataclysms sometimes seems to forget it is an environmental history book. Thus, the environment takes a backseat when he describes the Axial Age, the period between 800 and 300 BCE that saw the birth of universal religions and philosophies in both Asia and Europe that are still with us today. Similarly, the chapter charting the rise of money, empires, and trade in Europe and Asia before the Common Era only at the very end examines the environmental impact of it all.
The book’s style might divide opinions. Testot throws all his eggs in the proverbial narrative basket. The book is clearly deeply researched, but the notes section at the end encompasses a mere 16 pages. Testot must have decided that supporting every claim and fact with a footnote would have distracted from the story he tells. Although the references contain many interesting books and publications, those wishing to check up on certain claims will have to do their own research. Furthermore, the book is strikingly devoid of photos, maps, graphs, and tables, bar a single chart of the human world population through time in the appendix. As such, I felt Cataclysms did not deliver on the dustjacket’s promise of providing “the full tally” the way e.g. Vaclav Smil did in Harvesting the Biosphere. Those wanting a more data-driven overview will probably want to check out Cataclysms‘s big contender for 2020, Daniel R. Headrick’s Humans versus Nature. I had the chance to rifle through a copy, though not yet read it in full. At 604 pages with a 100-page notes section (and some illustrations), it promises to be a denser read.
“[The book] will undoubtedly charm newcomers to the field with its narrative style and ambitious scope […] but I suspect that seasoned readers will crave something more dense and data-heavy.”
Testot’s outlook for the future is bleak, though his concluding chapter wanders somewhat aimlessly. Rather than offering an overview of which planetary boundaries we have breached and how far in overshoot we are, Testot focuses on what he calls the upcoming Evolutive Revolution before turning to some likely consequences of climate change. This final revolution could either pan out as the pipe-dream of transhumanism where nano-, bio-, and information technologies converge into the singularity that would make humans immortal / obsolete as Artificial Intelligence takes over (something Testot is critical of), or we may end up as mutants in the chemical cesspit that we are making of our planet. Throw in a conclusion and an epilogue to the English edition that both reiterate main points from the book, and it starts to feel a little bit like Tolkien’s struggle to let the reader go in the last book of The Lord of the Rings.
Environmental history has become a rather crowded subject and opinions will probably be divided on whether Cataclysms stands out from the crowd sufficiently. It will undoubtedly charm newcomers to the field with its narrative style and ambitious scope—Testot knows how to spin a fine yarn and provides an entry point to many fascinating chapters in world history that readers will want to explore further. I certainly enjoyed reading it, but I suspect that seasoned readers will crave something more dense and data-heavy.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
The lives of animal groups can be as full of intrigue, drama, and machinations as any novel or movie starring humans. But revealing this requires extraordinary perseverance. Following their reintroduction to Yellowstone National Park, no other wolves in the world have been more closely monitored. And of all the people involved, nobody has spent more time in the field watching them than biological technician and park ranger Rick McIntyre. Amongst wolf aficionados, wolf 21—for the wolves are identified by a number—was one the most famous. But before 21, there was wolf 8, and this is his story.
The Rise of Wolf 8: Witnessing the Triumph of Yellowstone’s Underdog, written by Rick McIntyre, published by Greystone Books in October 2019 (hardback, 297 pages)
McIntyre has been involved with the Yellowstone Gray Wolf Restoration Project from the beginning in 1995. He has worked as wolf interpreter, initially part of the year and later year-round, giving talks to visitors and helping them spot wolves in the field. The Rise of Wolf 8 is the first in a trilogy* to tell the life stories of some of the park’s notable alpha** wolves. Now, before we turn to the wolves, a word about “perseverance”, for revealing their stories in this level of detail would not have been possible without it. In the afterword, project leader Douglas W. Smith puts some numbers on it: 25 years, including 6,175 consecutive (!) days in the field from 2000 to 2015; over 100,000 wolf sightings when this book went to print; 12,000 pages of notebooks filled with observations. McIntyre has dedicated himself to this project with a passion that borders on the obsessive.
The result is an unprecedented chronicle of several generations of wolves. The first pack to arrive from Canada became known as the Crystal Creek Pack, encompassing an alpha male and female with their four male pups, one of which was 8. Initially the runt of the litter being picked on by his brothers, he soon reveals himself to be fearless when McIntyre witnesses him single-handedly facing off against a grizzly bear when the pups steal its catch. From here on outwards it becomes clear he has the makings of a very successful wolf.
“Before we turn to the wolves, a word about “perseverance” […] McIntyre has dedicated himself to this project with a passion that borders on the obsessive.”
When the alpha male of the second introduced pack, the Rose Creek Pack, is illegally killed, wolf 8 is accepted by the alpha female as the new alpha male and adopts her children, which includes wolf 21. A third pack, the Druid Peak Pack, is introduced in 1996 and from here on the web of players around 8 increases sharply. When both Druid males are illegally shot, 21 leaves his pack and joins the Druids as their new alpha male. Though 21 seems smitten with one of the three Druid females, 42, the pack’s alpha female, 40, is a tyrannical ruler who is no stranger to killing rival wolves or preventing her sisters from breeding. 21’s story is told in the second book of the trilogy, The Reign of Wolf 21, but the relationship between 8 and 21, and what the adopted son seems to have learned from his stepfather, is notable. The inevitable showdown between the two packs at the end of the book is nothing short of hair-raising.
These three packs go on to have several generations of pups, and other packs also come into existence as some yearlings set out on their own. The tangle of place names and numbered wolves, combined with McIntyre’s numerous descriptions of episodes of wolves interacting, meant that the book did start to wear on me a bit midway through as I tried to keep track of who was doing what, where, and with whom or to whom. The book opens with a map and three partial family trees, and I found myself referring to these frequently. Still, I feel this book could have benefited from some more infographics, drawings, or photos with each chapter (McIntyre’s colleagues have collected family tree data and made it publicly available). The plate section only shows wolf 8 in two group photos taken from some distance, one in which he is partially behind a tree. I am not even sure that the jacket, credited as “photograph of a gray wolf by Jim Cumming”, shows wolf 8. Early on, McIntyre mentions having stopped taking cameras into the field to focus solely on observations with a spotting scope.
“Fact is, I will likely never visit Yellowstone National Park […] But this book […] allows me to vicariously experience observing them through a spotting scope with an experienced interpreter by my side.”
Despite the somewhat repetitive writing, what McIntyre reveals here, both from the viewpoint of intergenerational dynasties and of individual wolf personalities, is remarkable. His behavioural descriptions are mostly factual, describing sequences as he observed them, but he does not shy away from interpreting them and clearly indicates where he does so. This involves both attributing emotional states to behaviours and showing that wolves have awareness of certain situations, states of mind, and foresight. Personally, I do not think this crosses over into anthropomorphising wolves. Biologists such as Frans de Waal and Carl Safina, whose book Beyond Words first put me on the track of McIntyre’s work, have hardened my conviction that animals have both intelligence and personalities. McIntyre is the living embodiment of Safina’s admonishment that students of behaviour should get out more and observe animals in the field, and I doubt that there is anyone better positioned to make these interpretations. Many of the unique observations recorded here are invaluable to ethologists, and McIntyre has been a source of unpublished data and personal communications to other wolf researchers (e.g. for Mech et al.‘s books Wolves and Wolves on the Hunt). That said, McIntyre mostly provides anecdotes here and only occasionally links it to some of the other wolf research done in the park.
Fact is, I will likely never visit Yellowstone National Park to see the wolves there for myself. But this book, and the many intimate moments McIntyre describes, allow me to vicariously experience observing them through a spotting scope with an experienced interpreter by my side. The Rise of Wolf 8 is a unique and epic chronicle by the world’s most dedicated wolf-watcher and comes highly recommend if you have any interest in wolves and their behaviour. I am very much looking forward to finding out how the story continues.
* About six months after this review was published, Greystone Books revealed the final instalment in this trilogy: The Redemption of Wolf 302
** (26/01/2023) Several readers on Reddit pointed out that the term “alpha wolf” has fallen out of favour. Wolf biologist Dave Mech, who initially helped spread the term, has publicly disavowed it and expressed frustration with how it continues to linger. Despite McIntyre having met Mech on several occasions, he continues to liberally use this term.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>In his previous book, Beyond Words, ecologist Carl Safina convinced his readers of the rich inner lives of animals. Just like we do, they have thoughts, feelings, and emotions. But the similarities do not stop there. Becoming Wild focuses on animal culture, the social knowledge that is transmitted between individuals and generations through sharing and learning. The more we look, the more animals seem less different from us—or we from them. On top of that, Safina puts forward several eye-opening and previously-overlooked implications of animal culture.
Becoming Wild: How Animals Learn to be Animals, written by Carl Safina, published in Europe by Oneworld Publications in April 2020 (hardback, 377 pages)
To observe animal culture first-hand, Safina focuses on three species and accompanies the researchers that study them in the field. He furthermore draws on the primary scientific literature on culture in a host of other species. The stars of this book are sperm whales and the long-term Dominica Sperm Whale Project led by Shane Gero, the scarlet macaws in Peru studied by Don Brightsmith and Gaby Vigo’s group, and the chimpanzees in Uganda’s Budongo Forest studied by Cat Hobaiter’s group. They are worth the price of admission alone.
I admit I have a thing for the denizens of the deep. Just as Safina previously showed orcas to be fascinating, here he taught me how little I know about sperm whales. Clearly, I must read up on them. They communicate in clicks generated by the world’s most powerful animal sonar. Beyond finding squid in the deep, unique patterns of clicks (so-called codas) announce group membership to other whales. Sperm whale families worldwide are organised in different clans that do not mingle, each sounding their own coda. And these have to be learned by youngsters. Safina furthermore gives a searing history of whaling and its effects and considers what we know of culture in other cetaceans.
It is hard not to like parrots, and the section on macaws provides plenty of antics to enjoy. These pair-bonding birds teach their young where food is to be found and what ripens when. Sodium is in short supply in this part of the jungle, so macaws use ancient clay deposits as communal salt licks. But this is also an opportunity to socialise, find mates, and see who is hanging out with who. Here, too, groups of parrots have idiosyncratic cultural preferences for certain salt licks over others.
“The three stars of this book—sperm whales, scarlet macaws, and chimpanzees—are worth the price of admission alone.”
Chimpanzees, then, have been intensively studied and examples of culture abound. Different groups have unique tool use and dietary habits that get passed down the generations, not just through copying, but at times even through teaching. Some chimps use rocks as anvils and hammers to crack nuts, some craft wooden spears to kill bush babies hiding inside logs, while others raid nearby farms for guava fruit that most chimps will not touch. They live in strongly hierarchical groups where alpha males vie for power, and violent outbursts are frequent. Youngsters have to be taught everybody’s place in the ranking as they grow up. Nevertheless, Cat Hobaiter is at pains to show Safina that most of the time these animals are peaceful. Based on this, primary literature, and books such as The New Chimpanzee and The Real Chimpanzee, Safina, in turn, paints a nuanced picture of chimpanzee society. Interested readers will also want to look out for the forthcoming Chimpanzee: Lessons from our Sister Species and Chimpanzees in Context for the state-of-the-art of the field.
But these three focus species are not all there is. Safina examines other studies to show how widespread animal culture is. He draws parallels between humans and other animals and probingly asks what this means for how we treat them and their world. Perhaps no more so than on page 327: “No wisdom tradition grants a generation permission to deplete the world and drive it toward ruin […] Life is a relay race, our task merely to pass the torch.” And he develops interesting ideas, two of which struck me as eye-opening.
One is the underrated significance of culture for conservation biology. Much of how animals learn to be animals depends on knowledge being passed from generation to generation. Thus, the biodiversity crisis is about more than just numerical losses, genetic bottlenecks, and habitat fragmentation. Unique cultures are snuffed out as we kill animals and destroy their habitats to claim more room for ourselves. Worse, breaking these links of knowledge transmission also greatly hinders reintroduction efforts. Without their elders to teach them how to live in their particular environments, young animals often struggle to survive, while willy-nilly translocating mature animals is bound to run into obstacles. It is a disheartening insight that, it seems to me, many conservation biologists and organisations still have to come to terms with.
“[…] the biodiversity crisis is about more than just numerical losses, genetic bottlenecks, and habitat fragmentation. Unique cultures are snuffed out as we kill animals and destroy their habitats to claim more room for ourselves”
The other concerns the role of culture in speciation and evolution. Safina hinted at this in Beyond Words but here develops this idea more fully. The evolution of new species starts with reproductive isolation between different groups, this much biologists agree on. But what drives reproductive isolation? Traditionally, geography is invoked: the formation of mountains and rivers, or the conquest of islands separates populations in space, preventing reproduction. If this persists, populations start to diverge and are on their way to becoming separate species. Biologists call this allopatric speciation. But there are cases, the Lake Victoria cichlids being a textbook example, where species continue to share the same habitat and could interbreed but for some reason do not. This is known as sympatric speciation. Biologists have long struggled to explain what causes reproductive isolation here.
Culture could.
As Safina points out, socially learned preferences lead to avoidance between groups and thus to reproductive isolation. In orcas, for example, different groups with different diets (fish vs. marine mammals) are already showing morphological changes. Safina proposes that, next to natural and sexual selection, cultural selection could be a pathway to speciation. It is a thought-provoking idea.
“[…] socially learned preferences lead to avoidance between groups and thus to reproductive isolation […] Safina proposes that, next to natural and sexual selection, cultural selection could be a pathway to speciation. “
What makes Becoming Wild such a pleasure to read is that Safina speaks to you in many voices. There is Safina the ecologist, Safina the conservationist, Safina the philosopher, etc. He has many angles on his subject which keeps the narrative flowing and the reader engaged. His questions are probing: Who are we sharing the planet with and what is life like for them? In places, his prose soars into poetry. When writing of the dawn chorus: “Dawn is the song that silence sings […] as the eyelash of daybreak rolls endlessly across the planet, a chorus of birds and monkeys is eternally greeting a new dawn.” (p. 232) And the epigraph that describes Shane Gero’s revelation as to why he studies sperm whales was so powerful that Safina had me in tears before even starting the book.
Becoming Wild is another jewel in the crown of Safina’s work that packs fascinating field studies, interesting theoretical ideas, soul-searching questions, and probing reflections on human and animal nature into a book that is as profound as it is moving.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
Recognising that animals are intelligent beings with inner lives, emotions—even personalities—has a troubled place in the history of ethology, the study of animal behaviour. For most pet owners, these things will seem self-evident, but ethologists have long been hostile to the idea of anthropomorphising animals by attributing human characteristics to them. The tide is turning, though, and on the back of decades-long careers, scientists such as Frans de Waal, Marc Bekoff, and Carl Safina have become well-known public voices breaking down this outdated taboo. In preparation of reviewing Safina’s new book Becoming Wild, I decided I should first read his bestseller Beyond Words. I have to issue an apology here: courtesy of the publisher Henry Holt I have had a review copy of this book for several years that gathered dust until now. And that was entirely my loss, as Beyond Words turned out to be a beautiful, moving book.
Beyond Words: What Animals Think and Feel, written by Carl Safina, published in Europe by Souvenir Press in September 2016 (hardback, 480 pages)
A plain summary of this book could run something like this: a large book in four parts in which ecologist Carl Safina delves into the inner worlds of elephants, wolves, and orcas, with frequent comparisons to other animals. This is based on interviews with biologists, time spent with them in the field observing their study animals, and close reading of both the books they wrote and the primary scientific literature. In Africa, he speaks to Iain Douglas-Hamilton and Amboseli Elephant Research Project leader Cynthia Moss. In Yellowstone National Park he spends time with long-term wolf-watchers Laurie Lyman, Doug McLaughlin, and Rick McIntyre. The latter has since started chronicling the lives of Yellowstone’s alpha wolves in a yet-to-be-completed trilogy. And on the Pacific coast between the USA and Canada he accompanies Ken Balcomb who has dedicated his life to observing orcas, while listening closely to Erich Hoyt, Alexandra Morton, Denise Herzing, and Diana Reiss.
This summary would tell you of the long-term studies and numerous observations that have revealed so much. How elephants in a herd defer to the leadership of a matriarch, who is a walking memory bank of valuable knowledge on e.g. the location of food and water holes in times of famine and drought. How they show empathy by caring for their wounded and sick, even grieving their dead, paying close attention to bones long after the death of their owner. How they communicate, using infrasound to cover long distances, and how the slaughter for ivory causes life-long havoc by destroying family structures.
The wolves reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park have revealed how the different alpha males and females have their own personalities, some ruling their pack calmly, others tyrannically. These are clever carnivores who outsmart competitors threatening their pups, and cooperate in a complex fashion to bring down large prey. Here, too, human hunters killing wolves causes collateral damage that reverberates down the social hierarchy, breaking up and reshuffling packs, often costing more lives.
“Not assuming that other animals have thoughts and feelings was a good start for a new science. Insisting they did not was bad science.”
And killer whales? These highly social and long-lived marine mammals live in pods that, like other cetaceans, show what can only be called culture. Such as their exceptional dietary specialisation that is taught to youngsters. These echo-locating predators show refined, cooperative hunting techniques and are intensely social, mothers contributing to the survival of their children and grandchildren well after menopause. Just as elephants and wolves, they recognize other individuals after prolonged periods of separation (and show it too). As told elsewhere, we learned much of this the hard way by catching killer whales for display in marine theme parks. Suffice to say that breaking up families and isolating individuals in small pools has turned out to be extremely traumatising.
But this way of reviewing the book would neglect much of what makes it such an exceptional read. And I am not talking about all the other intelligent beings populating these pages: the primates, dogs, dolphins, and birds.
Take the much-needed history lesson of why scientists have been so shy to grant animals a measure of agency and intelligence: the mere mention of it could kill your academic career. In Mama’s Last Hug, Frans de Waal called this resistance to anthropomorphising “anthropodenial”. Safina agrees that we have taken it to the other extreme: “Not assuming that other animals have thoughts and feelings was a good start for a new science. Insisting they did not was bad science” (p. 27). Notably, though, where De Waal makes a careful distinction between emotions and feelings, Safina uses these two words interchangeably.
“Peel back the skin and underneath we find similarities everywhere […] and why would we expect anything else? We know that evolution excels at reusing, repurposing, and rejiggling existing structures and processes.”
Or what of the gentle skewering of academic concepts such as “theory of mind”, the realisation that others have their own motivations and desires? Those who continue to deny animals this should get out more, for they show “that many humans lack a theory of mind for non-humans” (p. 253). In Safina’s hands, the mirror mark test, that supposed litmus test of self-awareness, looks daft. Animals failing to recognize their own reflection only show that they do not understand reflection, without it, well, reflecting on self-awareness. In the wild, both self-awareness and gauging another’s state of mind are often a matter of life or death.
Probably one of the most convincing threads that runs through this book, and to which Safina returns frequently, is that of evolutionary legacy. Consciousness, emotion—the mental traits that we long thought as uniquely human—have deep roots. Peel back the skin and underneath we find similarities everywhere: the same neurological circuits, the same hormones, the same physiological pathways. And why would we expect anything else? We know that evolution excels at reusing, repurposing, and rejiggling existing structures and processes.
So, he happily goes against the grain and speculates about animals’ mental experience in this book, though always with one eye on evidence, logic, and science. (He helpfully bundles up the more unbelievable ones on cetaceans in a chapter called “Woo-Woo”.) To really see animals not for what, but for who they are, observations outside of the artificial environments of laboratories and captive enclosures are vital. Consequently, as Safina admits, much of what he relates here is anecdotal. As many sceptical scientists, myself included, like to say: “the plural of anecdote is not data”. But the bin in his mind labelled “unlikely stories” is getting cluttered. Anecdotes can only keep piling up for so long before you can no longer ignore them.
“[T]his book would not have the impact it has had if it was not for the writing. It is easy to see why Safina’s oeuvre has garnered literary awards.”
Finally, this book would not have the impact it has had if it was not for the writing. It is easy to see why Safina’s oeuvre has garnered literary awards. His many, short chapters are threaded together suspensefully. His wordplay sometimes borders on brilliant: when observing our shared evolutionary history and legacy: “beneath the skin, kin” (p. 324); when pondering our endless cruelty towards animals: “the next step beyond human civilization: humane civilization” (p. 411). And if the many stories do not already move you, I will leave you with a quote that choked me up, where he makes the point that the study of animal behaviour is not a mere “boutique endeavour”:
“Anyone can read about how much we are losing. All the animals that human parents paint on nursery room walls, all the creatures depicted in paintings of Noah’s ark, are actually in mortal trouble now. Their flood is us. What I’ve tried to show is how other animals experience the lives they so energetically and so determinedly cling to. I wanted to know who these creatures are. Now we may feel, beneath our ribs, why they must live.” (p. 411)
Beyond Words is a heartfelt gem of a book. Whether you are fascinated by the lives of charismatic megafauna such as elephants, wolves, or killer whales, or have an interest in animal behaviour, pick up this book. It is never too late to read a bestseller that you have ignored so far.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
]]>
“Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Teach Us about Ourselves”, written by Frans de Waal, published in Europe by Granta Books in March 2019 (hardback, 348 pages)
The book opens with the final meeting between the titular Mama, an old chimpanzee matriarch on her deathbed at Burgers Zoo in the Netherlands, and Dutch biologist Jan van Hooff, whom she had known for some 40 years. The video clip shows a touching moment of cross-species affection as Mama wakes up and suddenly recognizes Jan, hugging him. (As an aside, I do feel the book provides useful context you might not get from just watching it – most people, myself included, would not be able to interpret chimpanzee behaviour properly.)
Should we be surprised by Mama’s capability to recall Jan? De Waal is strongly of the opinion that the school of behaviourism pioneered by the likes of B.F. Skinner and others has cast a long shadow over the study of animal behaviour. They see animals merely as stimulus-response machines driven by instincts and simple learning, and De Waal’s previous book Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? was a passionate riposte to this mode of thinking. Mama’s Last Hug is the companion to that book, dealing with emotions, which De Waal considers fully integrated with cognition and intelligence (see also Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain).
Before we proceed there is an important distinction to be made that De Waal returns to throughout the book. Emotions and feelings are not the same things, though they are often conflated in day-to-day speech. Emotions are bodily and mental states (fear, anger, desire) that drive behaviour. They show as facial expressions, gestures, odours, or changes in skin colour or vocal timbre. Feelings are subjective internal states only known to those who have them. Or as De Waal poetically puts it: “We show our emotions, but we talk about our feelings”. Emotions, therefore, can be observed and measured in the wild or in experimental settings. Feelings… well, making claims on what animals feel is a bridge too far even for De Waal. He thinks it is likely animals related to us have similar feelings, but he also recognises that this is pure conjecture for the moment.
“Emotions and feelings are not the same things […]: “We show our emotions, but we talk about our feelings””
And with that, De Waal launches into his book. In seven chapters he wanders widely, discussing his own and other’s research on primates and other animals; recounting engaging anecdotes of observations made in the wild or in captivity; and weaving in history lessons, explaining how the academic landscape of ethology (the study of animal behaviour) started, how it developed, and what has changed over the many decades of his own research career.
In passing, he deals with a range of emotions. Grief is particularly well publicised for elephants (see How Animals Grieve). Laughing and smiling are argued by Van Hooff to express different emotions in primates, but to have grown closer and often blend in humans. Empathy (sensitivity to another’s emotions) is widely documented in primates, where group members regularly comfort each other (see also De Waal’s earlier book The Age of Empathy: Nature’s Lessons for a Kinder Society). And the list goes on: disgust, shame, guilt, pride, hope, wrath, forgiveness, gratitude, envy… De Waal shows how all of these have been observed primates and other mammals (see also Animal Wise: How We Know Animals Think and Feel). And where researchers have cared to look, some also show up in birds and fish (see Gifts of the Crow: How Perception, Emotion, and Thought Allow Smart Birds to Behave Like Humans and What a Fish Knows: The Inner Lives of Our Underwater Cousins).
This facet of the book is incredibly engaging and entertaining. But if I had to criticise something, it feels somewhat unstructured. De Waal wades in enthusiastically as there is so much to tell. He threads together one example and one emotion after another. But is this book more than just a collection of case studies? Yes, it is, but upon gathering my thoughts for this review I found I had to read between the lines to uncover what seems to be one of the main arguments. The blurb on the dustjacket mentions it quite prominently, but De Waal does not bring it up until halfway the book, on page 165. Emotions, he proposes, are like organs. Each one of them is vital and we share them with all other mammals.
“Emotions, [De Waal] proposes, are like organs. Each one of them is vital and we share them with all other mammals. What this boils down to is a reversal of the burden of proof.”
What this boils down to is a reversal of the burden of proof. Rather than the default assumption of no animal emotions, we should assume that animals have emotions – those who wish to make the case they do not should be backing up that claim with evidence. Some may find this controversial, but from an evolutionary standpoint, it makes sense.
“Just look how similar our bodies are!”, exclaims De Waal. The musculature of primate and human faces – so important in emotional expression – is indistinguishable. When we eat something disgusting, both monkeys and humans pull the same face and the same brain area is active. The same antidepressants that work in humans can liven up bored fish, while rats and humans (and their brains) respond the same to drugs that induce a euphoric state. And remember all the hoopla around mirror neurons? They were discovered in macaques. (See also Mirrors in the Brain: How Our Minds Share Actions and Emotions and The Myth of Mirror Neurons: The Real Neuroscience of Communication and Cognition for a critique). De Waal mentions Sapolsky’s point that evolution strapped human emotions onto ancient emotions shared with other animals (see Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst). All of these examples reiterate the deep shared roots of the vertebrate neurological system, and make the presence of animal emotions the more parsimonious explanation.
It is not anthropomorphism we should worry about, but what De Waal calls anthropodenial. To assume that we are the only animals to experience emotions denies us our animal roots, reeks of human exceptionalism, and requires a belief in a unique cognitive spark, “a pretzel-like twist rather than the usual slow and smooth course of evolution […] only because science has neglected what animals are capable of.”
“It is not anthropomorphism we should worry about, but what De Waal calls anthropodenial. […] science has neglected what animals are capable of.”
This is another aspect of the book I thoroughly enjoyed: De Waal is outspoken. He rails against gratuitous anthropomorphism in the popular press, against dogmatic sociobiological theories that only recognise selfish motives behind actions, against colleagues who are so scared of anthropomorphism they deny animals all emotions, against the mechanistic view of behaviourism, against the cultural and religious prejudices that seek to separate mind and body, against moral philosophers who ignore emotions in their theories, against those who object to behavioural research on animals as cruel and unnecessary. If I make him sound like an angry man, no, his disagreements are always reasonable and well-argued, but he has his opinions and is not afraid to voice them.
So, what does Mama’s Last Hug teach us about ourselves? That we are far less unique and share far more with our animal relatives than we think. That there are important lessons to be drawn on how we treat animals. And that we tell ourselves misleading stories about our past. He singles out Richard Wrangham and Steven Pinker who would have us believe we have always been a violent rather than a peaceful species (see Demonic Males: Apes and the Origins of Human Violence, my review of The Goodness Paradox: How Evolution Made Us Both More and Less Violent, and The Better Angels of our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined). As I also mentioned in my review of The Creative Spark: How Imagination Made Humans Exceptional, the recent decline in violence might be true, but the archaeological evidence does not support a deep history of perpetual warfare.
De Waal brings a wealth of experience to the table and his writing is entertaining, stimulating, and thought-provoking. It makes Mama’s Last Hug a wonderful induction into the world of animal and human emotions.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however. You can support this blog using below affiliate links, as an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases:
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
, 
or 
, __________________________________________________________________
, 
, 
, __________________________________________________________________
, 
or 
, __________________________________________________________________
, 
or 
, __________________________________________________________________
]]>
, 
,