The legendary British broadcaster and natural historian Sir David Attenborough needs almost no introduction. Since his first appearance on our television screens in 1954, he has gone on to a long and distinguished career presenting and narrating groundbreaking nature documentaries. And he shows no sign of slowing down. His voice and style have become so iconic that he has been dubbed the voice of nature. Over the years, he has increasingly expressed concern over the state of the natural world, and in A Life on Our Planet Attenborough fully engages with this topic. However, when you turn to the title page you will notice the name of a co-author, Jonnie Hughes, who directed the Netflix documentary tied in with this book. As Attenborough explains in his acknowledgements, Hughes has been particularly instrumental in the writing of the third part of the book, together with substantial assistance from the Science Team at WWF. This is Attenborough’s witness statement, yes, but whose vision of the future is it?
A Life on Our Planet: My Witness Statement and a Vision for the Future, written by Sir David Attenborough with Jonnie Hughes, published by Witness Books (an imprint of Ebury Press) in October 2020 (hardback, 282 pages)
A Life on Our Planet is divided into three parts, the first of which features highlights from Attenborough’s filmmaking career. Interwoven with vignettes that you might recognize from his autobiography are short episodes in the history of life on our planet and the rise of human civilization—this is Attenborough writing at his finest. Overlaid is his increasing concern for the changes he has witnessed. Each chapter heading ominously lists the human world population, the atmospheric carbon level, and the estimated percentage of wilderness remaining in a certain year.
The brief second part, “What Lies Ahead”, serves as a bridge to the third part and introduces several important concepts. One is the Great Acceleration, the period following the 1950s in which our activity and impact on the environment ramped up tremendously. The other is the Planetary Boundaries model drawn up by Johan Rockström and colleagues, which I brought up in my previous review of Planetary Accounting. This Earth systems science framework demarcates a “safe operating space for humanity” by identifying nine planetary processes and systems with their boundary values, several of which we have exceeded with our actions. In just ten pages, the book then looks ahead to some likely environmental tipping points in our near future, such as forest dieback and permafrost melting. I was expecting a longer section along the lines of Lynas’s Our Final Warning and Wallace-Well’s The Uninhabitable Earth, but clearly, this book has no interest in dwelling on the catastrophes ahead.
“Interwoven with autobiographical vignettes are short episodes in the history of life on our planet and the rise of human civilization—this is Attenborough writing at his finest.”
This brings us to the vision for the future, which is where the question of authorship becomes increasingly blurred. At times I was not sure whether I was reading Attenborough’s voice or a WWF policy brief. The book takes the planetary boundaries model with its ecological ceiling and Kate Raworth’s modification known as the Doughnut model, which adds a social foundation to it, i.e. the minimum requirements for human well-being. It then outlines some of the changes required to significantly reduce our impact on the planet, leaning towards “green” and nature-based solutions aimed primarily at restoring biodiversity. The overall tone here is hopeful and the book hits many relevant points, though I have some criticism.
Let’s start with what I appreciated. First, and this feels like Attenborough speaking, it gets its philosophy right, tackling anthropocentrism: “We moved from being a part of nature to being apart from nature […] we need to reverse that transition” (p. 125). It also acknowledges the shifting baseline syndrome in the context of fisheries and beyond: how each generation takes an increasingly impoverished environment as the new normal. Right out of the gate it tackles the need to move beyond the paradigm of perpetual growth and abandon Gross Domestic Product as our prime measure of welfare. Agriculture will have to rely on far less land through solutions that are high-tech (e.g. hydroponic greenhouses run on renewable energy), or low-tech (e.g. a shift away from monocultures to something more approaching functional ecosystems via regenerative farming and the growing of mixed crops). Most important would be a change from a meat- to a plant-based diet. Attenborough again: “When I was young […] meat was a rare treat” (p. 169). We should want less stuff and require our things to be repairable and recyclable, moving ultimately towards a circular economy. This all ties in nicely, although it is not spelt out here, with an ethos of self-limitation that we need to reclaim.
“This brings us to the vision for the future, which is where the question of authorship becomes increasingly blurred. At times I was not sure whether I was reading Attenborough’s voice or a WWF policy brief.”
Carbon capture will have to be achieved not by high-tech solutions, but by both reforestation on land and the farming of kelp forests in the sea (Ruth Kassinger already made the point in Slime that algae might just save the world). Both these solutions will help the massive rewilding efforts this book envisions: Marine Protected Areas will help fish populations to recover, resulting in sustainable fisheries, while on land more habitat will become available for wild animals. And, finally and importantly, the book tackles human population numbers, aiming for the humane solution of stabilising the world population as quickly as possible at 9–11 billion people by lifting people out of poverty and empowering women.
The holistic package proposed here, underpinned with examples of success stories from around the globe, almost makes it sound like we can have it all. Can we? The authors acknowledge that many of these transitions will not come easily and will require everyone to come together and cooperate (in itself a tall order). Where achievability is concerned, the devil is in the details, and I do feel that these are sometimes glossed over and that taboo subjects are avoided.
Take agriculture—there is no mention of the tremendous potential of genetically modified organisms. Similarly unmentioned regarding renewable energy is the concept of energy density and our reliance on increasingly energy-dense fuels as civilization progressed. There is no consideration of the tremendous amount of resources needed to build and maintain the necessary infrastructure. A combined solution of renewable and nuclear energy (admittedly a non-renewable) is considered a no-no. And though a circular economy is a step up from our linear system of produce-use-discard, you cannot endlessly recycle: a constant influx of virgin material is required. Not all metals can be economically recovered, nor all the compound materials we make unmade. Ever tried unfrying an egg? Entropy does not run that way.
“The holistic package proposed here […] almost makes it sound like we can have it all. Can we? […] these transitions will not come easily and […] the devil is in the details.”
The word “overpopulation” is studiously avoided, which is remarkable as Attenborough has been outspoken on the subject elsewhere (see this short explainer or the 2011 RSA President’s Lecture). The closest he gets to it here is when he writes that “we have overrun the Earth” (p. 100). Later, the possibility of a demographic transition to a declining world population is mentioned, but not the suggestion put forward by some that a lower world population of, say, 2–3 billion might be more sustainable. And though Attenborough points out increased longevity as a contributing factor, there is no examination of our relationship with death. Should we really direct all our efforts to maximising life span? At what cost, both environmental and quality-of-life-wise? And, lastly, the now-dominant narrative of female empowerment is only half the story and puts the onus squarely on their shoulders. Making contraception and abortion available to women is needed, but better still would be to prevent pregnancies by starting with male education. Condom, gentlemen?
Admittedly, I am arguing details here. Though they need serious consideration in my opinion, much of what is proposed here is sensible. A Life on Our Planet is very accessible and admirably concise. Its central message, that things cannot continue as they are, stands. If there is anyone who can communicate this to a wide audience, it is Sir David Attenborough. Some of the writing here will stick with you long after you have closed the book: “We often talk of saving the planet, but the truth is that we must do these things to save ourselves.” (p. 218). Here speaks a wise elder who, even at 94, indefatigably defends our environment.
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:
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“Journeys in the Wild: The Secret Life of a Cameraman“, written by Gavin Thurston, published by Seven Dials (an Orion Books imprint) in August 2019 (hardback, 441 pages)
The downside of being a cameraman is that you are literally out of the picture, so most people might have no idea who goes behind the name Gavin Thurston. But if I say BBC, David Attenborough, Blue Planet II, or Planet Earth you might get an idea. That, and he has won Emmy and BAFTA Film awards for his work. Still stumped? Remember that utterly bizarre sequence in Blue Planet II of an underwater brine pool with an eel suffering toxic shock? That was Thurston behind the camera.
Now, a picture may say more than a thousand words, but Thurston’s book tells of all the things that the cameras did not capture. Journeys in the Wild is divided into seven parts, each seemingly structured around a certain theme (first encounters, courage, patience, luck etc.) and contains a series of diary entries in chronological order.
The material here is thoroughly engrossing and there are some nail-bitingly tense situations: a narrow escape from a kidnapping in India, being caught out in a fierce storm in Antarctic waters, crashing an aeroplane in remote Gabon, being stalked by a pride of lions, or nearly being beaten up by a kangaroo. Especially the trip into war-torn Sudan to film for the BBC is harrowing to read.
But there are also moments of comic relief: dressing up as a gorilla to get close-up shots of sitatunga (small, swamp-dwelling antelopes), dealing with a corrupt customs official in Panama who insists on a “donation for their Christmas party”. But it was the opening scene in a UK studio filming rabbits, where a dominant male rabbit by the name of Piss Dick gets up to no good that had me in stitches, tears running down my face with laughter.
“The opening scene […] where a dominant male rabbit by the name of Piss Dick gets up to no good […] had me in stitches”
There are moments of intense wonder, as Thurston witnesses wildlife and natural events that most people will never see, in many cases before he even has a chance to record it: a chimpanzee admiring a butterfly, the mating call of the male kakapo (an endemic ground-dwelling parrot) in New Zealand, a chance encounter with a wild fossa (an endemic mammalian carnivore) in Madagascar. But he does not shy away from the less glamorous sides of the job: the long days spent waiting in hides, the bush camping under all weather conditions, falling ill while travelling in the tropics, the frequent jetlags, and the long months spent away from home and family.
Thurston has many captivating anecdotes to share and I found it difficult to put the book down. But I thought there was one downside to the way Journeys in the Wild is written. It is literally a collection of diary entries, making the book feel slightly disjointed. One moment we are in the ’90s, the next moment a paragraph header announces we have fast-forwarded weeks, months, or many years to a completely different location. This leaves very little room for a continuous narrative or for reflections on how documentary filmmaking has changed over the years (there are occasional remarks on how technology has advanced, but these are made almost off-hand). The upside of this approach is that it is very easy to pick this book up or dip into it if you do not have stretches of time to read non-stop.
“There are moments of intense wonder, […] But [Thurston] does not shy away from the less glamorous sides of the job”
Although often hard work, documentary filmmakers at the same time lead a charmed and adventurous existence. Many of them would not wish to trade it for something else for all the world. There is a huge audience out there craving to hear their stories, and Thurston joins an illustrious line-up. Attenborough has written many books over the years (most recently e.g. Life on Air, Adventures of a Young Naturalist, and Journeys to the Other Side of the World: Further Adventures of a Young Naturalist), but the people working behind the scenes have equally captivating stories to tell, e.g. James Aldred’s The Man Who Climbs Trees, Doug Alan’s Freeze Frame, Keith Partridge’s The Adventure Game: A Cameraman’s Tales from Films at the Edge, and the forthcoming The Whale in Your Room: Adventures of a Blue Planet Producer by producer John Ruthven.
I think it is no exaggeration to say that wildlife documentaries have been influential in shaping people’s attitude to the conservation of wildlife and natural habitats (see also BBC Wildlife Documentaries in the Age of Attenborough). If anything, Thurston’s drive to capture footage of some of nature’s extraordinary wonders for all to see shines through in this book. If you ever wondered what goes on behind the lens, then Journeys in the Wild is just the ticket: a captivating collection of exotic encounters and truly memorable adventures.
If you want to read more, an interview with Thurston was posted over at my employer’s blog.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
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“The Deep: The Hidden Wonders of Our Oceans and How We Can Protect Them“, written by Alex Rogers, published by Wildfire in April 2019 (hardback, 366 pages)
I find the deep ocean one of the most fascinating ecosystems on our planet. Perhaps it is the final-frontier aspect, as so much of it remains unexplored (Rogers gives some mind-boggling statistics), or maybe it is the otherworldliness of its inhabitants, but I cannot get enough of reading more about it. Rogers’s fascination started at an early age, encouraged by summer holidays spent out on the ocean with his grandfather, an Irish fisherman. Although he recounts these formative experiences with great fondness, he also recognises the cruelty visited upon the unfortunate fish and lobsters that were caught.
A research career in marine biology followed and Rogers relates with great enthusiasm some of the highlights in marine science that he has lived through. Hydrothermal vents had only just been discovered in 1977 (see also The Ecology of Deep-Sea Hydrothermal Vents), and he participated in expeditions that first explored these deep-sea hot springs in the unruly waters of the Southern Ocean using remotely operated underwater vehicles. There was the ten-year Census of Marine Life (see also Discoveries of the Census of Marine Life: Making Ocean Life Count). And, of course, technological developments allowed both manned and unmanned submersibles to venture deeper, capture better footage, and even carefully return samples to the surface (see also Discovering the Deep: A Photographic Atlas of the Seafloor and Ocean Crust and In Oceans Deep: Courage, Innovation, and Adventure Beneath the Waves).
This is the wonder in this book.
The furry yeti crabs, the dream-like towers of black smokers hiding in the abyss, the millennia-old corals, the predators that are all mouth and stomach. And do not get me started on the fish (see also my review of Deep-Sea Fishes: Biology, Diversity, Ecology and Fisheries). Rogers’s eyewitness descriptions of the bizarre fauna are mesmerizing. The colour plate section is only all too small.
“The furry yeti crabs, the dream-like towers of black smokers […]The colour plate section is only all too small”
Here is another strong suit of The Deep: Rogers shows the relevance of seemingly obscure scientific research. The confirmation that the deep-water coral species Lophelia pertusa – so different from tropical species – builds reefs might seem like academic arcana to outsiders. But it was decisive in a UK court judgement to recognise the continental margin of the UK (and by extension that of the European exclusive economic zone) as habitat in need of protection from oil exploration and other activities under the European Habitats Directive.
Rogers is that rare breed of scientist who is not content losing himself in his research. He has advised conservation NGOs, provided testimony in court, and worked on projects for the UN to name but a few achievements. He cares intensely and his fighting spirit shines through in his writing.
This is the horror in this book.
See, one of the biggest problems with the open ocean is its remoteness and its lawlessness (see also my review of The Outlaw Ocean: Crime and Survival in the Last Untamed Frontier). Large parts of the oceans fall outside national jurisdictions and are effectively a marine wild west. Rogers effortlessly switches between the wonders of the denizens of the deep that we are only just beginning to discover, and the horrors of their destruction before we have even had the chance to properly take stock of what is out there.
“[…] the denizens of the deep [are destroyed] before we have even had the chance to properly take stock of what is out there “
The Deep is bang up-to-date on this front. There is the familiar spectre of overfishing: the rise of the industrial fishing complex, the harmful government subsidies, the collapse of fish populations, the destructive practice of trawling, the infuriating wastefulness of by-catches and simply catching more than the market can handle (see my reviews of All the Boats on the Ocean: How Government Subsidies Led to Global Overfishing, Daniel Pauly’s Vanishing Fish: Shifting Baselines and the Future of Global Fisheries, and The Curious Life of Krill: A Conservation Story from the Bottom of the World, and references therein). But Rogers is equally at ease explaining the details behind ocean acidification, eutrophication with concomitant episodes of oxygen depletion and algal blooms (a topic I am intimately familiar with from my own studies), changing ocean temperatures and coral bleaching, and palaeoclimatological evidence of past changes (see also my review of The Oceans: A Deep History).
And then there is pollution. So much pollution. Untreated wastewater and sewage, discarded and lost fishing gear, oceanic garbage patches and microplastics (see Microplastic Pollutants and Microplastic Contamination in Aquatic Environments: An Emerging Matter of Environmental Urgency), persistent chemicals that accumulate in the food chain. Even something as topical as the chemical oxybenzone in sunscreen, recently banned in Hawai’i, is mentioned. And Rogers is warily eyeing up the imminent threat of deep-sea mining, as the world continues to hunger for rare earth elements (see also The Elements of Power, and the double-act Deep-Sea Mining: Resource Potential, Technical and Environmental Considerations and Environmental Issues of Deep-Sea Mining: Impacts, Consequences and Policy Perspectives).
“[…] Rogers is warily eyeing up the imminent threat of deep-sea mining, as the world continues to hunger for rare earth elements”
Amidst this onslaught, Rogers continues to fight and eschews cynicism (though his success in court surprised even him). As opposed to terrestrial ecosystems, few marine species have yet gone extinct and fish populations can rebound if given the chance (see my review of Ocean Recovery: A Sustainable Future for Global Fisheries?). He convincingly shows that marine protected areas are a vital tool to offer fauna and flora a safe haven (see e.g. Marine Protected Areas: A Multidisciplinary Approach and Marine Conservation), and joins E.O. Wilson in his call to set aside large tracts of the planet (see Half-Earth: Our Planet’s Fight for Life).
The Deep is an absorbing and passionately written book that successfully combines an eyewitness account of the biological bounty of the deep sea with first-hand reporting on the threats, the conservation initiatives, the (failure of) policies and treaties, the fierce industry lobbying, and the political shenanigans. The Deep is aimed at a general audience and Rogers has decided to leave out literature references, footnotes, and an index. But those omissions are a small price to pay. At a time when we need as many people as possible to take notice, and when a documentary such as Blue Planet II can shake a nation out of its stupor on plastic pollution, good storytelling is a necessary and promising approach.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
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