Do you eat? Then you might wish to consider that farming is destroying the planet. Or so argues Guardian columnist and environmental campaigner George Monbiot, who is never one to shirk controversy. I have a lot of time for Monbiot. I might not agree with everything he has written over the years, but I find his ideas to be driven by sound logic and appropriate scepticism. He is neither afraid to admit his mistakes nor to piss people off by saying things they do not want to hear. In that sense, Regenesis is a necessary provocation.

Regenesis: Feeding the World Without Devouring the Planet, written by George Monbiot, published in Europe by Allen Lane in May 2022 (hardback, 339 pages)

Many farmers, food critics, and activists will be dog-piling on this book, so to be clear: Monbiot is not blaming farmers who, he knows full well, are trapped in an exploitative system, even if there are cases of misconduct from their side too. This is a grounded and long-overdue critique of our food system. You want facts? Monbiot has plenty. He knows he is sticking his head above the parapet and has come prepared with 98 (!) pages of footnotes, backing up every claim.

Industrial farming of plants and livestock has a deservedly bad reputation. Issues such as animal welfare, antibiotic resistance, habitat destruction, insect declines, soil loss, and wildlife extinction have been well-publicised over the years. Furthermore, livestock consumes vast amounts of food fit for human consumption. Even knowing this, Monbiot manages to shock with some of the facts he has dug up. Many people rail again intensive farming, but, writes Monbiot, “the problem is not the adjective. It’s the noun” (p. 90).

Many solutions proposed by well-meaning environmental organisations and individuals are often equally bad, if not worse. Free-range and organic farming suffers an undeniable yield gap meaning you need more land for the same amount of food. What about rewilding? He is friends with the people running the much-praised Knepp Estate, but is critical of what they do: “while it provides an excellent example of rewilding, it offers a terrible example of food production” (p. 79). Livestock numbers here are so low that this simply cannot be scaled up to feed the world. What of locavorism then? Though there are good reasons to eat local, transportation is only a fraction of the emissions budget of produce, and local is not by definition better. And regenerative farming? Once Monbiot starts digging into it, the claims that planned grazing can reverse soil erosion and desertification and even draw down substantial amounts of carbon dioxide just do not hold up. Urban farming and vertical farming are similarly despatched as pipe dreams^[1]. Monbiot is merciless: “as so often in this field, passionate debates about how we should grow our food take place in a numerical vacuum” (p. 146). There is a lot of wishful thinking, and we love to fetishize both the past and the countryside.

“Industrial farming of plants and livestock has a deservedly bad reputation [but] many solutions proposed by well-meaning environmental organisations and individuals are often equally bad, if not worse.”

The part that terrified me was Monbiot’s examination of the global food production system through the lens of network science. Complex systems have a habit of taking on a life of their own, showing emergent properties and unexpected tipping points. We have come to understand them to the extent that, once you know their topology, you can predict how stable they are. Since the 1960s, we have increasingly globalized both food production methods and our diets, relied on fewer crops that we grow as monocultures, concentrated power in the hands of fewer and larger corporations, and relentlessly chased efficiency, which “is another way of saying that we are reducing its redundancy” (p. 31). Many countries are no longer self-sufficient and the whole system relies on just-in-time delivery. In other words, we have created a food production system that is highly vulnerable to shocks such as wars, pandemics, and extreme weather events, and governments seem hell-bent on making it even larger and more interconnected.

Fortunately, Monbiot does more than sound the alarm and the second half of Regenesis considers solutions. None are perfect and he is frank about their shortcomings. But together they can point the way toward a resilient and diverse food system that produces abundant, healthy, and affordable food. Land use is the key metric in this discussion and he argues we need high-yield, low-impact methods.

He thus meets farmers who are pursuing less destructive ways of growing food. What their different methods have in common is that they put the health of their soil first. This is why Monbiot opens Regenesis with a chapter on the fascinating and incredibly neglected fundamentals of soil science. One of the most exciting developments he covers is the use of perennial rather than annual plants, i.e. crops that can be harvested multiple years in a row. Our ancestors cultivated annuals because they grow quickly and invest all their energy in seeds rather than roots or foliage. But “large areas dominated by annual plants are rare in nature. They tend to colonize ground in the wake of catastrophe […] in cultivating annuals, we must keep the land in the catastrophic state they prefer” (p. 179). This idea had never occurred to me.

“we have created a food production system that is highly vulnerable to systemic shocks […] and governments seem hell-bent on making the system even larger and more interconnected.”

At the other end of the spectrum, Monbiot discusses the high-tech method of microbial fermentation that grows proteins in vats and has a tiny land footprint. Interestingly, he has become less convinced by attempts at growing cultured meat, instead hoping for completely new cuisines. I was left wondering about the nutritional value though. Monbiot seems fixated on the protein this technology can provide and dreams of a farm-free future in which vast tracts of land can be returned to nature. But we live on more than protein alone. Though he mentions that bacteria could produce the vitamins we need thanks to genetic engineering, he does not mention all the other macro- and micronutrients. I am thus left thinking this could either be a stumbling block or at least something that needs looking into.

At this point, you might be left with two questions. First, what about addressing food waste? Having talked to a food bank and to Britain’s largest food redistributor, Monbiot has more counterintuitive gems up his sleeve. As a solution, this is somewhat of a red herring; before and after the supermarket shelves, much of that food is unrecoverable. Second, and more importantly, what about vegetarianism or veganism? This is my only major critique: Monbiot is largely vegan and at several points mentions that switching to a plant-based diet would be an environmental win, but he never explicitly writes why he is not promoting veganism. If you read deeper, he argues this means changing people’s habits, which is notoriously difficult: “the less we need to rely on moral suasion, the more successful a shift is likely to be” (p. 150).

“Monbiot is largely vegan and at several points mentions that switching to a plant-based diet would be an environmental win, but he never explicitly writes why he is not promoting veganism.”

Though I appreciate Monbiot’s pragmatism, I disagree. The ideas explored here are all techno-fixes which only get you so far. In my opinion, cultivating an ethos of self-limitation has to be part of the answer. Monbiot admits that his proposed solutions will likely face stiff opposition, so changes of heart and habits are on the menu anyway. Furthermore, when discussing microbial fermentation, he gives recent examples of rapid social change. Since most people align with the status quo, all you need is a critical mass. This seems like a lapse in logic: if he thinks we can change people’s minds on eating microbially fermented food, we can change their minds on veganism, and people are exploring pragmatic ways to do so. By ignoring it, other options do not get a look-in, such as the awkwardly named flexitarianism or reducetarianism that treat meat as the luxury product it should be. Could they contribute to the solution? Plus, it leaves the floor to e.g. The Great Plant-Based Con, which argues in favour of regenerative farming and flags up the health risks of veganism. Monbiot skewers the former here, but the latter is minimally mentioned and is one of those perenially confusing topics on which there is much contradictory information.

This notwithstanding, I have nothing but praise for this book. Monbiot calls out injustices, wishful thinking, and illogical ideas on all sides while remaining sympathetic to people’s motivations. That he angers pretty much everyone in the process is a price he is willing to pay: this is not a popularity contest. Regenesis is an incendiary page-turner, in the best possible sense of the word.

1. ↑ I would be curious, though, to know what Monbiot thinks of the archaeological evidence that tropical jungles were once home to thriving civilizations practising a form of agrarian-based, low-density urbanism. With current population densities, this may no longer be a pragmatic solution.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Regenesis

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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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.

New World Monkeys

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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Marine biologist Helen Scales returns for her third book with Bloomsbury’s popular science imprint Bloomsbury Sigma. After shells and fish, she now drags the reader down into the darkest depths of the deep sea. Both a beautifully written exploration of the ocean’s otherworldly wonders and a searing exposé of the many threats they face, The Brilliant Abyss is Scales’s most strident book to date.

The Brilliant Abyss: True Tales of Exploring the Deep Sea, Discovering Hidden Life and Selling the Seabed, written by Helen Scales, published in Europe by Bloomsbury Publishing in March 2021 (hardback, 352 pages)

Sir David Attenborough has probably said it best: “No one will protect what they do not care about; and no one will care about what they have never experienced“. Both Scales and the publisher have taken that message to heart and the book is neatly designed. As with her previous book, illustrator Aaron John Gregory is involved again, this time providing two beautiful end plates and an eye-catching cover, while the colour plate section contains some outstanding photos. But at the heart of The Brilliant Abyss is Scales’s captivating writing.

First, consider the landscape. As she explains, the seabed, shaped by plate tectonics, is far from a featureless bathtub. Spreading centres create mid-ocean ridges, colossal mountain ranges that girdle the planet, while subduction zones where oceanic crust plunges back into the planet form deep-sea trenches of terrifying depths. The abyssal plain in between is studded with active or extinct underwater volcanoes that form seamounts of great import to marine life. Wherever magma approaches the surface, percolating seawater becomes superheated, rising back to the surface laden with dissolved minerals and metals. They form hydrothermal vents: towering structures that are home to unique fauna and are “the deep-sea equivalent of hot springs and geysers on land” (p. 97). Woven throughout is a history of scientific exploration, from the first oceanographic expeditions to today’s robotic submersibles, and from pioneering deep-sea explorers to today’s trench-diving billionaires.

Otherworldly as the landscape is, the real stars of this realm are its fauna. Scales’s knowledge and love of marine biology shine through here, as she populates the pages with a bewildering cast of creatures. Notable examples of bizarre deep-sea fishes are included, but she gives you so much more. Whale carcasses, so-called whale falls, become complete ecosystems, home to bone-eating Osedax worms with unusual sex lives. Large gelatinous members of the drifting plankton, such as colonial siphonophores and giant larvaceans, form previously underappreciated links in the food web. Hydrothermal vents are crowded with worms and furry Yeti crabs that domesticate symbiotic bacteria capable of chemosynthesis, the “dark alternative to photosynthesis” (p. 104). Meanwhile, one species of snail makes its shell out of iron! And then there are the corals. No, not the familiar tropical corals who “hog not only the sunlight but the limelight” (p. 129); the lesser-known cold-water corals that occur at great depths and grow even slower.

“[…] the real stars of this realm are its fauna […] whale falls become complete ecosystems, home to bone-eating Osedax worms with unusual sex lives. […] Meanwhile, one species of snail makes its shell out of iron!”

And if the intrinsic value of biodiversity does not sway you, Scales is no stranger to discussing the deep’s instrumental values. The capacity of seawater to absorb heat and carbon dioxide. The role of global oceanic currents in regulating our climate. Or the carbon pump provided by marine snow; the constant rain of dead plankton, fish poop, and other organic debris that descends into the depths. And what of the quest for new classes of biological compounds with antiviral, anti-bacterial, or anti-cancer properties that could form the pharmaceutical drugs and antibiotics of the future?

Two-thirds through the book Scales switches gears. Now that she has your attention, it is time to highlight the many dangers the deep faces. Deep-sea fishing targets long-lived, slow-growing species such as orange roughy. Vulnerable seamounts with millennia-old corals are destroyed by trawlers in a matter of hours. Meanwhile, the promise of food for everyone is not being met. Vast catch volumes are being turned into fish meal for aquaculture and pet food, or questionable nutraceuticals such as omega-3-oil supplements. And where Daniel Pauly already gave me reason to be suspicious of the Marine Stewardship Council, Scales lays bare their dubious raison d’être: funded by royalties from sales of their eco-labelled fish, there is an imperative to keep certifying fisheries. She calls their scandalous certification of the “recovering” orange roughy population a “case of a dead cat bouncing, with a green-washed eco-label tied to its collar” (p. 204).

Scales made me shudder with her stories of pollution, especially the persistent legacy of the large-scale dumping of chemical weapons. But the topic that concerns her most is the looming spectre of deep-sea mining. Though much is still on the drawing boards, mining licenses are being issued and exploratory missions are taking place. What for? The minerals and metals contained in seamounts, hydrothermal vents, and the polymetallic nodules littering the seabed, which take millions of years to form. As with fishing, “the slow pace of the deep is out of step with the timescale of impatient human demands” (p. 205). Here too, the position of the body that oversees protection of the seabed, the International Seabed Authority, is incredibly compromised. Next to issuing mining permits they unbelievably have already assigned areas to be exploited by their own mining company!

“To think that [deep-sea mining] will result in anything but the rapacious plundering of ecosystems we have seen on land seems highly unlikely in her eyes. Meanwhile, the mining PR-machine is already running at full tilt […]”

Scales’s focus on deep-sea mining is urgently needed. Scientists have been sounding alarm bells in the peer-reviewed literature regarding its impact, but this topic is still mostly hidden from the public at large. Her descriptions of the destructive practices and the size of the machines involved are chilling. To think that this will result in anything but the rapacious plundering of ecosystems we have seen on land seems highly unlikely in her eyes. Meanwhile, the mining PR-machine is already running at full tilt, and Scales deftly disarms their arguments as to why deep-sea mining is necessary. She agrees that the shift to renewable energy requires infrastructure that needs tremendous amounts of diverse metals. However, as a detour into the design of wind turbines shows, predicting which ones will be needed is difficult. And whether the seabed is the best place to get them is highly questionable.

Scales tackles many of the same topics that Alex Rogers covered in . Her tone is more strident but no less knowledgeable and, as opposed to The Deep, her book does include endnotes with references. I recommend them both highly. Meanwhile, her call “to declare the entire realm off limits [to] extraction of any kind” (p. 286) meshes seamlessly with Deborah Rowan Wright’s bold vision laid out in Future Sea.

Whether you enjoyed her previous books or are new to her brand of writing about marine biology, I urge you to read this book. Next to an unforgettable trip, she provides a rousing rallying cry for the preservation of the deep sea. The Brilliant Abyss is, true to its title, brilliant.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

The Brilliant Abyss

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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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.

A Life on Our Planet

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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Some encounters change the course of your life. For young American Peace Corps volunteer Jonathan C. Slaght, it was a chance sighting of a rare owl in the Russian Far East that turned him onto the path of wildlife conservation. Hidden behind the conservation plans and the data there are amazing personal stories that are not often told. Owls of the Eastern Ice is a spellbinding memoir of determination and obsession with safeguarding the future of this bird of prey that firmly hooked its talons in me and did not let go.

Owls of the Eastern Ice: The Quest to Find and Save the World’s Largest Owl, written by Jonathan C. Slaght, published in Europe by Allen Lane in August 2020 (hardback, 348 pages)

Primorye, or Primorsky Krai*, is a remote spit of land in the Russian Far East, wedged between China and the Sea of Japan, that is as bleak and forbidding as the cover of the book suggests**. It is home to bears, tigers, leopards, and the elusive Blakiston’s fish owl that went unnoticed by local ornithologists for a century. But the area is not free of human pressures. The locals have a long tradition of living off the land, hunting and fishing, while commercial industries such as mining and logging are being developed. But not to the point that it has severely degraded this ecosystem. Yet. Successful wildlife conservation here requires cooperation with local interests, which requires knowledge. Owls of the Eastern Ice thus tells the story of Slaght’s PhD project from 2006 to 2010 to collect baseline data on these long-lived owls: where they nest, what landscape features they prefer, or how large their territories are.

Credit: Jonathan Slaght

What sounds like a simple plan on paper—find some owls, fit them with radio transmitters, monitor where they go—hides weeks or months of back-breaking labour on a shoestring budget, endless patience, and sometimes the bitter disappointment of having nothing to show for it. Especially in remote parts of the world, even the most mundane tasks can be challenging beyond the comprehension of most Westerners (I had my brush with this as a student). So, in some ways, Owls of the Eastern Ice is the classical hero’s journey, Slaght starting out as a rookie who is not even quite sure what these birds look or sound like. During the successive three-month field seasons, he goes from fleeting glimpses of fleeing owls to catching, banding, and tagging a handful of adults, to ultimately observing intimate moments in the lives of these birds. For interested readers, endnotes will lead you to the hard biological facts published in papers and books. Here, it is his vivid descriptions that bring this mysterious raptor to live:

“Breathy, low and organic, the fish owls’ call pulsed through the forest, hiding among the creaking trees and bending with the rushing river. It was the sound of something ancient and in its place.”

A lot of what propels this book, however, is the human story. Even though Slaght has visited Primorye for years before starting this project and speaks Russian, his novice mistakes and the steep learning curve of the fieldwork make it clear that he remains an outsider. I might have called this a hero’s journey, but Slaght never pretends to be one: this is a team effort. Next to his mentor Sergey Surmach there is a motley crew of assistants and fixers with their own idiosyncrasies who share cramped sleeping quarters and all-night stakeouts; from a cynical former coal miner to a virtuoso snorer with a urine fetish. The help of locals with their own colourful backstories—hermits, hunters, and loggers—is equally crucial to making this research possible.

Credit: Amur–Ussuri Centre for Avian Biodiversity

Slaght’s observations of the cultural differences and the occasional misunderstandings flowing from them provide plenty of amusing anecdotes: the stubborn, manly-man Russian attitudes that not infrequently get people into trouble, the unusual Eastern European superstitions, and the local customs that often involve long drinking sessions. (Why sell bottles of vodka with a cap? “Either a bottle is full or it is empty, with only a short period between these two states.”) But Slaght never descends into mockery or disrespectful cultural voyeurism, and recognizes how crazy his calling is. The people he meets regularly wonder who in his right mind would spend the winter months in this remote corner of the world chasing after some birds.

“the starring role is reserved for nature itself […] The violence of the spring melt gives rise to phenomena that have no words outside of the Russian language”

In many ways, the starring role is reserved for nature itself: the majestic forest taiga and the cold spine of the Sikhote–Alin mountain chain. No mere backdrop, it rules man and beast alike, readily taking the lives of those unwary, unprepared, or just plain unlucky. Fieldwork here is a constant struggle against the elements, dictated by the changing of the seasons. The violence of the spring melt gives rise to phenomena that have no words outside of the Russian language.

Slaght takes all these elements—the owls like a fever-dream out of a Jim Henson movie, the hardy cast of locals, and nature’s raw power—and weaves them into a memoir so mesmerizing and spellbinding that I was compelled to read this book in a single sitting. I have tried not to reveal too many details in this review so as not to spoil potential readers. I will just say that if you enjoy wilderness travelogues or books such as Schaller’s Tibet Wild or Berger’s recent book Extreme Conservation, then you will devour Owls of the Eastern Ice. The fish owls are blessed to have someone like Slaght fight their cause. And if my review did not convince you, let me leave you with this book trailer.

* A krai is a federal subject, one of the types of administrative divisions of Russia, roughly translating to “region” or “area” in English.

** The UK cover, that is, the US cover is not nearly as impressive.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Owls of the Eastern Ice

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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Charismatic as big cats might be, their origins and evolutionary history are still not fully understood. In a mind-bogglingly beautiful marriage of art and science, On the Prowl provides a current overview of big cat evolution that will have many a book lover purring with pleasure.

On the Prowl: In Search of Big Cat Origins, written by Mark Hallett and John M. Harris, published by Columbia University Press in June 2020 (hardback, 259 pages)

Before I even get to the contents of the book I simply have to first highlight the artwork. On the Prowl is authored by naturalist and scientific artist Mark Hallett and geologist and emeritus curator John M. Harris, with Hallett additionally providing artwork. And these are not mere pretty decorations.

Oh my, where do I even begin?

This is the rare category of tastefully executed scientific illustrations: anatomical drawings, behavioural sequences, phylogenetic trees, maps, reconstructions of life appearance, and beautiful full-bleed (i.e. printed edge-to-edge) pictures opening each chapter. Every drawing, full of detail, has been carefully crafted, has a function in the book, and has been drawn in the same tasteful pencil-sketch style. Jaw-dropping? Gob-smacking? You pick your favourite superlative—I was floored when I first opened this book. Basically, do not browse through this if you were planning not to buy more books this month, because it will be very hard to put it back down.

But what of the actual writing? On the Prowl spends five chapters tracing the outline of big cat evolution during the last 23 million years. The last three chapters deal, notably, with recent declines and extinctions, and current conservation concerns. The focus here is on the pantherines or subfamily Pantherinae; the lions, tigers, jaguars, leopards, and snow leopards. Not discussed in as much detail and acting more as supporting cast are the Felinae (pumas, cheetahs, and smaller genera such as lynxes, ocelots, clouded leopards etc.) and the various sabertoothed cats. Seeing the number of books already dealing with these (Anton’s Sabertooth and the two edited collections from Johns Hopkins University Press) it is easy to agree with their decision not to focus any further on sabertooths here.

“I simply have to first highlight the artwork […] This is the rare category of tastefully executed scientific illustrations […] I was floored when I first opened this book”

The story of pantherine evolution is far from fully resolved, and this part of the book required close attention and occasional rereading. The various lineages and subspecies, notable fossil finds, and competing hypotheses all make for a rather complicated story full of details. I should add that I am not faulting Hallett and Harris’s writing, as they do an admirable job distilling a lot of technical literature into a very readable book. It is simply that, much as we might like a good narrative, reality is often unruly and does not yield to a clean, neat story. Biology is messy like that. But what a story it nevertheless is!

An introductory overview gets you up to speed on early carnivore and carnivoran evolution and explains the difference between the two. The first cat-like species you then meet is the genus Proailurus, which (likely) evolved into Pseudalaerus, the potential ancestor to all the big cats and the “true” sabertooth cats (the machairodontines, which includes the famous Smilodon). At the time, these faced stiff competition from the so-called “false” sabertooth cats, the nimravids and barbourofelids.

Personal revelation number one: I was ignorant of the fact that not all sabertooths are closely related (had I actually read Mauricio Anton’s Sabertooth, I would know all this). The family Nimravidae arose very early, some 50 million years ago, and is technically merely a cat-like carnivore. The subfamily Machairodontinae split off from the cat family Felidae some 16 million years ago and is technically a true cat. Despite this taxonomical distance, they came to closely resemble each other. (Whoever said that what looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, probably is a duck never heard of convergent evolution…).

“it is starting to look that the Tibetan Plateau was ground zero for the pantherines from which both the snow leopard–tiger and the jaguar–lion–leopard lineages dispersed globally.”

What probably gave the Felidae the competitive edge was changes in climate and, with it, vegetation: closed forests gave way to open woodlands and savannas. Chapter 2 describes in marvellously illustrated detail the anatomical and behavioural adaptations of the pantherines that made them such formidable hunters in these open habitats and helped them claw their way to the top. This placement of big cat evolution in the context of their ecosystems and their relationship to other animals is a recurring and very welcome theme in this book. The earliest known pantherine we then meet is Panthera blytheae, a possible ancestor of the modern snow leopard, which brings me to…

Personal revelation number two: it is starting to look that the Tibetan plateau was ground zero for the pantherines from which both the snow leopard–tiger and the jaguar–lion–leopard lineages dispersed globally. Two appendices give an illustrated overview of felids in geologic time and pantherin dispersal across the world. These are useful, but, like executive summaries, are very condensed. I would have loved a few more detailed illustrations of the various timelines over which this happened, breaking out the individual lineages.

Now, connoisseurs might have immediately perked up their ears when hearing of this book. How does it compare to the 1997 book The Big Cats and their Fossil Relatives? This was, incidentally, also published by Columbia University Press, and similarly combined beautiful artwork with accessible text. It is one of the first things the authors tackle, writing that it focused more on the true felid and the nimravid cats, and comparing the books indeed confirms this. I can see two reasons why owners of the 1997 book want to pick up this one as well. One is that it fills you in on the intervening 23 years of scientific research, especially that coming out of the Asian palaeontology community. Panthera blytheae was only discovered in 2010, and pinpointing the Tibetan Plateau as the centre of pantherine radiation strikes me as a significant advance in our understanding. Two, On the Prowl spends a substantial chunk dealing with both recent extinctions and conservation concerns, something that the previous book mentioned only briefly at the end.

“Having told the story of big cat evolution, it would have been an oversight to turn a blind eye to the massive losses caused by human greed and cruelty.”

Having told the story of big cat evolution, it would have been an oversight to turn a blind eye to the massive losses caused by human greed and cruelty. Thus, these chapters and their no-punches-pulled tone are fully justified. One chapter focuses on the early decline following the last ice age, in particular discussing the decline of the steppe lion (of the four discussed extinction scenarios, only one involves humans). I was somewhat surprised to see only minimal mention of Paul Martin’s overkill hypothesis when drawing a comparison to the fate of the American lion, Panthera atrox, and no mention at all of End of the Megafauna that critically discussed it. A second chapter picks up the story of extinction with the slaughter of big cats in Roman amphitheatres and habitat destruction ever since agriculture took off some ten thousand years ago. It also prominently mentions the huge impact of trophy hunting by western colonialists in Africa and Asia. The last chapter highlights the ongoing threats of poaching and wildlife trafficking (particularly slamming tiger farms in China and the canned lion hunting industry in Africa), human-wildlife conflict between carnivores and cattle herders, the shortcomings of national parks, and reasonable and critical consideration of future options such as captive breeding, rewilding, and de-extinction.

Overall, On the Prowl provides a superb overview of the complex and rich story of big cat evolution, while being an outstanding showcase of how beautiful artwork can support science communication. I have no hesitation to recommend this book as one of 2020’s must-buy palaeontology books.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

On the Prowl

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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