Natural History, a Master Class

Many people think we’re entering a golden age of genomics, with technological breakthroughs yielding an explosion of data along with unprecedented insights into the genes and molecules that underlie life. Personally, I find it all a bit dull and uninspiring. Perhaps this cynicism stems from a conversation I once had with a fanatical, eye-popping cladist who proudly told me, ‘‘We don’t need to save those tropical forests, we’ve already got samples of most of their DNA in the museums!’’ This perspective is slowly giving rise to the significantly deranged belief that we don’t need to worry about the loss of biodiversity: we’ll simply recreate it from stored DNA. The current cult of genomics and its ominous trickle-down effects on highschool biology teaching means it’s sometimes easy to lose sight of the biology that surrounds us. Even so, there’s something about the natural world and its creatures that still sparks a deep fascination and likely inspired many of us to study biology in the first place. Field Notes on Science and Nature reminds us why we find nature so appealing and just how much fun getting into the field can be. In many ways this book allows us to paraphrase Robert Hughes’s definition of great art: ‘‘Great field notes are simultaneously of their time and timeless!’’ It’s a wonderful book and one that can be both read instructively and also dipped into for pure pleasure. It contains insights into both the scientific process and method, but also provides lessons on how to look at the world from different perspectives—lessons that it is never too late (or early) to learn. These lessons come from the real masters: George Schaller, renowned conservationist and field biologist, tells us how notes from allday follows of lions aggregated to become the raw data of scientific publications and the background material for his classic early books, The Serengeti Lion and Golden Shadows, Flying Hooves; Bernd Heinrich, the ultimate nature writer and physiologist, describes how several of his books stemmed from unusual observations noted in his field journals—observations which suggested something more profound had to be explained—whence Winter World and The Mind of the Raven, two of the finest works of natural history ever. I have to confess to being an unresolved bibliophile. In the multiple weeks and months that I’ve been slowly relishing and reviewing this book, I’ve had the pleasure of using the web to locate a wonderful, first-edition copy of Frank Chapman’s My Tropical Air Castle, G. Evelyn Hutchison’s The Ecological Theater and the Evolutionary Play, and several older books describing early visits to the Serengeti and other parks in Tanzania and Kenya—sheer bibliophile bliss! Tragically, it has also been a self-indulgent excuse for failing to write the other reviews, articles, and grant proposals I should have been writing. But books like these turn on its head J.B.S. Haldane’s battle cry: ‘‘My job is not to read the literature, my job is to write it!’’ There are times when the right book makes it well worth sitting back and taking time to absorb the skills and insights that can only be conveyed through someone else’s writing. The best nature writing is a wonderful art form. I can think of no example of it being successfully converted into film. This book provides many powerful glimpses into the techniques used to assemble deep understanding of the workings of nature. It cogently illustrates that while a central set of guidelines are followed by nearly everyone, each field worker develops their own idiosyncrasies that ultimately help them to achieve different insights, and these are often distilled into the finest of nature writing and illustrating. This contrasts with the work of ‘‘professional science writers,’’ who are often, to my taste, overstylized and too removed from the experience, the real sense of being there you get from reading ‘‘real scientists’’ like Heinrich, Terborgh, Wilson, Chapman, or Darwin. All too often the postmodern scaffolding of ‘‘Modern Writing 101’’ dominates the prose of many professional science writers, their work assembled like the over-busy travel agenda it took to organize all those interviews, the imagery as heavy as the meals consumed while the interviews took place, and the uncritical reverence for the interviewee as obsequious and hollow as the thanks delivered when the scientist picked up the tab for lunch. I personally blame the Pulitzer prize committee for this, as they seem unable to differentiate insight from Canfield MR, editor (2011) Field Notes on Science and Nature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 296p. ISBN 978-0674057579 (hardcover). US$27.95. doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.1001496.g001