The latest addition to the New Naturalist Library casts light on a hidden side to soils and freshwaters, inviting readers into the alien world of life at the microscopic level. In Microworlds, David M. Wilkinson introduces the bewildering array of organisms in these vast, near-invisible communities, and shares the extraordinary strategies they have developed to survive the challenges of micro-life.
Ahead of publication, David kindly spoke to us about the story behind the book and the fascination of microscopic life in general.
Firstly, for those unfamiliar with life at the microscopic level, could you give us a taste of the diversity of organisms covered in the book?
This book is number 151 in the New Naturalist series, and yet it covers more biological diversity than most of the other books added together. This is because almost all of biodiversity today is microbial, and for most of the history of the planet all life was microbial. As I wrote in the book’s foreword; ‘A realistic TV documentary on ‘Life on Earth’ would be totally dominated by microbes’. If the New Naturalist series mirrored this diversity almost all of the first 150 volumes would have been on microbes, and number 151 might well have been the first book on animals! To constrain this diversity to something manageable, the book concentrates on the free-living microbes in soils and freshwaters – so excluding parasitic microbes. It mainly describes eukaryotic microbes (i.e. those with the same cell structure as animals, plants and fungi) – that is the organisms sometimes called protozoa and algae. So most bacteria are excluded, except for photosynthetic cyanobacteria which are included because they are ecologically similar to eukaryotic algae, hence their old name of ‘blue green algae’.

What first drew you to study microscopic life and how has your interest developed over the years?
I became interested in microbial ecology while an undergraduate at Coventry Polytechnic in the early 1980s – doing a final year research project on testate amoebae biogeography supervised by Humphrey Smith (who was an expert on Antarctic protozoa). Testate amoebae seemed to me an ideal group for an ecologist interested in microbes. They could be identified and counted relatively straightforwardly with fairly basic microscopes (DNA based molecular methods barely existed in microbial ecology at that time), and also their shells can preserve in peat and lake sediment cores allowing you to use them to reconstruct environmental changes over time. Diatoms also share these features, and both testates and diatoms feature prominently in the book. Since the 1980s I have maintained an interest in microbial ecology in general, and especially in testate amoebae, alongside research on many other topics. Much of my research on testates has been on large scale patterns in their diversity, and also more recently in their role in ecosystem function. For example, I am currently one of an international group of around 70 people working on a major analysis of global testate amoebae diversity. The idea that there would be 70+ scientists actively interested in testates would have seemed most unlikely when I was a student in the 1980s.
And when and how did the idea for Microworlds first emerge?
A volume on microbes has been an obvious gap in the New Naturalist series for many years, a gap that the editors have struggled to find an author to fill. My previous New Naturalist, Ecology and Natural History (2021), had a chapter on microbial ecology, however I think it was the article on testate amoebae that I wrote for British Wildlife in 2022 that convinced some of the editors that I might be the person to try and fill the gap.
How much attention have these lifeforms attracted over the years? Did you have much historical research to draw on when writing the book?
By definition you need a microscope to see microorganisms. Microscopes are a 17th century invention, and had to wait for the first half of the 19th century before their quality really started to improve. Once good microscopes became available a whole new world opened up, for amateurs as well as professionals. Indeed microscopes seem much more common in late 19th and early 20th century natural history than they are today. However, on occasions when they gather together in mass, microbes become visible to the field naturalist even without the aid of a microscope. For example, algal blooms turning water bodies green, spheres and sheets of the cyanobacteria Nostoc (Gilbert White saw these in his garden and wasn’t sure what to make of them), or amoebae gathering together as slime moulds. I have given such examples particular emphasis in the book as they can be seen by a general naturalist, who has no more than, at most, a hand lens to magnify them. Indeed, something that sounds very like the common yellow slime mould Fuligo septica was described from China in a Tang Dynasty medical text from 739.

What tips would you give someone looking to start exploring the world of microscopic organisms for themselves?
Look down, not up. If you already have an interest in mosses or lichens you are already looking in some of the right places. A hand lens helps (e.g. with slime moulds), and a low power stereo microscope of the type many naturalists have, if they are into smaller organisms, magnifies enough to see borderline microscopic animals (such as tardigrades or Hydra) or true microbes such as the larger testate amoebae. With a basic compound microscope able to magnify at least 200 times many more things start to come into view. The books appendix is a brief guide to how to start to find things if you have access to a microscope – using the sort of ‘lab’ equipment found in a kitchen, or, at most, simple cheap equipment, such as disposable pipettes or petri dishes, which can be found on the NHBS website.

Perhaps a tricky question to finish, but could you share a favourite example of the remarkable and bizarre lifestyles some of these organisms lead?
So much of our understanding of life is based on a few groups of atypical organisms, such as mammals and birds. Microbial natural history forces us to rethink the basics. For example, how do you define death? Many microbes can sit out hostile conditions for many years in an inactive state with no measurable metabolism. In the case of some bacteria they seem able to survive in such a state for millions of years. We normally associated ‘no metabolism’ with death, but for these microbes (and some lichens and mosses too) just add water and they are living again! Have they come back from the dead? Questions like this have caused several philosophers to start to take an interest in microbial natural history in recent years. Microbes challenge our mammal–centric thinking on life and death, competition and cooperation, or sex and sexuality.










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