Book Review: New World Monkeys

New World MonkeysCurrently in our Backlist Bargains sale!

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***** Comprehensive and incredibly accessible

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.

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 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.

Marmoset, Sagui gritando by Joao Guillherm Soares Dias, via flickr.
Marmoset, Sagui gritando by Joao Guillherm Soares Dias, via flickr.

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 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.

Black Howler Monkey Portrait #1 by Ryan Poplin, via flickr.
Black Howler Monkey Portrait #1 by Ryan Poplin, via flickr.

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’ 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.

Red-backed Bearded Saki (Chiropotes sagulatus) by Allan Hopkins, via flickr.
Red-backed Bearded Saki (Chiropotes sagulatus) by Allan Hopkins, via flickr.

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.
New World Monkeys
New World Monkeys is available from our bookstore here.

Book Review: Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis book cover.***** A delightful potpourri

Entomologist Erica McAlister, the Curator of Diptera at the Natural History Museum, London (NHM), has previously written two popular science books on flies, The Secret Life of Flies and The Inside Out of Flies. Her mission is to change your mind not just about flies, but, as Metamorphosis shows, about insects in general. In her third book with the NHM, she teams up with radio producer Adrian Washbourne with whom she worked on the 10-part BBC Radio 4 series Metamorphosis: How Insects Are Changing Our World that formed the basis for this book. A delightful potpourri of entomology, Metamorphosis is particularly strong on the science history front and further solidifies McAlister’s reputation as a science communicator par excellence.

Metamorphosis is the same size as the preceding two books on flies, a small 14 × 20 cm hardback that is illustrated throughout. Its ten chapters, clocking in at 20 pages or fewer, each focus on one particular group of insects that stand out for one reason or another. She examines the biomechanical and biochemical details that allow fleas to jump so far. She explains how Darwin predicted (correctly) the existence of a hawkmoth species with an exceptionally long tongue by examining an equally exceptional orchid. Plus, there is an engrossing chapter on blowflies and their role in forensic entomology, a topic I find particularly fascinating.

Author Erica McAlister. Credit: Channel 5
Author Erica McAlister. Credit: Channel 5

The flap text explicitly mentions the book will consider modern applications of entomology. Indeed, each chapter concludes with a brief section on current and expected future applications. There is unsurprisingly a fair amount of robotics here, with fleas and bees inspiring different kinds of miniature robots. The question of how beetles harvest water from coastal fog in the otherwise bone-dry Namib desert has inspired research on new water-repellent surface materials. Other research on moth tongues is informing the development of micro- and nanostraws that could one day result in safely reusable medical needles. Meanwhile, several start-ups are optimising rearing protocols for black soldier flies that could become the future of animal protein in our food. This would help recycle organic waste and eliminate the environmental impacts of livestock farming. However, it will require finding ways to overcome our disgust of insects and our reluctance to try new food.

The applications, however, come across as a sideshow. Instead, Metamorphosis excels in telling utterly fascinating chapters from the history of entomology. Drosophila (which are not true fruit flies but called vinegar flies) are a widely used model system in biological research. The famous Fly Lab of geneticist and embryologist Thomas Hunt Morgan (1866–1945) pioneered their use. The remarkable part is that he was sceptical of both Darwin’s and Mendel’s ideas and hoped to disprove them, but ended up doing the exact opposite, finding evidence of classic Mendelian inheritance patterns in certain mutant flies. Or, take the story of the remarkable Victorian entomologist Margaret Fountaine (1862–1940), who used the inheritance of an uncle to travel the world solo, amassed an enormous butterfly collection now housed at Norwich Castle Museum, and left a time capsule of twelve notebooks with instructions not to open these until 1978. McAlister & Washbourne also provide an extended backstory to African American entomologist and civil rights activist Charles Henry Turner (1867–1923) who Lars Chittka also featured in The Mind of a Bee. Turner was denied an academic position on grounds of his ethnicity yet staunchly laboured on and made pioneering observations on bee behaviour in particular. He was ahead of his time in refusing to see bees ‘as simple reflex machines driven by spontaneous reactions to environmental stimuli’ (p. 185).

Hummingbird Hawkmoth feeding on a flower
Research on moth tongues is informing the development of micro- and nanostraws. Image by Peter Stenzel via Flickr.

These and other people are vividly brought to life here. The only fly in the ointment is some errors in dates: apothecary James Petiver apparently lived from 1865 to 1718 (he was born somewhere between 1663 and 1665 according to a published chronology), Turner supposedly married his wife in 1896 even though she died in 1895 (they married in 1886), and Turner himself died in 1923 and two pages later in 1958 (the former is correct). Other than reiterating the importance of proofreading numbers, this minor complaint does not diminish the fact that the history-of-science component of Metamorphosis is utterly engrossing. Many of these stories are largely unknown to the general public, with only articles in specialist journals commemorating the achievements of these historical figures. There are several biographies in here waiting to be written and McAlister & Washbourne have the makings of a fine pair of science biographers.

Whether you enjoyed the BBC Radio 4 series when it aired, find yourself in the museum’s gift shop wondering whether this book is worthwhile, or nurture an interest in entomology or the history of science (or the intersection of the two), I warmly recommend this little book, especially given the reasonable cover price.

Metamorphosis book

Metamorphosis is available from the NHBS online store.

NHBS In the Field – Song Meter Mini Bat 2

Song Meter Mini Bat 2 recorder in situ in a field.

The second-generation Song Meter Mini Bat 2 is one of Wildlife Acoustics’ latest additions to the Song Meter range. This recorder offers improved battery life and weatherproofing, thanks to the new hinged enclosure. Learn more about the improvements and differences in this newer model here. Wildlife Acoustics have now gone one step further offering both AA and Lithium-Ion battery models of the Mini Bat 2. The Lithium-ion model holds 6 rechargeable 18650 lithium-ion batteries giving it 2.5 times more battery life compared to the AA model.  

I took the Mini Bat 2 recorder and set it up for a week in June. As I was only recording for a week, the AA model was more than fit for purpose. I had two aims in mind; firstly, I wanted to see for myself how to deploy and use this newer model, and possibly more importantly, I wanted to discover which bats were living just outside the NHBS office.

Deployment

I set up the device using a 64 GB SDXC card and eight lithium AA batteries (other AA batteries are compatible but may offer shorter battery life).  I chose to set up the recorder outside of our office on a nearby tree situated alongside the River Dart. I hoped that the presence of insects along the river would encourage bats to fly close to the recorder. However, I did experience some issues with this location which I will discuss later. 

SM2 mini bat open on a bench.
Recorder set up with batteries and SD card.

Like its predecessor, the Mini Bat 2 is configured using the free Song Meter app. Here you can select your preferred recording schedule and check the recorder’s status. Whilst in Bluetooth range, you can determine the current status of the recorder, including SD card capacity, battery life, recording mode and number of recordings taken. I used a pre-set recording schedule to record bats from sunset to sunrise (subject to triggering).

SM2 mini bat app open on a phone screen pre-set up.
Recorder status before deployment.

This model now helpfully features cable lock holes so that the unit can be secured – using a Python Lock I fixed the device to the tree and left it for a week to collect recordings. 

What I found

By the end of the week, I had collected over 700 recordings. Despite this, very little battery life had drained and only 3 GB of storage had been used. 

SM2 app screen after set up.
Recorder status after deployment.

I then removed the SD card and loaded the recordings into Kaleidoscope Pro. Unfortunately, I noticed a consistent disturbance present in all the recordings at around 20 – 30kHz. It was then I learned that the office has a ventilation fan, which unbeknownst to me, runs constantly (even at 3 am!). Not a bad reminder that when choosing your recording location to be aware of any possible noise disturbances.

Thankfully, this disturbance did not hamper my ability to analyse the recordings. Helpfully, Kaleidoscope Pro has an auto ID feature which allowed me to categorise the recordings by species. This feature compares each call pulse with reference libraries and generates a confidence interval from 0-1 called a “Match Ratio”. The more commonality a pulse shares with the reference data the higher the match ratio. I was delighted to discover that Kaleidoscope identified five different species just outside our office! My personal favourite being the Greater Horseshoe Bat, as we share a love of caves. Unfortunately, these species are now largely confined to south-west England and south Wales in the UK, so I feel very fortunate that I was able to record them. 

Examples of the recordings can be viewed as sonograms below.

Two greater horseshoe bat calls shown on a sonogram.
Two Greater Horseshoe calls (Match Ratio: 1.000000).
Common pipistrelle calls shown on a sonogram as a bat flies away from the recorder.
Common Pipistrelle (Match Ratio: 0.875000) gradually flying away.

Product Opinion

The Song Meter Mini Bat 2 is an excellent ultrasonic passive recorder. The unit is compact and lightweight, making it easy to store and carry in the field. The set-up was easy thanks to the simple user interface on the Song Meter App, which you can easily navigate to configure and check on your device. The Bluetooth beacon came in useful throughout the week as it allowed me to see the battery life and SD storage without taking the device down.

The Mini Bat 2 has a highly sensitive ultrasonic microphone capable of capturing high-quality recordings up to 250kHz, covering a truly impressive ultrasonic range. The sonograms above show the clear and distinct waveforms created; characteristic of the different species recorded. The excellent recording quality also helps to simplify the sound analysis when using the auto ID function of Kaleidoscope Pro.

The Song Meter Mini Bat 2 is a great addition to the Wildlife Acoustics range and features many improvements over its predecessor. It’s easy set up and deployment, making it simple and engaging to use. With its improved weatherproofing and in-built Bluetooth beacon, the Mini Bat 2 is a brilliant choice for remote recording. Furthermore, the increased battery life means the unit can be used for short- and long-term surveys.

In summary, the Mini Bat 2 is a fantastic all-rounder with a wide array of configurations and capabilities making it an ideal recorder for both enthusiasts and researchers.

Book Review: Eight Bears

Eight Bears book cover showing a lino print of a bear on grass and the book title in bright red capital letters.***** A mighty fine environmental reportage

Though bears loom large in our collective imagination, their flesh-and-blood counterparts are increasingly losing ground. Eight Bears, the debut of environmental journalist Gloria Dickie, draws on visits to key hotspots where Earth’s remaining bear species come into conflict with humans. By interviewing scores of people, both conservationists and those suffering at the paws of these large predators, this nuanced and thought-provoking reportage asks whether humans and bears can coexist.

The roots of this book go back to 2013 when Dickie started a master’s in environmental journalism and midway settled on bear-human conflicts in the Rocky Mountains. Since then, she has travelled to Asia and the Americas to see first-hand all eight extant bear species. The only obvious regions missing from her story are Alaska, Russia, and Europe, all of which have large populations of bears. Even so, she has visited a formidable list of destinations. As an aside here, kudos to both the stylish bear portraits by Arjun Parikh opening each chapter, and Dickie’s meticulous list of notes. The latter mentions the many people she has interviewed or corresponded with over the years and, for some sources, provides additional notes that are too detailed for the main narrative.

The first half of the book’s subtitle promises a look at the bear’s mythic past. Though there is mention here of the predominance of bears in northern hemisphere cultures, the so-called circumpolar bear cult tradition, and the rarely discussed role of the bear in Peruvian culture and history, this is a minor motif in the book. Much more can be and has been said about the cultural history of bears.

Three wild bears, one brown adult and two white cubs, sat by a streams edge,
Wild animals by bm.iphone via flickr.

Instead, as seems unavoidable when writing about megafauna nowadays, the focus of Eight Bears is on the second half of the subtitle, their imperilled future. The outlook is grim and Dickie early on mentions that “almost everywhere I went, bears seemed to be a shadow of what they once were” (p. 8). Probably the biggest threat is habitat loss, followed closely by hunting and poaching. A historic combination of these two decimated North American bear populations under European settlement. Polar bears have become the poster children of climate change, though the disappearance of sea ice is yet another form of habitat loss. I would be remiss if I did not mention that several whistleblowers have argued that hunting poses a continued but underappreciated threat to polar bears. Asia is additionally home to some particularly grisly practices: sloth bears are beaten into submission to become dancing bears, and moon and sun bears are experiencing years of, what is effectively, surgical torture on bile farms. The former has been outlawed with a reasonable degree of success, the latter less so. From her descriptions, Dickie visits the same bile farmer and speaks to some of the same people that Nuwer interviewed for her 2018 book Poached. Little seems to have improved in the intervening years, unfortunately.

Though bears are usually at the losing end of human-wildlife conflict, Dickie does not avoid exploring the flipside. Many readers outside of Asia might be surprised to learn that the inappropriately named sloth bear is easily the world’s most dangerous bear. In India, more than 100 attacks every year kill or gruesomely injure predominantly poor, rural people, with Dickie seeking out some of the victims. In the USA, where grizzly populations are recovering, she speaks to ranchers and farmers who lose livestock to bears and frequently object that “liberal urbanites are the ones who want predators back on the landscape, but they aren’t the ones suffering the consequences” (p. 177). In Canada, she visits the remarkable tourist town of Churchill at the edge of Hudson Bay which is home to equal numbers of humans and polar bears. To keep people safe while avoiding lethal control methods as much as possible, it relies on an unprecedented amount of technology. Even so, human lives are at risk, and Dickie speaks to a woman who survived a mauling.

Close up of a wet, muddy Grizzly bear in Denali National Park, Alaska, USA.
Full Grizz by Thomas, via flickr.

The chapters focusing on bears in the USA offer some of the most remarkable case studies of people attempting to live alongside bears. The century-long history of black bear management around Yosemite National Park offers “a full-scale experiment of all the ways people and bears can clash” (p. 153). After decades of park management doing things wrong (making a tourist attraction out of bears scavenging on garbage dumps, thus inadvertently training a generation of them how not to forage in the wild), they spent decades trying to do things right. A combination of bear-resistant food storage containers on campgrounds and strict enforcement of rules has trained tourists to be more mindful.

Eight Bears becomes more thought-provoking as it progresses. Here is how it provoked mine. Dickie puts down several relevant dots on paper at different points in the book (mentioning human population growth, climate change, and the resource-hungry global supply chain) but she does not explicitly connect them to draw the contours of the larger challenge ahead. So, here be a tangent, and my attempt to connect those dots, triggered by her repeated interviewing of grizzly bear recovery coordinator Chris Servheen. Upon retirement in 2015, with grizzlies sufficiently recovered, he supported their delisting. However, by 2021, seeing how states were failing to manage grizzly populations “with maturity and grace” (p. 180), he changed his mind. This raises fundamental questions. What is the point of all our conservation efforts if we do not address the root causes that got threatened species in trouble in the first place? For me, books such as Abundant Earth and Alfie & Me have really driven home the point that, unless we change our relationship with the natural world and stop treating it as a bottomless larder, conservation is little more than a palliative solution, a stay of execution. If we restore animals to an increasingly degraded environment, to a human population that does not want to share the world with them, they will have to remain on permanent life support. To be clear, I do not think conservation is futile; it is vital. So long as it is not an end unto itself. We cannot lose sight of the bigger picture: a world hospitable to non-human animals. Servheen’s call for “maturity and grace” in the context of grizzly bear management can just as well be applied to our tenancy of this planet.

Wild Black Bear at Anan Bear Observatory.
Wild Black Bear at Anan Bear Observatory by Andrew Russell, via flickr.

Even if you were to come away from this book without having your thoughts similarly provoked, Eight Bears is a mighty fine environmental reportage that is nuanced and well-researched. Given the often regional nature of books on bears and people, Dickie’s globetrotting overview of the challenges faced by all extant bears is very welcome.

Book Review: What a Bee Knows

What a Bee Knows cover showing a close up of a bee's head.***** Tells fascinating tales of bee biology 

Leon Vlieger, NHBS Catalogue Editor

The collectives formed by social insects fascinate us, whether it is bees, ants, or termites. But it would be a mistake to think that the individuals making up such collectives are just mindless cogs in a bigger machine. It is entirely reasonable to ask, as pollination ecologist Stephen Buchmann does here, What a Bee Knows. This book was published almost a year after Lars Chittka’s The Mind of a Bee, which I reviewed previously. I ended that review by asking what Buchmann could add to the subject. Actually, despite some unavoidable overlap, a fair amount.

Though I will leave a comparison and recommendation for the end of this review, I can already tell you that What a Bee Knows is a different beast altogether. Buchmann’s approach to convincing you that bees are sophisticated insects is to provide a general and wide-ranging introduction to bee biology, telling you of all the things they get up to.

What makes this introduction accessible to a broad audience is that Buchmann goes back to first principles. For starters, what even is a bee, and where did they come from? You might not realise that they evolved from carnivorous predatory wasps and likely did so some 130 million years ago, not long after the evolution of flowering plants. Another basic aspect Buchmann highlights is how myopically focused we are on social bees. The thing is, 80% of all 20,000+ described bee species are solitary. Their biology is the more representative one and Buchmann discusses examples from their lonesome lives throughout this book, many based on his observations working in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and elsewhere. He reminds the reader that “we should not think of honey bees as the pinnacle of bee evolution toward which all bee species strive” (p. 32). Theirs is the exception; a high-risk, high-reward strategy to making a living on this planet.

A close up of a bee in flight flying across grass.
Bee in-flight, by Nikk on Flickr.

This approach of introducing basic concepts is applied throughout the book. Thus, we get a brief tour of the gross anatomy of the bee brain, but not before Buchmann explains the basics of the human brain and the structure and workings of neurons. An introduction to sexual selection prefixes the discussion on the many sexual escapades of bees: from scramble competition in cactus bees involving bee brawls (which is exactly what it sounds like), to hilltop lekking in carpenter bees, to alternative reproductive tactics with different male morphs in Centris pallida. Bees can learn to solve problems, improve their performance, and even learn new tricks from other bees, but what is this process called learning, and how widespread is it? Similarly, chapters on sleep, pain, and consciousness all first discuss more broadly what these are and what we know about them in humans and other vertebrate and invertebrate organisms.

Buchmann is a pollination ecologist by training and he cannot help but indulge in a long chapter on pollination. He is on form here and gleefully reminds readers that, next to billboards for pollinators, “flowers are unabashedly plant genitals exposed on a stem for all to see” (p. xiii), while bees act as “surrogate flying flower penises” (p. 78). Though it is traditionally held up as a wholesome form of mutualism, it has elements of an arms race too. As Jeff Ollerton also points out, active pollination, where a pollinator deliberately places pollen on a flower’s stigma, is extremely rare. Rather, the norm is that both pollinators and flowers have their own interests (food and pollination), at heart first and foremost. Sometimes both parties will benefit, but this is not a given. Orchids trick male bees into pseudocopulation with flowers that look and smell just like female bees, dusting them in pollen in the process without offering any nectar. At the other extreme, carpenter bees have become nectar robbers, using their jaws to cut into flowers at their base to access nectar, and thus not providing pollination services. And here is an interesting recent development: studies on the bee microbiome suggest that bees derive some of the microbial life that populates their gut from the flowers on which they forage. In some cases, the proteins contributed by flower microbes might be more nutritious than the pollen grains.

A solitary bee coming out of a nest in the ground with grass and clover around it.
A solitary bee, by Nikk on Flickr.

A chapter on sensory biology is, of course, obligatory and Buchmann covers all relevant topics: the trichromatic vision of bees that extends into the ultraviolet, their perception of polarized light used in navigation, their excellent smell, their hearing (which is more a detection of pressure waves at close range), their taste and tactile senses, their to-us-alien detection of electrical charges (and the electrostatic footprints bees leave on flower petals after a visit), and the still contentious topic of magnetoreception. What was new to me is that the two mobile antennae produce a three-dimensional impression of an odour field, and some nifty experiments that involved crossing their antennae resulted in bees persistently walking away from the source of a smell, indicating that they really do smell in stereo.

Though an accessible and enjoyable romp into bee biology, I do have a few minor quibbles. There is a limited number of general black-and-white illustrations and photos, and the reproduction of the latter is so-so as this is a print-on-demand book. And though What a Bee Knows avoids getting too technical, I do feel that in some places Buchmann wanders a bit off-piste from exploring the inner world of bees into more general fascinating tales of bee biology. Nevertheless, the book achieves its mission of instilling a renewed respect and a better understanding of how bees live.

Having now reviewed both Chittka’s The Mind of a Bee and Buchmann’s What a Bee Knows, how do they compare and which one should you read? Both books broadcast the same message loud and clear: bees are darn sophisticated creatures and even individually are far smarter and more capable than you might initially give them credit for. As mentioned, Buchmann goes back to first principles on many topics and wanders into bee biology more generally, while I remarked that Chittka delivers an information-dense book with numerous explanatory illustrations that is very focused in its approach, talking bees, bees, and the occasional other hymenopteran. Consequently, Buchmann does not delve as deeply into many subjects, though he does discuss some experiments in detail (including Chittka’s work on several occasions). My recommendation would be that general readers with little background in biology or entomology pick, or first start with, What a Bee Knows. Biologists, in particular entomologists, might want to skip straight to Chittka’s The Mind of a Bee and get stuck in the wealth of detail there. 


What a Bee Knows cover showing a close up of a bee's head.What a Bee Knows by Stephen Buchmann is available from our online bookstore.

Book Review: Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs

The front cover shows a large marine dinosaur jumping out of the ocean to eat a large flying dinosaur. ***** A richly illustrated entry-level book

In this review, I am revisiting the spectacular diversity of marine reptiles that flourished in the planet’s oceans and waterways during the time of the dinosaurs. After having gone without popular titles on the subject for almost two decades since Richard Ellis’s Sea Dragons in 2005, suddenly we have three. Last year (AprilMay) I reviewed The Princeton Field Guide to Mesozoic Sea Reptiles and Ancient Sea Reptiles, and mentioned that this book was in the works. Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs was originally published in French in 2021 as La Mer au Temps des Dinosaures by Belin/Humensis and has been translated into English by Mark Epstein. Technically speaking that makes it the first of this recent crop, though the English translation was only published in November 2023, after the aforementioned two works. It brings together four French palaeontologists and one natural history illustrator for a graphics-heavy introduction. So, what is in this book, and how does it compare to the other titles?

Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs breaks down into two halves. The obligatory first short chapter introduces the state of the world during the Mesozoic Era 252–66 million years ago (mya), specifically the position of the continents (the palaeogeography) and the various extinction crises by which we divide this time span. After this, the first half is a very long chapter 2 that discusses all the major and minor groups: the “big three” (ichthyosaurs, plesiosaurs, and mosasaurs); the groups with survivors today such as the crocodylomorphs and sea turtles; and lesser-known groups such as hupehsuchians and thalattosaurs. The second half of the book consists of five chronological chapters that help you put all this diversity into some sort of logical order. This starts with life’s first coy attempts at reptiles-returning-to-the-sea in the Palaeozoic Era, the main event of the Mesozoic in three chapters (the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous), and the Cenozoic Era in which the survivors of the K–Pg extinction continued and sometimes thrived.

The book’s second half stood out to me for two reasons. First, it helps prevent the same rookie mistake that is often made regarding dinosaurs: they did not all live at the same time. This may sound incredibly obvious and yet is easily and frequently forgotten. Where marine reptiles are concerned, a good example of this is that the ichthyosaurs evolved ~252 mya and went extinct ~90 mya, while the mosasaurs evolved ~100 mya and went extinct 66 mya at the K–Pg boundary, the two groups thus overlapping for “only” 10 million years. Turtles and crocodylomorphs survived the K–Pg extinction and positively flourished, though some groups subsequently went extinct and left no living descendants, such as the dryosaurids (a crocodylomorph lineage, extinct ~40 mya). The second reason I liked this chronological section is that it is largely told through the lens of key fossil localities around the globe (here, among others, Monte San Giorgio, Holzmaden, and the Oxford Clay). Though their names are often familiar and each of these deposits offers a unique view of a certain ecosystem at a certain time, they rarely get much attention themselves. The authors here provide just that little bit of extra information on their geography and stratigraphy, the history of their discovery and exploitation, and the palaeoenvironment that can be deduced from them.

Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs is richly illustrated in full colour with photos, diagrams, and paleoart by Alain Bénéteau, including single and double-page spreads. There are several cladograms mapped onto timelines, with the simplified phylogeny of crocodylomorphs on page 69 particularly useful in visualising the uncertain placement of thalattosuchians. Drawings show unique anatomical adaptations, explaining e.g. the evolution of turtle shells. The text is regularly interspersed with boxes discussing notable species or concepts such as proposed forms of swimming or adaptation of bones to life underwater. In short, the visual presentation of this book is outstanding.

I normally prefer to review each book on its own merits, but given that we now have two richly illustrated introductory books, there is no avoiding the mosasaur in the room. How does Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs stack up against Darren Naish’s Ancient Sea Reptiles? As I also observe about his Dinopedia, Naish is particularly interested in taxonomy and species diversity. Whereas the discussion of the different groups here takes up 55 pages in chapter 2, Naish does this in 132 pages and six chapters. He goes into more detail on taxonomic conundrums and for most groups discusses more species. What the French quartet here adds are the five chronological chapters, extending their coverage of evolutionary events to before and after the Mesozoic. As mentioned, they also give more detail on key fossil sites whereas Naish briefly mentions some of these in his chapter 1. My impression is that palaeontology buffs will want to get both books, despite the inevitable overlap. If, however, you are looking to buy just one book then Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs is the most entry-level of the two, while Ancient Sea Reptiles provides more detail (and in that scenario would be my book of choice). My original observation regarding Greg Paul’s The Princeton Field Guide to Mesozoic Sea Reptiles, that it is more of a reference work to be consulted after either of these books, still holds.

The front cover shows a large marine dinosaur jumping out of the ocean to eat a large flying dinosaur.

Ocean Life in the Time of Dinosaurs is available from our online bookstore.

Book Review: The Redemption of Wolf 302

The Redemption of Wolf 302 book cover showing wolf 302 walking towards the camera in the snow.**** Tells the story of an unlikely hero

Ever since wolves were reintroduced into Yellowstone National Park in 1995 they have been intently observed by biologists and wolf enthusiasts. Amongst these, biological technician and park ranger Rick McIntyre has to be the most dedicated, having watched these wolves from dawn to dusk every day for around two decades now. The Redemption of Wolf 302 is the third book in the Alpha Wolves of Yellowstone series and tells the story of an unlikely hero.

Though this book can be read by itself, you will get more enjoyment out of the unfolding multi-generational story arc if you read the previous two instalments. Furthermore, McIntyre refers to earlier wolves quite frequently and this book picks up right where The Reign of Wolf 21 ended, meaning the earliest part of wolf 302’s life is not told here. However, a brief introduction brings you up to speed.

One thing this book makes clear is that wolves have individual characters. Whereas wolves 8 and 21 were devoted males looking out for their pack, the current protagonist is anything but. With the death of 21 in 2004, the second-ranking male 253 temporarily takes over but is quickly ousted by two neighbours from the Leopold Pack: 302 and his younger nephew 480. 302, however, is not a natural leader. An increasingly baffled McIntyre spends the first half of the book describing many instances of his unusual behaviour: he runs away during confrontations with other packs, quickly becomes subordinate to his much younger nephew 480, sneakily tries to mate with females when 480 is distracted, occasionally steals food from pups, and is easily spooked by prey carcasses moving when his packmates tear pieces of meat off them. When 302 snoozes on a nearby hill while the Druids battle a rival pack, ignoring their howls, McIntyre seems truly exasperated: “I had been rooting for 302 to do better in life for over four years, but his total noninvolvement as 480 rushed to confront these wolves made me think 302 was a lost cause” (p. 118).

Two black wolves on the waters edge of a pond in the snow.
Yellowstone National Park by NPS / Jacob W. Frank, via flickr.

As a consequence, the first part actually revolves around male 480 who steps up as the new Druid alpha male. Through the years 2005 and 2006 McIntyre witnesses the waxing and waning of power between the packs. Several Druid wolves are killed by the neighbouring Slough Creek pack in 2005 and the Sloughs expand their territory aggressively. The tide turns from 2006 onwards, though, when an unknown pack moves in from the north and subjects the Slough’s breeding den to a brutal siege and later kills its adult males. Subsequent accidents and poor breeding seasons for the Sloughs allow the Druids to regain much of their territory by 2008.

It takes until 2007 for wolf 302 to redeem himself, by which time he is over 6.5 years old, well beyond the average lifespan of wolves in Yellowstone. He finally starts helping the Druid females and pups, and assists male 480 during hunts and fights with other packs. By 2008 he leaves the Druids with a group of yearlings in tow and, together with a female from the Agate Creek pack, forms the newly-named Blacktail pack. In one example of stories coming full circle in this book, 302 takes up residence in the territory of the now-extinct Leopold pack, the same territory he was born in. Without giving away further spoilers, several other storylines come full circle at the end of 302’s life. Although not tugging on the heartstrings quite as much as the story of wolves 21 and 42, I was nevertheless so invested emotionally in the fully-lived lives of these wolves that by the end of the book I struggled to hold back tears. 302 ultimately transitions from a rebel to an alpha wolf deserving of that status.

3 wolves from a yellowstone wolf pack stood on either side of a trench with scrubland all around.
Yellowstone Wolves by Larry Lamsa, via flickr.

If you read the previous books then you know what to expect: no embellished writing but a detailed rendition of McIntyre’s field notes that recounts the day-to-day lives of these wolves. This book retains the same structure as The Reign of Wolf 21: short chapters bundled into parts, one part for each year. McIntyre has reverted to putting just one map with home ranges at the start of the book, together with diagrams of the changing pack compositions over the years. The Reign of Wolf 21 put maps and diagrams at the start of each part, which was a useful convention that helped keep track of all the players. It looks as if McIntyre decided that was not necessary for this book as it follows fewer packs.

Like previous volumes, this book overflows with interesting biological observations on e.g. play behaviour of pups and interactions with other species such as bears and ravens. A notable problem is the outbreak of mange, a mite-caused disease that leads to fur loss. Research using infrared cameras has shown the substantial loss of body heat this causes, and the resulting deterioration of health in the subzero temperatures of Yellowstone winters. McIntyre furthermore uses one chapter to shortly summarize observations on wolf injuries and mortalities that he mentioned in this and the previous two books. His observations mirror those of Wolves on the Hunt which showed wolves regularly suffer serious injuries while hunting prey, from broken ribs to fractured jaws. Sometimes these are fatal, though more wolves die as a result of fights with other wolves.

Close up of two wolves in Hayden Valley, Yellowstone National Park, walking over a snowy ridge.
Wolves in Hayden Valley by NPS / Ashton Hooker, via flickr.

As before, McIntyre rarely inserts himself in the narrative. He mentions notable visitors to the park and personal achievements such as his nine-year streak of daily observations, even when temperatures drop to lows of -44°C. There are two other striking examples of McIntyre’s detachment in this book. One is an incident where he leaves an injured wolf after several hours of observation and finds him dead the next day. McIntyre sticks to an iron rule that he is here to observe, not to interfere, and that means all facets of life and death in the natural world. The second incident is the start of the wolf-hunting season in Montana when wolves are removed from the endangered species list in 2009. The wolves in Yellowstone National Park are still protected, but those venturing outside are at risk. Despite expressing his concern for their safety, he refrains from giving his personal opinion on the hunting of wolves.

This series was originally going to be a trilogy, but by the end, McIntyre foreshadows the subject of the fourth book: the alpha females, particularly female 06. Named after her year of birth, 2006, she was a granddaughter of male 21 and was legendary for her fierce independence. Though she has been the subject of Blakeslee’s book American Wolf, McIntyre is uniquely placed to give an account of her life. For now, wolf aficionados can delight in The Redemption of Wolf 302. With each book, the payoff of following their story in this level of intimate detail is getting bigger – these books are in a class of their own.

The Redemption of Wolf 302 book cover showing wolf 302 walking towards the camera in the snow.

The Redemption of Wolf 302 is available from our bookstore.

Book review: The Killer Whale Journals

The Killer Whale Journals Book Cover.***** A balanced and non-judgemental account of people’s differing attitudes

As some of the world’s largest predators, orcas are both loved and loathed, though these sentiments sometimes come from unexpected corners. Danish marine biologist Hanne Strager has studied orcas and other whales for some four decades, working with a wide range of people. In The Killer Whale Journals, she plumbs the complexities and nuances of people’s attitudes, writing a balanced, fair, and thought-provoking insider’s account. Given the preponderance of research and books on Pacific Northwest orcas, hers is a refreshingly cosmopolitan perspective, taking in the experiences of people past and present in many other parts of the world.

Strager’s involvement with whale research started on a whim when she volunteered as a cook on a small research vessel going around the Lofoten Islands in northern Norway. This was in the 1980s and would, with some interruptions, be the start of a career in research and education that lasts to this day. Though she is fully qualified to write a scholarly work on orca biology, this is not that book. Rather, this is “a patchwork of stories I have collected over my years on the ocean about our relationship with the biggest predator on Earth” (p. 17). And what a wide-ranging, multi-hued patchwork it has become!

Born Free by Christopher Michel, via flickr.
Born Free by Christopher Michel, via flickr.

Some of these relationships are as you would expect. In her early days in Norway, both the whalers and fishermen she spoke to disliked orcas, considering them a pest species that frightens away other whales and eats all the herring. Similarly expected is the strong respect expressed by First Nations people in British Columbia. Other people hold attitudes you would not expect, breaking with stereotypes. When Scottish whalers emigrated to Twofold Bay, New South Wales, Australia in the mid-1800s, they continued the cross-species relationship established by the Aboriginal Thawa tribe, leading to an unlikely, century-long alliance between orcas and whalers. At the other end of the spectrum, Strager visits Inuit hunters in Greenland who continue to rely on the sea for their sustenance. They kill orcas on sight, convinced they eat narwhals. However, data from the Greenland Institute of Natural Resources do not back up this assertion: orcas rarely share the waters with narwhals, nor have narwhal remains been found in their stomachs. Hunting organizations disagree and stick to their narrative, continuing to kill orcas even though the meat is unsuitable for human consumption due to high levels of bioaccumulated pollutants. Strager is loathe to judge these people given their hospitality and willingness to talk to her, but she candidly admits that she is left troubled.

What further contributes to the book’s full-bodied picture is that Strager, as a Danish scientist, provides a non-US-centric perspective and has access to material written in other languages. With the help of a friend, she translates hundreds of newspaper articles from Iceland’s National Archive to puzzle together the story of how the US Air Force got involved in massacring orcas here in the 1950s, doing bombing raids on pods. Being plugged into the Scandinavian research community, Strager can furthermore draw on her connections to visit and speak to people in Denmark, Greenland, Russia, and various places in Norway.

Killer Whale (Orcinus orca) by Gregory "Slobirdr" Smith, via flickr.
Killer Whale (Orcinus orca) by Gregory “Slobirdr” Smith, via flickr.

Increasingly, the demonization of orcas has made way for a different understanding, seeing these as intelligent mammals, not unlike us. A new generation of fishermen in Norway is less hostile. The extra income generated by wildlife tourism and whale watching does not hurt, but, adds a Norwegian marine ecologist, there is also a sense of pride in one’s local patch. Having tourists visit from around the world and witnessing their awe can make people realize that their humdrum backyard is maybe not that humdrum after all. Captive orcas in aquaria and marine parks are another reason why public attitudes shifted from fear to fascination to concern over animal welfare, as has been so carefully documented by James M. Colby in Orca. Despite opposition, the capture and trade of orcas continues and one harrowing chapter delves into the infamous Russian “whale jail” that was exposed by journalist Mashaz Netrebenko in 2018.

As mentioned earlier, this is not a scholarly book, so orca biology takes a bit of a backseat. Nevertheless, you will learn about, for instance, the different orca populations and their dietary specializations, and how they do not mix genetically, causing a headache for conservation biologists. This behaviour is a prominent example of culture in cetaceans as it is learned and passed on from generation to generation. Strager also discusses the recent spate of attacks by orcas on pleasure craft in the Mediterranean. A marine mammal researcher from Madeira admits that she does not know if this is retaliation or just rambunctious play, but its rapid spread in the region sure points to orcas learning new behaviours from each other. Conservation concerns are the main recurrent biological theme in this book. Reflecting on the situation in the Pacific Northwest and the tremendous efforts expended on returning one orphaned orca, Springer, back to its pod, Strager writes how: “saving one orphan whale is a trivial task compared to changing the conditions that threaten these whales” (p. 214). Overfishing, chemical and noise pollution, shipping, aquaculture, hydroelectric dams—the long list of environmental insults is a poignant reminder that, in the words of Michael J. Moore, we are all whalers, even if only indirectly.

Orcas in the Lemaire Channel, Antarctica, surrounded by icebergs.
Orcas in the Lemaire Channel by Pedro Szekely, via flickr.

The other aspect that takes a backseat is Strager’s personal story. This book covers some four decades of her life, from a young student in the 1980s to a seasoned researcher now. And yet, important life events are mentioned rather than elaborated upon. They help provide a sense of place and circumstance, but never play a central or even supporting role in her stories. The fact that she would have a child with the man who helped her onto that first research vessel all those years ago is one of those offhand, blink-and-you-miss-it comments. Nor does she mention that she is now working as a Director of Exhibitions, turning the local Whale Center in Andenes, Norway, where she worked for years into a world-class museum, The Whale, to open in 2025.

The Killer Whale Journals takes in an impressively broad range of people past and present. There are various other fascinating stories I have not even touched upon here. Strager remains mild-mannered and non-judgemental throughout as she carefully charts the nuances, inconsistencies, and complexities of people’s attitudes. If you have any interest in cetaceans or marine biology more generally, this absorbing book comes recommended.

Book Review: The Alpha Female Wolf

The Alpha Female Wolf cover showing a close up of a wolfs face.**** A long overdue recognition of the female wolf

The wolves reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park in 1995 are some of the best-studied mammals on the planet. Biological technician and park ranger Rick McIntyre has spent over two decades scrutinising their daily lives, venturing into the park every single day. Where his previous books focused on three notable alpha males, it is ultimately the females that call the shots and make the decisions with lasting consequences. This book is a long overdue recognition of the female wolf and continues this multigenerational saga.

If wolf 21, the subject of the second book, was the most famous male wolf in Yellowstone, then his granddaughter 06 (named after her year of birth, 2006) can safely be called the most famous female wolf. This fourth book picks up where the third book ended, covering the period 2009–2015. It tells 06’s life story, her untimely death, and the fate of one of her daughters. To refreshen your mind, some prefatory sections give a brief list of notable matriarchs through the years and a short history of the Druid Peak pack, which were the ancestors of 06.

The fact that wolves have unique characters is again confirmed here: 06 is a gorgeous wolf that has many suitors but, until age four, she rejects them all and is a rare example of a lone female wolf. Lone wolves, quite rare to begin with, are usually males in search of a new pack with unrelated females. In 2010 she forms the Lamar Canyon pack with two brothers younger than her: 754 and 755. Three successful years follow in which she has a litter of pups every year. Through a combination of fearlessness and wise choices, all pups survive their first year. A particular challenge is the nearby Mollie’s pack, led by an aggressive female, that starts making incursions into 06’s territory. There is a long-running feud between the Mollie’s and the very successful Druid Peak pack and its descendants, which can be traced back to 1996 when Druids killed several wolves of Mollie’s pack.

Eurasian Wolf in a forest.
Eurasian Wolf by Tom Bech, via flickr.

This book has the task of both continuing the story but also looking back. Several chapters end with boxes that briefly tell the story of other notable female wolves past and present. If you have read all or some of the previous trilogy, you know that the writing might not win prizes for its style. Instead, McIntyre distils thousands of days spent in the field and as many pages of notes into a deeply informed, unembellished eyewitness account of the daily lives of these wolves. He always clearly indicates where he reconstructs likely events not observed first-hand or imagines the inner lives of the wolves. As before, The Alpha Female Wolf is divided into parts that each cover a year, usually subdivided into several chapters. This time there are unfortunately no family trees included, which I would have found helpful, though the cast of characters remains manageable.

My impression is that this book contains more references to scientific research than the previous ones. There are observations on chronic wasting disease, contagious to elk, and how wolves are likely limiting its spread by selectively killing sick elk. McIntyre asks a wolf geneticist just how different the introduced wolves from Canada are from the original wolves that lived in this area, and gives some deeper insights into the genetic history of US wolf populations. And he speaks to two researchers studying wolf howling and how each individual produces unique harmonic overtones by which the wolves might recognize each other, to which McIntyre contributes some informal observations later in the book. There are also numerous interesting behavioural and natural history observations. Food features in particular, with chance observations of wolves feeding on eggs of ground-nesting birds, fruit from a rosebush, and the occasional beaver. McIntyre observes hunting sequences that show the wolves using the local terrain to their advantage.

McIntyre is on form in the first two-thirds of the book, detailing how 06’s fierceness and intelligence help her not only to survive but to thrive. She carefully chooses her partners to form a strong, cooperative team, while her choice of denning site under a natural rockfall provides superior protection from a raid by the Mollie’s pack. At various points in the book, McIntyre highlights how the actions and choices of 06 and others show the important role of alpha females in shaping pack life and pack dynamics in the park. Inspired by the many military veterans that visit Yellowstone, he draws a human parallel, describing the alpha female as a commanding officer while the alpha male is an executive officer carrying out her agenda.

Gray Wolf.
Gray Wolf by David Williss, via flickr.

How cruel, then, is the sudden death of first 754 and then 06 when they venture just outside park boundaries and are shot, legally, by hunters. I have to admit that I found this twist of fate really upsetting to read. Both McIntyre and the book never really recover from the blow. While the first three years (2010–2012) take up two-thirds of the book, the next three years (2013–2015) are covered in the remaining one-third. McIntyre commits himself to documenting the fall-out of these killings, which sees 755 go through several failed attempts at establishing a new family, and follows the fate of one of 06’s daughters, 926. Although there are happy endings of a sort, the lives of both these survivors are shot through with hardship and loss. Where the threat of hunting was only theoretical in the previous book, here it becomes reality with the removal of wolves from the endangered species list. Remarkably, even though the events have an emotional impact on both him and other wolf biologists and spotters, McIntyre continues to refrain from voicing his opinion or discussing in any depth the reasons for, and problems with, the hunting of wolves. He hints at the why of this when talking to a group of schoolchildren: “being a National Park Service employee in uniform, I could not voice a political opinion about wolf-hunting regulations outside the park” (p. 233). There is much here that remains unsaid, and Nate Blakeslee’s book The Wolf offers an outsider’s perspective on the whole situation that is well worth reading.

Ecologists know how important long-term research is, but also both how hard and rare it is. McIntyre’s decades-long commitment to observing the Yellowstone wolves, and then turning these into books for the general public, is commendable. The Alpha Female Wolf succeeds in both celebrating 06’s remarkably successful life and in indicating the important role of the female of this species. In a conversation with McIntyre last year, he mentioned one more book is planned that will cover events up to 2021. There are yet more stories to be told about these iconic animals and I am looking forward to immersing myself one more time in their lives.

Book Review: Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet

***** An eye-opening and thought-provoking reportage

Crossings book covering showing yellow text on top of an image of a winding road snaking through an evergreen forest.The road to hell might be paved with good intentions, but the roads to pretty much everywhere else are paved with the corpses of animals. In Crossings, environmental journalist Ben Goldfarb explores the outsized yet underappreciated impacts of the ~65 million kilometres of roads that hold the planet in a paved stranglehold. These extend beyond roadkill to numerous other insidious biological effects. The relatively young discipline of road ecology tries to gauge and mitigate them and sees biologists join forces with engineers and roadbuilders. This is a wide-ranging and eye-opening survey of the situation in the USA and various other countries.

As Goldfarb points out, roadkill is as old as the road but the phenomenon went into overdrive with the invention of the combustion engine and a new-found need for speed that menaced humans and animals alike. With the morbid curiosity typical of biologists, Dayton and Lilian Stoner published the first tally of motorcar casualties in 1925, in the process diagnosing “a malady with no name” (p. 16), as the word roadkill would not be coined for another two decades. The word road ecology was only coined in 1993 by Richard Forman, though it was translated from the German Straßenökologie that was coined in 1981 by Heinz Ellenberg.

As a discipline, road ecology both studies the impact of roads and formulates solutions. Particularly common, and featured extensively in this book, are wildlife crossings. Underpasses serve many animals but others have different needs such as overpasses or canopy rope bridges. Amphibians and reptiles are given a helping hand with toad tunnels and bucket brigades. Fish migration is being restored by retrofitting culverts that are better navigable.

An empty long, winding road running through trees going down a hill.
The long and winding road by Mussi Katz, via flickr.

To us, roads are the unnoticed connective tissue that links places of extraction with industry and commerce, and shuttles commuters between home and work. For other animals, they are barriers: despite the good intentions, wildlife crossings cannot serve all animals equally and cannot be constructed everywhere. Millions of animals still die in collisions every day. Goldfarb addresses the very real concerns of extirpation, habitat fragmentation, interrupted migrations, and noise pollution. With roads come humans who bring deforestation, hunting, real estate development, urban sprawl, tourism, etc.

Amidst this litany of harms, Goldfarb features several topics that will be eye-opening even to ecologists. There is the little-known history of how the US Forest Service constructed one of the world’s largest road networks of now mostly abandoned forest tracks. Roads also feed a diverse community of scavengers that includes humans; a necrobiome that “airbrushes our roadsides, camouflaging a crisis by devouring it” (p. 181). In Syracuse, Goldfarb faces the racist legacy of interstate highways that were bulldozed straight through Black and Latino neighbourhoods. Plans are now afoot to reverse this wrong, move the highway, and create a community where people can again walk to their destinations. In a brilliant flourish, Goldfarb connects this back to the book’s main topic: “Road ecologists and urban advocates are engaged in the same epic project: creating a world that’s amenable to feet” (p. 287).

Badbury Rings Avenue in Dorset showing a long downhill slope with large oak trees either side.
Badbury Rings Avenue – No HDR by JackPeasePhotography, via flickr.

So far, so good. Goldfarb’s writing shines and certain turns of phrase are memorable. I was initially concerned how US-centric this book would be. Though weighted towards US examples, Goldfarb also visits Wales, Costa Rica, Tasmania, and Brazil, and discusses several European initiatives.

Despite the gloomy picture, there are some encouraging signs. The US Forest Service has started decommissioning parts of its road network. Brazil, meanwhile, shows what government regulation can achieve. Here, highway operators are held legally responsible for dealing with the harm and costs resulting from collisions. Contrast this with the USA, Goldfarb observes sharply, where individual drivers are blamed for collisions. This “deflects culpability from the car companies building ever more massive SUVs and the engineers designing unsafe streets” (p. 295). As with addressing climate change, individual action only gets us so far; making roads safer demands systemic change, “a public works project, one of history’s most colossal” (p. 296).

And yet, something nagged at me. The focus on mitigation smacks of a palliative solution and Goldfarb concedes the limitations of road ecology. Crossings and fences will not stop the many other impacts of roads and risk becoming “a form of greenwashing […] a fig leaf that conceals and rationalizes destruction” (p. 265). As with other environmental problems, should we not first focus on abandoning or reducing certain behaviours, instead of turning to techno-fixes? Can we imagine something more radical? Can Goldfarb?

 

Tarmac country road running between two oil seed rape fields.
Country road and yellow field by Susanne Nilsson, via flickr.

To his credit, he admits wrestling with this problem. “The most straightforward solution to the road’s ills would be a collective rejection of automobility […] In the course of writing this book, I’ve felt, at times, like a defeatist—as though, by extolling wildlife passages, I foreclose the possibility of a more radical, carless future” (p. 295). I would have loved to see him explore this further in a dedicated chapter. Instead, Goldfarb comes down on the side of pragmatism. Bicycles and public transport are great for making urban areas more liveable, but most roadkill happens elsewhere. Furthermore, personal mobility is only part of the story, with logistics making up a huge chunk of traffic. The eye-opening chapter on Brazil, and the outsized influence of China’s Belt and Road Initiative that sees it invest in infrastructure globally, is a forceful reminder that the developmental juggernaut is nigh impossible to slow down. One road ecologist points out that you cannot seriously enter the discussion around roads if you oppose social and economic development, while another chimes in that, whether we like it or not, more roads will be built. Although I do not think resistance is futile, Goldfarb leaves me sympathetic to the road ecologists who are desperately trying to nudge construction projects in directions “that, if not quite “right,” are at least less wrong” (p. 270).

Goldfarb acknowledges the input of some 250 people and even then stresses his book is far from the final word on the subject. He encourages readers to take it as a starting point and read deeper, providing 43 pages of notes to the many sources of information he has used. I would additionally recommend A Clouded Leopard in the Middle of the Road by Australian road ecologist Darryl Jones which was published last year but seems to have flown under the radar compared to Goldfarb’s book. Overall, Crossings is a wide-ranging, eye-opening, and thought-provoking reportage that deserves top marks.