Review: Silent Spring

Silent SpringSilent Spring by Rachel Carson (50th Anniversary edition). New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1962, 2002.

Summary: This classic of environmental writing made the case that pesticides were rendering harm to just about everything in the American landscape, including human beings, except for the pests targeted by these chemical poisons.

I grew up in the era when pesticide use was far more common than at present. I probably carry DDT and a host of other chemicals in my fatty tissue, though far less than would otherwise have been the case because of Rachel Carson’s landmark 1962 work. Carson was a trained marine biologist who became a science writer winning a National Book award for her 1951 best seller The Sea Around Us. In high school, we celebrated the first Earth Day and read an excerpt of her work. But I never read the work in its entirety until now.

The book is a case against pesticide use and ultimately resulted in the banning of DDT and limitations on the use of other pesticides. Carson tells a tale of how pesticides sprayed from planes or by other means end up in rivers and ground water, often killing fish, wildlife and domestic animals, and sometimes human beings. Her meticulous research covers things like the effects of these pesticides on soil, which is a living thing, not just dirt, until pesticides wipe out much of the life in the soil. The title comes from the effects of pesticides on birds. She describes spraying operations that wipe out whole bird populations and others that essentially sterilize the birds, meaning no young hatch from the few eggs they are able to lay. And she tells the human toll, in terms of various health effects including rising incidence of cancer.

Rachel Carson

Rachel Carson

But she doesn’t stop there. She goes on to show that insects, the primary target of these pesticides quickly develop natural resistance, primarily because they breed much faster than humans or other animals. Therefore, these poisons are quickly rendered ineffective. She argues that biological controls and natural enemies are a far better way of dealing with these pests. Her account is a salutary tale of the use of chemical and technological solutions that are far worse than the problem they are intended to solve.

The book combines a beauty of style with meticulous research and numerous citations of scientific papers to support every example cited. She expected a firestorm of opposition from the chemical companies, which she indeed encountered but her clear and beautiful prose won the day in the court of public opinion, a victory she was not around to witness, losing her life to breast cancer in 1964. The Fiftieth Anniversary edition includes an Afterword by biologist E. O. Wilson paying tribute to Carson’s work.

Finishing her book left me wondering whether someone could write a similar book today about our coming water problems, or the climate changes that will drastically alter life, if not for us, then for our children. Then, as now, powerful interests stand against any decisive action to address these issues. Yet one woman, already dying, wrote with style and care making a case that awoke the American people and gave birth to the environmental movement. Because of her, bald eagles have rebounded, chemicals are at least less-pervasive than they once were and organic growing is bringing us safer foods. Will such a book be written to address the ills facing our children and grand-children? Let us hope so.

Reading Books We Don’t Like?

True confessions time. I get some of my blogging ideas from the good folks over at Bookriot who host some of the most interesting conversations about reading for the general reading public. Today they posted an article on “The Benefits of Reading a Book You Don’t Like.”

The article talked about exploring what it is that makes us uncomfortable and what we find that is not working for us in books we don’t like rather than simply dismissing them with “I don’t like that.” And it strikes me that such an exploration may reveal qualities both in the work and in ourselves and that these can enrich and enlarge our worlds even when this is uncomfortable.

Fate of AfricaI can’t say, for example, that I liked reading The Fate of Africa recently. It was a thoroughly depressing account of corrupt leadership in country after country, the devastation of AIDS and genocides, with occasional glimmers of hope. Yet I think we are woefully ignorant of the importance of this huge continent, the richness of its peoples and cultures, and how we cannot divorce the “fate” of Africa from our own.

SolitudeI did not enjoy Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of SolitudeFundamentally, the story is the chronicle of a truly dysfunctional family that would be rich material for a Dr. Phil show. I also have to say I’m not a fan of magical realism and both of these facts probably reveal something about me. But discussing this book on and offline revealed why others like it, the implicit critique of colonialism that runs through it, as well as the fact that families and sexuality can sometimes be just about as bizarre as they are portrayed here.

Jim CrowReading Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow was just plain uncomfortable as a white man in a middle class suburb. Whether I agree with all of her analysis or not, I have to ask what is wrong with a culture that incarcerates a substantially greater portion of people from one minority ethnicity, even while the incidence of drug use may be as prevalent in my own suburb if only more cleverly hidden. And it was chilling to read about the erosion of our Fourth Amendment protections against illegal searches and seizures that are integral to policing strategies in some communities.

The last kind of book I think of are books by those who do not agree with me. Reading books by writers like Daniel Dennett or E.O. Wilson, who are often quite critical of Christians help me understand the source of their animus, some of which might be justified even while i believe some is built on misconceptions of Christian belief. Likewise, reading authors from different theological persuasions and parts of the church is important, and even those of other faiths. It keeps me from caricaturing their beliefs and helps me understand why they might think differently.

Admittedly, a number of the books I read are those I think I’ll like. But sometimes it is the ones I don’t like that have left the most lasting impressions and force me to re-examine my own conceptions of the world. Reading the Bible actually falls in this category for me, which may be a surprise, but this is true because the Bible doesn’t sanitize human ugliness, it doesn’t portray a tame and domesticated God, and it makes uncomfortable ethical demands upon my life. It is a collection of books out of other times and cultures that sometimes can be difficult to understand and sometimes uncomfortable because I do understand it, which has been to my profound benefit.

I would be curious, how have you benefited from books you didn’t like, and what were these books?