Carl Safina

Broadly speaking this book comes in three parts, each focussing on the family- and wider social-dynamics of a single species: first elephants, then wolves, then killer whales. More specifically, though, it’s about us too: the way we humans look at both ourselves and the world; about the imaginary dividing line we draw around ourselves to separate us from the rest of the animal kingdom; about the idea that we are different—special. And I say “imaginary” because the author’s aim is show more to show how absurd this idea is.
   Here’s a list of some of the things which have been hailed as the hallmark of “what makes us human”, what “sets us apart” from all those others:

• large brain • brain structure, the way the brain is organised overall • special types of brain cell (e.g. spindle cells, mirror neurons) • high intelligence • tool-use • not just using, but making tools • the capacity to feel pain • consciousness • emotions (any emotions at all that is) • and if other animals do feel fear, rage and so on, then human emotions • language • empathy • possessing a “theory of mind” (an absurd term from psychology meaning the ability to infer and understand another’s mental state • passing the mirror test (realising that the face looking back at you from a mirror is yourself) • the ability to plan ahead • deception (not camouflage, instinctive hiding and so on, but the premeditated deceiving of others) • teaching (parents sacrificing their own time to introduce their offspring to, and coach them in, new skills) • sharing food with complete strangers • an understanding of death • playing (and inventing) games / having fun / just “messing about” • abstract representation (the use of symbols to represent objects) • using one object to represent another.

It’s quite a list (though not an exhaustive one; there are plenty more too silly to bother even writing down).
   For one thing, it’s fantasy; aside from those items on it for which the jury may still be out on ourselves too, in each case there are other species who either do, or have, or use, or make—or simply are—all these things. And for another, it expresses not only a cringe-inducing arrogance, but straw-clutching: humans clearly need to feel superior, special. But why? And why is this prejudice so difficult to see past? Is it part of a more fundamental view that the world is here for our use? Because how can you use others if you recognise them as equals?
   This is a stunning book, the section on killer whales a true revelation—and as Safina himself points out, since the study of the behaviour, emotions, intelligence and consciousness of our fellow creatures is such a relatively new field (mere decades, barely begun) there are more revelations to come. And yet, surprisingly perhaps given its subject, Beyond Words is not an angry book; it’s remarkably restrained—albeit through gritted teeth at times when describing some of the grosser idiocies and atrocities routinely perpetrated on other animals by us.
   The message here is that we humans are as much part of the world as everyone else, that the similarities overwhelm the differences, that we are essentially the same, “…beneath the skin, kin. There is no other animal like us. But don’t forget: there are no other animals like each of them, either.” show less

Marine biologist and conservationist Carl Safina shares a year of observing migrating birds and fish from his beach cottage home on Long Island, as well as several expeditions he's made to regions polar and tropical to investigate their animals and ecology. Along the way, he offers detailed descriptions of wildlife, personal stories about fishing and walking along the beach with his dog, philosophical musings about the interconnectedness of life, impassioned political opinions, and sobering show more examples of environmental change. This somewhat rambling approach works far better than I would have expected it to. It's thought-provoking, eye-opening, and often surprisingly moving, and it's left me with a slightly uncomfortable but welcome urge to rethink my own relation to the natural world in a way that I suspect is going to linger for a while. I can imagine that some might consider it preachy, and in a sense it may be, but it's an inspirational sermon rather than a condescending lecture. Recommended for those who are interested in the environment, and for those who should be. show less

Love at first page, and I would give this a four and a half. It was very literary for a non-fiction book, with many memorable and poignant passages. Every time I opened it I felt like I was escaping to another world.

There is no doubt that sea turtles (particularly the dinosaur-like leatherback turtles, which are the only living members of their genus, family, and suborder) qualify as “charismatic megafauna.” They feature in South Pacific legends and fables, were considered sacred to show more Aphrodite in ancient Greece, and were believed to support the world in Mayan, Chinese, Japanese, and Indian legend. Beaches known for attracting laying females are tourist attractions, and “turtle tourism” brings in millions of dollars a year to some communities in Costa Rica. As for the “megafauna” part, an average leatherback turtle weighs about 800 pounds – some weigh close to 1100 – and has a flipper span of eight feet.

One of the South Pacific fables recounted in the book that I particularly enjoyed: A fisherman noticed a large Hawksbill Turtle – a true prize. Without even pausing to anchor his canoe, he dove in after it, and finally managed to catch the turtle. But by then his canoe had drifted far away, and he had to release the turtle so he could try to retrieve his canoe. But he couldn’t and had to swim back to his village without either the turtle or the canoe. Moral: “those who try to do two things at once often accomplish neither.” In other words, be careful when it comes to multitasking…

There was a rather sickening chapter describing harpoon hunting for swordfish. While this was well-written (I kind of wanted to stop reading and at the same time couldn’t) and I learned a lot about swordfish (and the cruelty humans are prepared to inflict on wild animals that haven’t hurt them), it had nothing to do with turtles. This chapter probably would have worked better within the book as a whole if it had been cast as something like “sea turtles and swordfish share similar habitats [which is why the author was on a swordfishing boat to begin with] and here’s how sea turtles (marine reptiles) do things compared to the different way swordfish (true bony fish) get the same thing accomplished.” Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to tie in well with the story of sea turtles as told in the preceding and succeeding chapters. In some ways I wish it had, because it did one thing quite well. Especially when juxtaposed with stories of the lengths people will go to help sea turtles (one scientist helped an arthritic leatherback dig a nest), it darkly illuminated two conflicting aspects of the human relationship with nature. Two passages in particular stuck with me: “What a confusing species we are, by turns murderous and merciful, negligent and attentive, angels of both death and salvation” (page 240) and, “Watching her [a nesting Leatherback Turtle], and the people, I’m reminded of humans’ strange range of treatment of other animals, our deep capacity for kindness and our equal one for cruelty. Each comes naturally, and each is learned in like measure.” (page 17).

The book also describes how imperiled sea turtle populations are, and the conservation efforts being made to save them. Interestingly, turtle populations in the Atlantic and Caribbean are growing or at least stabilizing, while populations of the same species are nosediving in the Pacific. It is possible that some species will become locally extinct in the Pacific but continue doing well in the Atlantic. On the subject of extinction, I have seen so many references to an endangered species “battling” the possibility of extinction that the perspective of this passage struck me, “The death of a species comes as tranquilly as [a] gentle sunrise. There’s no final struggle, no valorous last stand or terminal flourish. Just one final puff of breath, then mere absence. No creature mourns its own passing. The grief and the consequences lie solely with us, but few feel the loss.” (page 238).

There is also an interesting discussion of how we need to start rerouting money for conservation efforts. Logging companies and developers have plenty of money to throw around and don’t hesitate to do it. But conservation groups tend not to have the money, and even if they do there is often the attitude that people shouldn’t have to be paid to conserve resources or protect species (in other words, to do the right thing). The upshot is that people only see the immediate and material benefits of not conserving or protecting, as opposed to the material sacrifice of conserving or protecting. And the material benefits that come from not conserving can include a wide range of undeniably good things – mosquito nets, vaccinations, books, and increased education. Right now, all of this is coming at the cost of tropical rainforests, pristine beaches, and sea turtles – or what many people might see as paradise. And so, “the human heart will cast itself out of Eden every time, because it has needs heaven never addresses.” (page 305).

At the same time, the book also sounds a note of optimism: “Two identical ships, leaving the same harbor on headings differing by just a couple of degrees, will end long journeys on very different shores. We might yet adjust our course.” (page 239).

A further example of the writing style includes what has to be the most poetic description of marine snow ever: “the dust of life from the sunlit surface of the miracle planet, the blue curve of earth.”

And lastly, there are more than scientific reasons to study turtles and think about how they behave:
“Turtles may seem to lack sense, but they don’t do senseless things. They’re not terribly energetic, yet they do not waste energy. Turtles don’t have the intellect to form opinions about greed, oppression, superstition, or ideology, yet they don’t inflict misery on themselves or other creatures. Turtles cannot consider what might happen, yet nothing turtles do threatens anyone’s future. Turtles don’t think about the next generation, but they risk and provide all they can to ensure there will be one. Meanwhile we profess to love our own offspring above all else, yet above all else it is they from whom we daily steal. We cannot learn to be more like turtles, but from turtles we could learn to be more human.” (page 237). show less

"Magic is the simplicity of rightness" declares Carl Safina in this book devoted to the story of Dermochelys coriacea, the great Leatherback turtle, and nowhere is this more evident than in the book itself - an almost flawless blend of keen observation and heartfelt prose.

Survivors from the time of the dinosaurs, these giant sea turtles have been afloat for over 120 million years, only recently endangered by (what else?) human activity. Divided into two main sections, Voyage of the Turtle show more analyzes the current status of Leatherback communities in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, seeking to uncover the factors that have contributed to the very different condition of the two populations.

There is much here that will dishearten the reader, whether it is the wasteful nature of certain fishing practices, the seemingly endless capacity of government agencies to drag their feet when they should be more active, or the destruction caused by polution and overconsumption. But I was surprised and pleased to discover that this was by and large a hopeful book, focusing on the actions of the many scientists and activists who have made it their life's work to save these beautiful creatures.

It is also a marvelously well-written book, with many passages of striking beauty, in which Safina steps back and ponders the significance of the Leatherback - its connection to the environment, and to humanity:

"Turtles may seem to lack sense, but they don't do senseless things. They're not terribly energetic, yet they do not waste energy. Turtles don't have the intellect to form opinions about greed, oppression, superstition, or ideology, yet they don't inflict misery on themselves or other creatures. Turtles cannot consider what might happen, yet nothing turtles do threatens anyone's future. Turtles don't think about their next generation, but they risk and provide all they can to ensure that there will be one. Meanwhile, we profess to love our own offspring above all else, yet above all else it is they from whom we daily steal. We cannot learn to be more like turtles, but from turtles we could learn to be more human. That is the wisdom carried within one hundred million years of survival. What turtles could learn from us, I can't quite imagine."

I do not often read works of natural history, owing not to a lack of interest, but to the scarcity of available time. But I was so entranced by Safina's tale of these "ancient, ageless, great-grandparents of the world," who are like "a sudden remembrance of a world before memories," that I think I may have to make the time - starting with Safina's other titles. show less