For me, this book instantly places Aaron Hirsh in the company of our finest explainers: Gould, McPhee, Medawar -- that company. What Hirsh explains here is how to hold a conversation about our environment. The key, he says, is in the act of telling, and therefore in the act of listening.
His subject is the Sea of Cortez, aka the Gulf of California. Hirsh and his wife, both biologists, along with their science historian colleague, teach a summer college course at a marine station in Baja. The book is framed around one summer's experience.
The sea is in trouble. Even though it seems to teem with marine life, we learn that the waters are a ghost town compared to just fifty years ago. Systematic overfishing of the commercially valuable species, by both local and foreign operations, has caused populations to crash. The central question of the book is: what should we do about this?
It's a setup you're familiar with, but Hirsh approaches it in a way you haven't seen before. He gives us an interwoven collection of stories -- the experience of his students as they come to understand the life of these waters, the economic tug-of-war between the fishermen, land developers, and conservationists, and Hirsh's brilliant accounts of the human and natural history of the region.
On their own, these narrative threads are well worth reading. Hirsh's prose has a literary feel, always stately and assured, but with an astounding range that can handle technical exposition, real emotion, and even comedy without strain. A sample:
'At daybreak, fiery light pierced the folds of gray--the faded silver sky, the drifting tatters of fog, the mist rising off the bay--and struck our faces for the first time in four days. The desert steamed like a newborn landscape. The cardón and cirio looked clean and alive; every spine pricked a tiny droplet quivering with light. It was as if we'd blinked awake just in time to catch the sea being separated from the sky, the earth from the sea.'
These stories, however, reach beyond themselves. The discussion of the evolution of the humble sea cucumber serves also as a critique of the contingent nature of scientific understanding. The story the domestic dog's origins also shows us that careful thinking sometimes leads us not to a 'right answer' but to 'right answers'. Each of his stories carries double meaning, about the fragility of our knowledge of the natural world.
What to do about this, Hirsh suggests, is to hold a conversation. This conversation needs to involve all the stakeholders, and requires patience. The fisherman, the scientist, the artist, and the developer each have something to share that the other doesn't fully appreciate. Just as the interactions between the denizens of the sea balance out to an ecological whole, so might we find some balance between our collective observations and ideas, and change course.
Note: the author is a friend of mine.