Using rivers as the focus, an avid fly fisherman presents a unique environmental history of America, exploring the paradox between trout rich rivers and the corporations that find them useful for industry, while also proposing solutions to these conflicting demands over a vital resource.
There are two things that are true for those of us who read (mostly) every day: for all of that, we never run out; and even late in life we stumble across a spectacular, prolific author we've never heard of before. To-wit: George Black.
He's from Cowdenbeath, Scotland but seems to have settled here in the United States. He writes, and not just about one thing. He has written about Iraq's crime of genocide against the Kurds, about the Chinese Democracy Movement and about the United States tinkerings in Central America and the Caribbean.
His hobby is fly fishing, which takes him from his residence in New York City to small rivers in Connecticut. Which is (are) the subject of this book.
I was drawn to read this book because I read somewhere, maybe here, that this was very like John McPhee. So, duh. But the book had a superficial appeal. I mean, what a wonderfully enigmatic title, and such a beautiful cover.
There's flyfishing in here, but it's not about flyfishing. It's about the rivers, in the first instance. The first people that found them, found beauty, and sustenance. But 19th and 20th century business saw the power the river provided. The two visions must necessarily collide. Hence the paradox.
There's the history of the rivers here. A biography of trout. Legal disputes. Personalities, good and bad.
And humor. Not as much as you'd find in a John McPhee book, but close. You'd get this:
"I hear you can eat pollen cactus larvae."
"Don't the Chinese have a taboo against eating honey? Don't they regard it as being the same as fecal matter?"
"Only insect I ever ate was the gusano in a bottle of tequila."
"Apparently every time you eat a pancake, you're ingesting insect parts. You can't avoid it; there's no way to keep bugs out of the flour."
"That's why you should always put basmanti rice in the freezer, someone told me."
"Apparently cicadas are the best; they taste just like shrimp."
An anxious look passed across the face of a woman who was preparing the talk. She asked, "Are locusts kosher, does anyone know? I guess I should talk to the rabbi."
Anyhow, I've already ordered and received two more George Black books: one about the lingering effects of Agent Orange and unexploded bombs in Vietnam, and another about the history of Yellowstone.
I unexpectedly found this book one of the best nonfiction books I’ve ever read. And this is not my favorite sort of book: lots of interviews, lots of bits of memoir, quick histories and biographies, the sort of thing John McPhee used to do. But after recently reading a book by John McPhee, I can say that Black’s writing is far better in every way.
It does help to be interested in Connecticut history and environmental issues (fly fishing is not, however, a requirement). But the way Black moves through the many sub-topics, the stories about people, industrial and other histories, and a big lawsuit at the end is simply sublime. Not a dull moment in a book that could have been painful in so many ways.
The title's paradox, explained on. p 8, is that "the pristine trout pools of western Connecticut nurtured the most noisome and alienating developments of the American industrial revolution—factory towns, foundries, mass production, the modern armaments and aerospace industries." If you read the book, you'll find that he's not exaggerating.
this has dramatically increased my appreciation for Connecticut's history and done a good job illustrating how random decision points or individual personalities can make a huge difference in settlement patterns and human impact on the environment.
Although the author, writing in an accessible and not overly technical style, confesses a passion for fly fishing for trout and passages of the book elucidate one thing or another about trout, their habitats, environmental pressures etc. this is certainly not a book about fishing, nor do trout really hold a focal point in the narrative. That said, there is a fascinating section on the relationship of limestone river beds and their alkaline nature to the biodiversity of those waters (versus acidic) and consequently the preponderance of trout in limestone rivers. And the book has much to do with what contributes to or detracts from the health of rivers and the ripple effects of the processes leading to the river's state of well being.
Trout Pool Paradox examines how industry rooted itself and flourished along the Naugatuck River in Connecticut and ravaged that river to the point that it was biologically dead; and how the nearby Housatonic essentially sidestepped a similar fate due to its communities' more classic New England puritan sensibilities that eschewed flamboyant wealth but supported the ideals and traditions of Emerson and Thoreau ultimately manifesting a nascent practice of nature preservation in America.