Imperial Nature: Joseph Hooker and the Practices of Victorian Science by Jim Endersby

How natural science was conducted in Darwin’s day

Joseph Dalton Hooker (1817–1911) was an important figure in the history of botany and in British science in general. He was a close friend and supporter of Charles Darwin, and the two exchanged over 1300 letters. In a career move similar to Darwin’s Voyage of the Beagle, young Hooker served as naturalist on the ship Erebus in its exploration of the Antarctic and many Southern islands. Joseph’s father, William Hooker, was the founding director of the Kew Gardens, and Joseph succeeded his father in that post in 1865. Although he may have started out as a nepo baby, Joseph’s accomplishments in botany eventually surpassed those of his father. In his 2008 book Imperial Nature, science historian Jim Endersby looks at Hooker’s life and what it reveals about science and scientists in Victorian England.

As Endersby soon admits in his introduction, this is not a full biography of Joseph Hooker. Rather, it focuses on a specific period in Hooker’s early career, from the late 1830s to the mid-1860s. Endersby’s research is drawn largely from letters and publications of that period. Though he focuses primarily on Hooker, Endersby provides a broader view of how natural science was conducted in Britain in the mid-nineteenth century. What he reveals on this subject could be applied to just about any of Hooker’s British contemporaries studying biology at this time, including his father William Hooker, Darwin, George Bentham, Robert Brown, Edward Forbes, Asa Gray, John Lindley, Richard Owen, and Hewett Cottrell Watson—all of whom are discussed frequently in the book.

Endersby provides much interesting insight into how these botanists practiced their profession—collecting, preserving, classifying, drawing, writing, and publishing—but he also reveals much about the social status of science and scientists at this time. During this period in history, science was largely the domain of independently wealthy “gentlemen.” Conducting science for money was considered crass and menial. Even medical doctors were looked down on as lowly blue-collar laborers. Hooker, however, needed to earn a living, so he had to navigate the difficult transition from aristocratic “men of science” to professional “scientists” that took place in the 19th century. Even the word “professional” was considered derogatory; Hooker and his colleagues preferred to be called “philosophical” botanists.

In his leadership role at Kew, with its extensive herbarium (collection of plants), Hooker was the foremost authority on botanical matters, such as naming plant species, in the British empire, if not the world. As Endersby describes him, Hooker was somewhat of a dictator over his domain. Endersby closely examines the relationships between metropolitan (London) and colonial (e.g. Australia, India) botanists. During his Erebus voyage, Hooker met two skilled amateur plant collectors, William Colenso in New Zealand and Ronald Campbell Gunn in Tasmania. For decades thereafter, these two men supplied Hooker and Kew with dried and preserved plants from these islands, which Hooker then analyzed, classified, and described in his botanical books. Through a deep dive into their correspondence, Endersby shows how Hooker was dependent on these colonial collectors but also strove to keep them in their place, asserting himself as the real botanist and big-city authority while condescendingly quashing their ideas.

I enjoy reading biographies and histories about the glory days of the naturalist explorer, so I found Endersby’s book quite interesting and informative. I will caution the reader, however, that Imperial Nature reads very much like a dissertation or a scholarly treatise intended to win over fellow historians or a tenure committee, not a general audience. There is much repetition in the text, frequent hair-splitting, and a lot of cross-referencing from one chapter to another. Endersby cites nine examples to defend a point he’s making, when three would have sufficed for the general reader. It’s very workmanlike prose, but Endersby delivers the goods. Those who are interested in the way these nineteenth-century scientists plied their trade will certainly learn plenty here.

A Manual of Scientific Enquiry, edited by Sir John F. W. Herschel

Data collection handbook for explorers

While the British Royal Navy’s primary function was military, it also made great strides in the scientific exploration of the globe. The expeditions of Captain Cook and the voyage of the HMS Beagle, on which Charles Darwin served as ship’s naturalist, are just the best known examples of scientifically productive voyages sponsored by the Admiralty. To further its research agenda, the Royal Navy published A Manual of Scientific Enquiry in 1851. This era is often considered the age of Humboldtian science because of the standard set by the meticulous data-gathering methods of Prussian explorer Alexander von Humboldt. The Royal Navy’s Manual is an instruction guide on scientific intelligence gathering for physicians, naturalists, geographers, and other scientifically minded sailors voyaging abroad or stationed in exotic foreign ports.

The list of contributors in the table of contents reads like a who’s who of the British scientific community in the mid-nineteenth century. The Manual is edited by the distinguished polymath Sir John Herschel (his dad discovered Uranus), who also contributes the chapter on meteorology. Charles Darwin delivers the chapter on geology (He studied geology extensively before making his indelible mark in biology), while the outstanding naturalist Richard Owen handles zoology. William Hooker, director of the Kew Gardens, writes on botany, and George Biddell Airy, the then-current Astronomer Royal, covers his celestial area of expertise.

Each contributor takes a different approach to his subject. Some chapters are little more than wishlists of data these scientists would like naval officers to gather towards solving unanswered research questions. Other chapters go into great detail on how to take precise measurements with very complex instruments, and in some cases how to first construct those instruments. The book contains very few illustrations, so it’s often hard for today’s reader to imagine what a barometer, thermometer, or actinometer might have looked like in 1851. The chapters on botany and zoology give detailed instructions on how explorers should preserve specimens of plants and animals in the field. In the latter case the processes can be quite disgusting and surprisingly toxic. Darwin’s chapter is supposed to be on geography, but his wide range of interests veers off into various digressions from dredging up coral samples to inspecting the stomach contents of seabirds. Some authors assume a certain level of prior knowledge in their given disciplines, particularly those dealing with the nautical sciences. Others are more novice-friendly, such as Sir Henry De la Beche, whose chapter on mineralogy provides a helpful introduction to the discipline.

After reading this manual, the reader walks away with a newfound respect for the sailors of old. The audience for this book were no common seabound laborers. Readers were expected to be well-versed in all aspects of celestial navigation, surveying, and mathematics. Most readers of today, who can get their GPS coordinates off of Google Earth, will find the chapter on terrestrial magnetism hopelessly confusing and unintelligible. Taking accurate measurements with the difficult and delicate instruments of the era required a great deal of patience and skill. It may have taken five steps just to get a reading off of a thermometer, and often one had to run one’s numbers through a complex equation to get the desired result. From reading this book, one would think that British sailors had nothing better to do than take readings and keep tabular journals all day and night, which hardly seems believable. Perhaps the scientists who wrote the manual had unrealistic expectations of their audience? Nevertheless, the exploratory vessels of the Royal Navy made great strides in our understanding of the world’s natural environment and the people who inhabit it. This book gives the armchair explorer an educational glimpse into the scientific work of these intrepid explorers and a renewed admiration for their accomplishments.

Table of contents

Astronomy by Sir George Biddell Airy

Magnetism by Sir Edward Sabine

Hydrography by Captain Frederick William Beechey

Tides by Rev. Dr. William Whewell

Geography by William John Hamilton

Geology by Charles Darwin

Earthquake Phenomena by Robert Mallet

Mineralogy by Sir Henry Thomas De la Beche

Meteorology by Sir John F. W. Herschel

Atmospheric Waves by William Radcliffe Birt

Zoology by Sir Richard Owen

Botany by Sir William Jackson Hooker

Ethnology by James Cowles Prichard

Medicine and Medical Statistics by Dr. Alexander Bryson

Statistics by George Richardson Porter

Appendix

If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.
https://www.amazon.com/review/R2QHK6R1J27PAM/ref=cm_cr_srp_d_rdp_perm

The Life of Erasmus Darwin by Charles Darwin and Ernst Krause

The grandfather of evolution

Erasmus Darwin

Before Charles Darwin formulated the theory of evolution by natural selection for his landmark book On the Origin of Species, the Darwin name had already achieved renown in England’s scientific circles due to the work of his grandfather Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802). In February 1879, the German journal Kosmos published a paper written by biologist Ernst Krause on “The Scientific Works of Erasmus Darwin.” Later that year, Krause’s paper, accompanied by a “Preliminary Notice” written by Charles Darwin, was published in book form as The Life of Erasmus Darwin. The Preliminary Notice is more than just a preface, however, and is in fact even longer than Krause’s paper.

Erasmus Darwin was a practicing physician, but he did not limit his scientific pursuits to the field of medicine. His favored discipline was botany, and he published several scientific texts on the subject, the most important being his Zoonomia of 1794. He was also a poet. In the late 18th and 19th century, poetry was a legitimate medium through which to convey scientific and philosophical theories. Such didactic poems were written in verse with extensive footnotes in prose. Erasmus’s poems, such as The Loves of Plants, consist largely of visual descriptions of nature. Through such poems he also articulated his broader system of natural philosophy based largely on materialistic causes, in opposition to the elaborate paeans to intelligent design written by most of the biologists of his era. Erasmus was a founding member of the Lunar Society, a sort of learned illuminati in London. As Charles and Krause describe him, Erasmus comes across as a sort of English Ben Franklin, with whom he corresponded. Like Franklin, Erasmus was also an inventor, though Charles points out that he failed to follow through on many of his ideas.

Leaving the examination of Erasmus’s scientific accomplishments to Krause, Charles provides mostly biographical and genealogical information on Erasmus, as well as a discussion of his career as a physician. Charles strives to give the reader a sense of his grandfather’s personality and values by reproducing Erasmus’s correspondence with friends, professional colleagues, and family members. A friend and colleague of Erasmus’s, Anna Seward, had previously published a biography that was somewhat unflattering. Here Charles refutes Seward’s allegations and even attacks her character. While one does learn quite a bit about Erasmus from Charles’s biographical sketch, there’s definitely a degree of family bias to his account, as well as quite a few tangential digressions that would only be of interest to a Darwin cousin.

Krause is more successful in his essay on Erasmus’s career as a biologist. Probably at least two-thirds of Krause’s essay, however, consists of extensive quotes from Erasmus’s published writings. Krause believes that Erasmus deserves far more recognition for the development of the theory of evolution than he typically receives. He asserts that what we typically think of as Lamarckism, the evolutionary theory of Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, was actually Erasmus Darwin’s idea. To call it Darwinism, however, would certainly be confusing, since Charles Darwin disproved Lamarckian evolution when he discovered the mechanism of natural selection.

Rather than a full biography, The Life of Erasmus Darwin is more of a jumble of facts and opinions about the man. One does, however, learn quite a bit about his contributions to the history of science, and Krause’s essay provides a good overview of his system of natural philosophy.

Natural Histories: Extraordinary Rare Book Selections from the American Museum of Natural History Library, edited by Tom Baione

A masterful exhibition of science history, book history, and art
Walk into any public library in America and you’re likely to find a shelf devoted to “Staff Picks.” Imagine that same idea applied to an institution with one of the world’s greatest collections of historical science books, where all the staff hold doctoral degrees and are experts in their fields. The result is the American Museum of Natural History’s 2012 publication entitled Natural Histories, edited by Tom Baione. The subtitle, Extraordinary Rare Book Selections from the American Museum of Natural History Library is no mere boasting and aptly describes what you will find between the covers of this wonderful book.

Natural Histories profiles twenty stunning illustrated texts, arranged chronologically from Conrad Gessner’s Historia Animalum of 1551 to Emile-Alain Séguy’s volumes on Butterflies and Insects from the 1920s. Each entry takes up two two-page spreads, which is enough space to reproduce five or six beautiful full-color illustrations. The images are accompanied by brief essays, written by the museum’s curators, research associates, directors, and librarians, that detail the production of these historical volumes and explain each book’s scientific importance. Though the book features several well-known naturalists such as John James Audubon, John Gould (both known for their birds, but featured here for their mammals), Charles Darwin (Voyage of the Beagle), and Ernst Haeckel (Art Forms of Nature), the contents also include the work of many lesser-known figures, making for an eye-opening educational experience. It brought to my attention several natural history texts of which I was not previously aware. Scanned versions of many of these books can likely be found at online sources such as the Biodiversity Heritage Library or HathiTrust.

Most of the historic books profiled in this volume are zoological treatises, but the scope of natural history the authors cover is broad enough to include other disciplines such as astronomy (the star atlases of Johannes Bayer and Elijah Burritt), anthropology (the Native American portraits of Charles Bird King), geology (William Hamilton’s book on the eruptions of Vesuvius), archaeology (Napoleon’s grand project Description of Egypt), microscopy (Robert Hooke’s Micrographia), and even gemology (Jean-Baptiste Tavernier’s buyers’ guide to East Indian jewels). Oddly enough, there are no strictly botanical texts included, but many of the selections do feature birds and insects depicted amid the flowering plants and trees of their natural habitats. As a book designer, I found one of the more interesting entries to be Barbara Rhodes’s brief summary on the gilt-stamped cover designs of popular nature guides of the Victorian era.

This book is sold in a boxed set that also includes 40 loose-leaf print reproductions of historic natural history illustrations that are suitable for framing. This original Natural Histories volume has spawned a series with three sequels so far: Extraordinary Birds, Opulent Oceans, and Innumerable Insects. Unless you have an avid interest in ornithology, marine biology, or entomology, Natural Histories is a good one to start with because you get a little bit of everything. This beautifully produced book will please any reader with an interest in natural history, wildlife art, or the history of books.
If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.
https://www.amazon.com/review/R257GELWS6NNLK/ref=cm_cr_srp_d_rdp_perm

Famous Men of Science by Sarah Knowles Bolton

A tasty sampler platter of biographical appetizers
Famous Men of Science, published in 1889, is a collection of 14 biographical sketches written by American author Sarah Knowles Bolton. In the late 19th century, Bolton published a whole series of such biographical collections, with titles like Poor Boys Who Became Famous, Famous American Statesmen, and Famous European Artists. Although it doesn’t appear to be intended for a young audience, Famous Men of Science is definitely a popular history aimed at the masses. The biographical sketches have the feeling of deliberate simplification, like articles out of Reader’s Digest or something from Chicken Soup for the Scientific Soul. Given this approach, it’s hard to tell how much of the information is reliable, and how much is folklore, but Bolton does quote extensively from the letters and diaries of the figures she profiles.

While relating the events and accomplishments of her subjects’ lives, Bolton makes blatant efforts to draw moral lessons from their examples, often concluding paragraphs with chestnuts like “Those only succeed who have sufficient force of character to make time for what they wish to do,” or “Little can be expected from those who are easily satisfied.” She also goes out of her way to emphasize the Christian piety and spiritual fortitude of these scientific heroes, even the ones who were likely materialists. She has a tendency to digress from the scientific research by focusing on stories of love, friendship, and family. In the chapter on Sir Humphrey Davy, for instance, Bolton concentrates so much on his personal character and relationships that I’m not sure I even understand what his great contributions to science were. Bolton just assumes you already know that, as any good student of the 19th century would.

Nevertheless, you do learn a lot of fascinating details about these individuals, like Galileo’s struggles to support a family of deadbeats, or the fact that Louis Agassiz was so blind he had to feel fossils with his tongue. Samuel Morse, the inventor of the telegraph, had a very successful career as an artist prior to becoming an inventor, and Bolton gives his artistic accomplishments their proper due. I consider myself pretty well-versed in the life of Charles Darwin, but I knew almost nothing about the personal histories of Carl Linnaeus, Georges Cuvier, or Alexander von Humboldt. Though Bolton’s sketches are anything but comprehensive, she has provided me with enough information to know that I’d like to look into the works of these great naturalists and seek out more recent and complete biographies on them.

Despite the weaknesses in the writing, and the egregious number of typos in the ebook (no spelling check was ever applied to the scanned text), this really is an enjoyable read. It transports you back to the glory days of the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, prior to the era of specialization, when science was like the Wild West: full of opportunities for anyone willing to work hard and stake their claim. You didn’t need rigid credentials to make advances in a given discipline; you just did the work. Almost all of these luminaries excelled in more than one field. Humboldt’s range of interests was truly staggering, stretching across almost the entire breadth of the sciences and humanities. It’s difficult to imagine any scientist today having the freedom to explore the diversity of knowledge that these men did. Famous Men of Science is a fun read for anyone who admires these polymaths of the past. It is no substitute for real biographies of Newton, Herschel, Audubon, etc., but it really does generate enthusiasm for the history of science and whets your appetite for more. 
If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.

https://www.amazon.com/review/RWW4UH5V4KR36/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin

A must-read for any lover of science and nature
Charles Darwin’s scientific treatise, On the Origin of Species, originally published in 1859, is clearly one of the most important books ever published in terms of its influence on science, history, and human thought. As is often pointed out, Darwin didn’t invent the concept of evolution; the idea had been around since ancient times. With On the Origin of Species, however, Darwin put forward his theory of natural selection which explained, for the first time in defendable detail, the mechanism by which species adapt and evolve over time. The following review refers to the sixth edition of 1872, which is often considered the definitive edition. It contains numerous revisions by Darwin as well as his responses to critics of his theory.

The scientific importance of On the Origin of Species is unquestionable, but how does it hold up as a reading experience? The answer is surprisingly very well. Though the scientific concepts Darwin discusses are complex, with the exception of the Latin names of animals and plants there is nothing arcane or obscure about the vocabulary with which he expresses these ideas. One doesn’t need a PhD in biology to understand this book, only an interest in and a love of nature. Darwin’s logically structured argument is easy to follow and admirable for its ingenuity. While he delves into some very technical research, he also occasionally adds an analogy or metaphor that gives an almost literary flourish to the text, like when he compares the tree of life to a genealogy of human languages or the existence of rudimentary organs to the retention of silent letters in the spelling of words. It is a joy to follow Darwin on his intellectual journey as he constructs the path of his argument.

On the Origin of Species is more accessible and engaging than Darwin’s previous well-known work The Voyage of the Beagle, which, despite its elements of adventure memoir was primarily a collection of empirical data. In On the Origin of Species, Darwin combines meticulous observation of nature with theoretical genius. While reading the text, one can’t help but marvel at his encyclopedic knowledge. In addition to having traveled the world observing natural phenomena, he clearly read nearly every work of natural science available to a 19th-century Englishman. He also conducted in-depth research of his own into specific branches of the animal and plant kingdoms. The reader gets a vicarious sense of the thrill of discovery as Darwin relates the results of his experiments, such as counting the seeds in a teaspoon of dirt taken from a duck’s foot, or calculating the length of time seeds of various plants can float in seawater before they lose the ability to germinate.

As many are quick to point out, Darwin didn’t get everything right. While he established natural selection as the means by which evolution is achieved, he didn’t have the necessary knowledge to explain the mechanisms that drove natural selection. DNA had not yet been discovered, even Gregor Mendel’s experiments in genetics were largely unknown, and the idea of mutation didn’t materialize until the early 20th century. Rather than lessening the value of his work, however, this makes Darwin’s achievement all the more remarkable. Given the imperfections in the scientific knowledge at his disposal, not to mention the limitations on travel and scholarly communication, the fact that Darwin was able to conceptualize and clarify the complex forces that govern all life on Earth is just staggering. This is the book that truly defines the phrase “a work of genius.” Today we take the theory of evolution for granted, and we all think we know how it works, but there is still much to be learned from reading the original definitive masterwork on the subject.
If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.
https://www.amazon.com/review/R324LKVXT87WFI/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

The Autobiography of Charles Darwin

Short but sweet
The Autobiography of Charles Darwin was originally published in 1887. Darwin began writing it in 1876, though the final chapter was not completed until 1881. He explains that he began writing this sketch of his life to satisfy a German editor who requested details on his intellectual development, but his son Francis Darwin, who edited the published version, states that the work was intended as a memento from the great scientist to his children. There are brief parenthetical notes by Francis throughout the text, but they are few and far between and don’t interfere with his father’s narrative voice. The reader can easily imagine himself in a lamplit room of some 19th-century London academic club, filled with wingback armchairs and pipe smoke, as Darwin regales a select few listeners with his tales of yore.

This is a very brief work, consisting of only about 64 pages. For that reason, serious scholars of Darwin’s life and works will likely be disappointed by the lack of detail, but for the general reader with a fascination for the man, the brevity of the piece works to its advantage. Darwin’s concise encapsulation of his life provides surprising insight into his mind and personality. Judging by the short length of the work and its table of contents, I was worried that it would be merely a curriculum vitae of his research accomplishments, but there are plenty of personal anecdotes here that make for a lively read, particularly in the passages where he’s discussing his childhood and youth. This autobiography will be most enjoyable and accessible to those who already have some knowledge of Darwin’s works. It helps to have read The Voyage of the Beagle first, because Darwin pretty quickly glosses over that period—having already written and entire book about it—but he does allude to some of his discoveries from that journey, such as his theory of the formation of coral reefs. The latter portions of the book are less personal and more career-focused, discussing the work that went into his various scientific publications, yet still for Darwin enthusiasts its quite entertaining to hear accounts of his research methodology related straight from the horse’s mouth. The only dull moments in the book are when he’s describing some of his scientific colleagues. He’s so hesitant to characterize anyone in a negative light that the relentlessly polite praise becomes repetitive.

The overwhelming feeling that permeates this text is one of a boundless enthusiasm in scientific discovery and a wonder for the natural world. The period in which Darwin practiced his naturalistic profession was like a scientific Wild West. So much was left to be discovered, that anyone with talent willing to work hard could stake his claim in whatever disciplines he chose, and the opportunity for eureka moments was virtually limitless. This was definitely not the age of specialization, and Darwin’s breadth of knowledge in all matters of natural science is truly staggering. Another quality of the man that comes shining through is his remarkable modesty. When speaking of other scientists, he’s not afraid to say, “I was right; he was wrong,” but when it comes to his general career success he speaks as if the theory of evolution was something that just fell into his lucky lap.

Of course, that’s not the case. Darwin was a singular genius, and his success was the result of a tenacious work ethic. This autobiography is a fitting memorial to this brilliant man and his myriad achievements. Every Darwin admirer should read it.
If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.
http://www.amazon.com/review/R3K3IKDCY99NY7/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

The Darwin Experience: The Story of the Man and His Theory of Evolution by John Van Wyhe

When graphic designers go wild
The Darwin Experience is a memorial tribute to the illustrious scientific genius Charles Darwin and his theory of evolution. It was published in 2008 to commemorate the 150th anniversary of his birth. Much attention and painstaking detail has been given to the graphic design of this book. Though not a lengthy work, this little coffee table book comes in its own slipcase. With only 57 pages of text, it is much more a book to be looked at than to be read.

Despite the emphasis on packaging, the text is actually pretty good. Scientific historian John Van Wyhe gives a commendable, concise summary of Darwin’s life and career that is accessible to readers with little prior knowledge of Darwin, yet filled with enough lesser-known facts to keep the interest of those already somewhat familiar with Darwin’s writings. In such a small space, Van Wyhe is required to be brutally brief in his summations of The Voyage of the Beagle, On the Origin of Species, and The Descent of Man, but he shines a helpful light on some of the more obscure works and areas of research which may not be familiar even to some of Darwin’s most avid admirers.

Each “chapter” of the book is a two-page spread, consisting of an article on a particular period of Darwin’s life or a specific book that he wrote. This is accompanied by two sidebars, usually featuring extended quotes either from Darwin’s work or from someone praising him, along with six or seven illustrations. Unfortunately, all this content is crammed into a package which is terribly overdesigned, and most of the images are poorly reproduced. Although printed on smooth matte paper, each page features a faux background of yellowed, weathered paper. On top of this is often a screened background image of an old engraving. Sometimes on top of that will be a Victorian wallpaper pattern. Then on top of that is the text in tiny six-point type, rendered in a dizzying array of fonts chosen for their antiquated appearance rather than for legibility. Visually, the result is an overindulgent mess.

One of the major selling points of this package is the inclusion of a number of facsimile documents. These are reproductions of Darwin’s letters, pages from his journals, maps or illustrations from his books, and other sundry documents such as a Chilean passport or a ticket to his funeral. These are either strategically affixed to or stuffed into pockets in each page. While the idea is a good one, the problem with these facsimile documents is that without exception they are all poorly reproduced. The scans are blurry, like everything else they are printed on a faux weathered background, and for some reason in almost all cases black lines and letters have been replaced by a hazy light gray. Darwin’s handwriting is hard enough to read, but this design treatment renders it almost totally illegible.

The faults of this book lie not with its author but with its design and production. The attempt to create a sensational artifact has resulted in the making of a disappointing book. The Darwin Experience begs to be judged on the merits of its bells and whistles, and in that respect it fails. Readers with a true reverence for Darwin may nonetheless find some enjoyment in Van Wyhe’s admirable tribute. By all means, look for a used or remaindered copy, because it’s definitely not worth the full price.
If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.
http://www.amazon.com/review/RSA1RQBOIXQ1Y/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

The Voyage of the Beagle by Charles Darwin

The joy of adventure and the thrill of discovery
The Voyage of the Beagle is Charles Darwin’s account of his nearly five-year trip around the world as natural historian on board a British survey ship. Though the book is named after the ship, it contains very little description of life at sea, and concentrates almost exclusively on the details of Darwin’s many excursions on land. Darwin’s voyage on the Beagle is primarily remembered for his discoveries on the Galapagos Islands, but that particularly destination only occupies one short chapter, though it is the most interesting portion of the book from the standpoint of biological science. The large majority of the book’s narrative takes place on the mainland of South America, in the lush jungles of Brazil, the pampas of Argentina, the harsh coasts of Tierra del Fuego, and the deserts of Chile. The itinerary also includes Tahiti, Australia, New Zealand, the Cape of Good Hope in southern Africa, and numerous other islands in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans.

One would think that The Voyage of the Beagle, being a first-hand account of world travel, adventure, and discovery, would be more thrilling and engaging than Darwin’s most famous book, the complex scientific treatise On the Origin of Species, but that’s not the case. On the Origin of Species presents a well-structured scientific argument in which each idea builds upon the one before it, creating a snowball effect which captivates and excites the reader. The Voyage of the Beagle, on the other hand, is basically a collection of raw empirical data arranged in roughly chronological order. Occasionally Darwin will use that data to construct a hypothesis, for example in regards to the varying beaks of the Galapagos finches or the formation of the world’s coral reefs, but there’s no overarching theory or argument that unites the book as a whole. The primary value of The Voyage of the Beagle is its contribution as a precursor to the development of On the Origin of Species.

Though Darwin is primarily known as a biologist, he does not limit himself to that field and is equally articulate when expounding on geology, meteorology, anthropology, or even politics. In fact, in this book he probably spends more time discussing geology than he spends on zoology and botany combined. The text represents a combination of scientific research and travel writing. While the scientific portions of the book sometimes take the form of laundry lists of species or natural phenomena, the travel writing is quite good. Darwin eloquently captures the thrill of entering a foreign landscape for the first time, discovering a species never before seen by European eyes, or encountering the unfamiliar inhabitants of a distant land. He shows great respect for the culture of the gauchos of Argentina, and he truly relished the wilderness adventures he shared with them. One of the great benefits of this book is that it gives us insight into Darwin as a human being. It’s a far cry from the image of scientist as lab rat. Yes, he was an erudite scholar who seems to have read everything under the sun, but he was also a man of action who was not afraid to get his hands dirty.

I’m a big fan of the Wordsworth Classics series of paperbacks, and often sing their praises in my reviews, but their edition of The Voyage of the Beagle left me wanting more. The introduction is very good, providing valuable context for the voyage, yet it lacks even the simplest of maps, and if ever a book needed a glossary it’s this one. The copious use of geological terminology and Latin names of species hinder this book’s accessibility to the general reader. The more well-versed you are in the sciences, the more you will enjoy it.
If you liked this review, please follow the link below to Amazon.com and give me a “helpful” vote. Thank you.
http://www.amazon.com/review/RHL2EUPAUW8M9/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm