100 books like Falter

Aldo Leopold was a Forest Service ranger stationed in New Mexico’s Gila National Forest when he first began advocating for a new approach to managing national forests. Leopold’s visionary thinking and diligent advocacy resulted in the first-ever Wilderness Area in the U.S.—the Gila Wilderness Area, established in 1922—more than 40 years before the Wilderness Act was passed by Congress in 1964. A Sand County Almanac is Leopold’s best-known work and follows his efforts to restore a patch of cut-over farmland in Wisconsin while also articulating his vision of a land ethic where humans and nature are intertwined and care for people cannot be separated from care for the land. His beautiful writing resonated strongly with me when I first read A Sand County Almanac more than two decades ago, and his vision remains as important now as ever.

Before I went to Alaska for the first time, I did some background reading and thankfully discovered this book and the writing of John McPhee. He and Alaska were made for each other. He’s the kind of writer who is interested in everything, and everyone, and conveys his curiosity and his discoveries with enthusiasm. Alaska is unique, as is McPhee’s style of writing, jumping from topic to topic as the mood – and his journey – takes him, and hauling the reader along with him. He’s the kind of traveling companion who’s forever saying: let’s see what’s down there, I wonder how that works, let’s go talk to that guy.

I loved this book because of its discussion of paleontology (which has always interested me) and the extinctions prior to this one. But I also loved Kolbert’s description of the history of paleontology itself—specifically, how the discovery of fossils triggered a crisis in our understanding of ourselves and our world.

Like some of my other selections, this book made me think about humanity’s relationship to the planet and the other life we share it with.

This anthology makes the case that an empire of extraction has existed from the dawn of the colonial era until deep into the 21st Century. The essays in the “Health and Environmental Justice” section are both fascinating and disturbing. And how could they not be disturbing with such words as these in chapter titles? “Uranium Mine and Mine Tailings.” “Arsenic Pollution.” “Quebec Asbestos.” Nearly every chapter in this section emphasizes the impact on indigenous populations with the chapter title on the tar sands of Alberta, Canada, being particularly stark. It opens with this: “If the Rivers Ran South.”

Asimov is known as the grandfather of A.I. Science Fiction, and yet, you don’t have to have much of an interest in robotics in order to appreciate many of his stories. One of the best examples of this would be Liar! A story that tackles how a robot, one which isn’t allowed to hurt humans, would try to circumvent peoples’ emotions in a situation in which their desire for career success and romance are on the line. As someone who has dealt with all sides of these affairs, Lair! Is one of those stories that reminded me that no matter what, I’m only human.

This novel is not as well-known as others, but it should be. I’d describe it as a dystopian thriller set slightly in a future where technology has become part of every single aspect of life. Detective Carl Dremmler is tasked with the complexities of investigating a murder by an advanced AI assistant (which should not have been possible).

This fast-paced and thought-provoking story addresses the themes of human autonomy, morality, and the dangers of technological advancement. The writing is excellent, with its premonition of where we might be heading and some of the issues we might encounter. It is thrilling and enjoyable.

This book attracted my attention when it was new and I was a teenager, although I only actually read it many years later; the female roboticist central character with a hint of impetuosity and romance appeared to offer an alternative role model to Isaac Asimov’s Susan Calvin. Sheila MacLeod is a literary author, not a regular SF author, and she imagines a mildly dystopic near-future in which humanoid robots are being taught to have sensibilities by reading romantic literature, from the great to the trashy. I was both intrigued and amused by her portrayal of how a machine mind might relate to such literature, and how such machines might conduct themselves when they become more empowered in their personal choices.

I read this book to stay true to my commitment, inspired by John Stuart Mill, to always make an effort to understand the strongest against your own convictions (a key reason for always including Milton Friedman’s Capitalism and Freedom in my political philosophy courses). Like most progressives in the 70s, I was part of the anti-nuclear movement, not just opposition to nuclear weapons, but to nuclear power as well. I did not expect this book to radically shift these commitments—but it did. Not the first one, but the second. I realized on reading this book that I had not thought seriously about these issues in decades. The issue of climate change was not on the table in those days, and I had not paid much attention to the development of nuclear power since then. The issue today is too urgent to ignore. Looking at the evidence presented in this book… show more.

Vandermeer is well known for his science fiction ‘southern reach’ trilogy, particularly Annihilation. This extraordinary novel is set in the same universe, but I found it quite different.

I loved the female narrator, who lives in a blasted, mysteriously bleak world with her companion, Wick. She comes across Borne, a strange, plant-like creature she cares for. Borne develops the ability to communicate and has a delicate, alien intelligence. As he grows and evolves, so does our understanding of Rachel and her past.

This book was a revelation to me because although it’s a wild and alien world, its heart is about maternal kindness and nurturing. Borne is a quirky and lovable creature (Vandermeer said his cat partly inspired it), but also mysterious and other. The novel questions this idea of otherness and what it means to be human.

This is a pie-in-the-sky 30-year plan for reducing CO2 in the atmosphere by joint worldwide implementation of 80 “solutions.” For each of these, the book proposes a number of giga-tons of CO2 to be removed from the atmosphere and the resulting dollar cost and savings.

I admire Hawken for his quantitative approach and his imaginative list of “solutions.” The numbers reveal the enormity of the drawdown enterprise. Some “solutions” are merely the usual renewables. Some came as a nice surprise to me, such as LED lanterns with batteries and small solar panels for residents in off-the-grid regions.

But I fear many of the solutions will never be rigorously implemented and would have a high policing cost to ensure compliance. For instance, the first solution involves the collection of refrigerant gases from expiring air conditioners. Who will voluntarily pay for this?