100 books like The New Wild

This book made me rethink many of my assumptions about biodiversity, extinction risk, and conservation. Telling stories from his travels and from research around the world, biologist Chris Thomas points out a paradox: While species are going extinct at an exceptionally high rate, the number of species in most Belgium or Vermont-sized areas of the world is rising.

Thomas is not denying the threats to species or the need to conserve biodiversity. Far from it. But he argues that conservation is often misguided and inherently unsustainable, trying to achieve a nonexistent ‘wild’ state and ignoring nature’s dynamism. He proposes a new philosophy of conservation, that is human-centered, accepting of biological change, sustainable, and aimed at maximizing biological diversity for future generations.

Emma Marris is a phenomenal writer; her nature writing has been compared to that of Aldo Leopold and Rachael Carson.

Wild Souls focuses on how people relate to other animals. That might sound like a philosophical topic but it has real world consequences. Her stories will force you to question your own motives and morals when asked to compare one animal to another or define what “nature” even is anymore.

Full of entertaining stories and nutritious food for thought.  

When speaking of the role of technology in nature conservation, one might envisage drones to survey habitat destruction, or endangered elephants with radio collars. But technology might go much further. In this book, the authors show how genetics could help us to re-engineer species, even entire food webs to meet the environmental challenges of the future.

I have to start with a confession: I buy many books on the climate and biodiversity crisis—as this is my main focus as a science journalist—but in many cases, I have to quit reading after several chapters. Even if they are of relevance—they often are simply too depressing and a mere accumulation of horrible facts.

This does not apply to the books of Elizabeth Kolbert—which is all the more amazing as her topic is hard stuff: How men alter and destroy nature, which we depend on. But nonetheless: I can´t stop reading it. Kolbert travels far and takes her readers to magical places that appear to be from a different planet. And by this she pulls one deeper and deeper into complicated issues, she manages to explain in a fascinating and readable way.

This book is full of surprises, taking on the thorny issue of where different species come from, where people think they belong, and what people are doing about it. Written in an entertaining way, Ken Thompson takes on those who hate and try to kill species simply because they perceive them to be in the wrong place. First, he establishes the science, pointing out that many species evolved in places that you wouldn't guess…. Camels did not evolve in western Asia or North Africa originally, but I won’t spoil the story. 

Most species evolved somewhere but today survive somewhere else.  This is obvious to someone like Thompson, whose career has been based in Sheffield in England, which was at the edge of an ice sheet a mere 20,000 years ago. Virtually all of the species that live in and around Sheffield today only colonised the area in the last 10,000… show more.

The first two books on my list are, in many ways, positive. Dan Egan’s book is not.

Egan tackles the ongoing ecological threats to the Great Lakes from a realist’s telling of its past environmental changes and future problems. Readers learn how a bombardment of human-induced invasive species have wracked the Great Lakes ecology in the recent past (think sea lampreys, alewives, and zebra and quagga mussels) and threaten to do so yet again in the near future, in the form of Asian carp entering the Chicago River.

Even welcomed biological introductions from the human perspective, such as the proliferation of Pacific salmon, have altered the Lakes’ environments. At the end, we’re left with the uneasy reality that the Lakes are a fragile set of freshwater ecosystems that remain at the mercy of humans, who can either protect or destroy them through future actions, or inaction.

I happened to be at a conference of scientists trying to conserve endangered species when I first heard about Daniel Hudon’s book. It struck a chord. It is a beautiful little collection of one hundred eulogies for lost animal species. Some are brief—just a few lines long. Others are more expansive, taking in literature and reportage. But all are poignant reminders of the permanence of extinction. Hudon’s aim is simply to acknowledge that these species existed, to recognize them and make them better known. It is a beautiful and unique collection, stunning in the cumulative force of his poetic words. A perfect gift, Hudon’s tales are both tragic and inspirational. 

Many books now address designing low-energy buildings to mitigate climate change, but few focus on designing buildings to benefit wildlife. Given the global biodiversity crisis and modern buildings’ lack of accidental gaps to shelter birds, bats, and insects, more guidance on safely incorporating wildlife habitat within buildings and outdoor spaces is crucial. This was one of the inspirations behind my urban-rewilding campaign, Rewild My Street.

In addition to providing a fascinating biological history of North America, this book is also extremely well-written.

Its chapters offer history lessons of North American landscape and ecosystems, disguised as lyrical essays that focus on a series of unlikely non-human protagonists (or antagonists, depending on how you look at them)—including hessian flies, gypsy moths, pigeons, starlings, and honeybees.

These stories matter because they remind us of how great our illusion of control is, especially when it comes to the natural world, and how far the consequences of even the most well-intentioned actions can reach. It also showed me how engaging a story can be when the human characters are resigned to the margins.

This book is admirable for its breadth and scope.

It offers sundry examples of “revenge effects” of modern technology and human acclimatization efforts to highlight the irony of what it means to live in the age of late capitalism—where everything is supposed to make our lives easier. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

This is the book that taught me about the walking catfish that escaped from the back of a van in Florida, and why you shouldn’t plant Eucalyptus trees in fire-prone areas of California. I can’t help but wonder how this book might be updated to discuss the lantern flies that invade my hometown in eastern Pennsylvania every summer.