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Rooted in the remote Queen Charlotte Islands of British Columbia, a golden spruce stood for more than 300 years, capturing the hearts, imaginations and scientific curiosity of local tribes, explorers and naturalists. The result of a genetic mutation, the golden spruce stood out like a miracle in a sea of its ordinary green fellows. The Haida tribe of British Columbia cherished that miracle and wove it into their mythology and very sense of self. Commanded to flee his perishing village without looking back, says Haida mythology, a Haida boy has regrets and turns around for one last look. At that moment, he takes root and changes into the magnificent spruce that is both a miracle and a warning.

It’s interesting to note the differences between this myth and the story of Lot’s wife, who turned into a pillar of salt when she defied God and cast a backward glance at Sodom and Gomorrah. There is no compassion wasted on the Biblical failure, but the symbolism of the golden spruce, a far more vital and beautiful image than the salt pillar, is more ambivalent. As the boy struggles against his transformation, his grandfather comforts him with these words: "It’s all right, my son. Even the last generation will look at you and remember your story."
 
That cultural icon was shattered when Grant Hadwin stole into the forest with a chainsaw and destroyed the tree. A former forester turned conservationist, Hadwin meant his destruction as a protest against irresponsible logging practices. "We tend to focus on the individual trees like the Golden Spruce while the rest of the forests are being slaughtered," he told a journalist. "Everybody’s supposed to focus on that and forget all the damage behind it."
 
In The Golden Spruce: A True Story of Myth, Madness, and Greed, John Vaillant tracks Hadwin from his beginnings as a highly paid and highly skilled forester through his conversion to eco-activism and on to a crime that places him, for some, in the same ranks with Timothy McVeigh. Vaillant’s book is also the story of the golden spruce itself and of the Haida whose decimation by disease-bearing colonists is the backdrop to the tree tragedy. It is Vaillant’s depiction of the Haida that gives his book a hopeful grace note. With the golden spruce’s stump as a rallying point, they are lobbying with some success to regain control over their native lands. The future of forests generally, Vaillant seems to say, depends on their success.
 
Lynn Hamilton writes from Tybee Island, Georgia.

Rooted in the remote Queen Charlotte Islands of British Columbia, a golden spruce stood for more than 300 years, capturing the hearts, imaginations and scientific curiosity of local tribes, explorers and naturalists. The result of a genetic mutation, the golden spruce stood out like a miracle in a sea of its ordinary green fellows. The […]
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We are horrified when a crocodile snatches and devours a baby or a dog. Determined to teach the beast a lesson for violating our sense of decency, we hunt for it with the intent of imposing the ultimate penalty. Such scenarios might someday cease thanks to what naturalists view as an equally alarming prospect: the very extinction of some of Earth’s most fearsome, carnivorous animals. In Monster of God: The Man-Eating Predator in the Jungles of History and the Mind, author David Quammen predicts the next 150 years will be critical in determining if some subspecies of flesh-eating animals are confined to zoos or other supervised habitats en route to their eventual disappearance.

“Dangerous predators, of whatever species, are more easily admired from afar,” Quammen advises. Then, disregarding his own observation, he takes the reader on trips that make most of the travel industry’s ambitious safari packages look like a Sunday picnic. His treks lead to such human-meat consumers as India’s Asiatic lions, Australia’s saltwater crocodiles and Russia’s Siberian tigers. In his previously published and widely praised The Song of the Dodo, Quammen asserts that animal preserves involve isolation and confinement, and thus render the creatures vulnerable to biological or climatic catastrophes that might lead to their annihilation. In Monster of God, he extends that reasoning and tells why he thinks humanity needs menacing, man-eating creatures and would be forever diminished by their disappearance. If you have a habit of skimming, make sure you don’t flip through the section entitled “Shadow of the Nine-Toed Bear” or you’ll miss one of the most interesting parts of the book. It deals with Romania’s brown bears, and the odds are that when you learn about the history of the grizzlies in that country and of the privileged hunting tactics of Nicolae Ceausescu, the deranged dictator executed in 1989, you’ll end up rooting for the beasts. Alan Prince lectures at the University of Miami School of Communication.

We are horrified when a crocodile snatches and devours a baby or a dog. Determined to teach the beast a lesson for violating our sense of decency, we hunt for it with the intent of imposing the ultimate penalty. Such scenarios might someday cease thanks to what naturalists view as an equally alarming prospect: the […]
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omething amazing started in the late 1970s and continues to this day. Whales, the largest mammals on earth and killers in self-defense of many men, began to show a willingness, indeed an eagerness, to be friends with humankind to a degree never before recorded. From gently nudging boats to begging to be petted, the behavioral turnaround among these behemoth creatures has captivated the imaginations and affections of thousands of whalewatchers.

Eye of the Whale offers a persuasive and very readable study of the current state of whale-human affairs. Those who are sympathetic (like me) to the whales’ cause will find equal grounds in the book for alarm and hope. From Baja California, the birthing and nursing waters of the Eastern Pacific gray whale, to Siberia, where the Western Pacific population is on the verge of oblivion, environmental writer and activist (he was instrumental in saving the Atlantic striped bass) Dick Russell follows the migration pattern of the gentle giant. He seems to examine almost everyone and everything along the way that might have an effect on the creatures’ progress from geography and economics to the human heart itself.

Giving thrust to the story is the ongoing environmental fight against Mitsubishi, one of the largest corporations in the world, which sought to commercialize the Baja beaches resulting in the inevitable destruction of gray whale habitat. Another constant presence is that of Charles Melville Scammon, a 19th century whaler and sea captain whose written descriptions and drawings of whales and other sea creatures, landscapes and natural phenomena are included in the book and reveal a 21st century sensitivity.

“That intense, that immense and impeccable, eye” of the whale seems to cast a mythic spell over all those, even enemies, who have gazed into it up close. The number of the spellbound is increasing. Bruce Mate, an Illinois marine biologist interviewed by Russell, sees whales as avatars of a whole new world not all that far in the future. “I think, probably, in our children’s generation, we’re going to see remarkable changes in our relationships with certain forms of wildlife,” he says.

If so, Eye of the Whale will have played, in its enthralling way, a small but important role in the transformation.

Maude McDaniel writes from Cumberland, Maryland.

omething amazing started in the late 1970s and continues to this day. Whales, the largest mammals on earth and killers in self-defense of many men, began to show a willingness, indeed an eagerness, to be friends with humankind to a degree never before recorded. From gently nudging boats to begging to be petted, the behavioral […]
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dward Abbey, the staunch defender of the natural world, can quit turning over in his grave now. His torch has been retrieved and lifted high by Kathleen Meyer, an environmental writer with as much wit and stylistic color as the man himself. Meyer’s Barefoot-Hearted is, in part, the story of her romance with Patrick McCarron, an old-fashioned blacksmith of Irish descent with whom she shares a rodent-infested, fly-ridden barn in Montana’s Bitterroot Valley. Meyer proves once again that the material for great writing is almost always close at hand. You might think of flies, mice and bats as vermin, but through close observations of these intruders and much scientific and anecdotal research, Meyer turns her life with these critters into a complex treatise on man’s often unconscious inhumanity to wildlife. “Who is the real intruder here?” Meyer frequently asks. She is one of those rare writers who can pile on the zoological detail and make it as compelling as an Agatha Christie chiller. The book’s centerpiece is a chapter on bear cubs orphaned by hunters and high-speed drivers, and the animal advocates who undertake heroic measures to save them from animal control gas chambers. It’s a fascinating and sympathetic portrait of the American Black Bear, a creature, it seems, much more sinned against (by encroaching development, hunting and reckless huckleberry harvesting) than sinner. When she’s not regaling her readers with the sex life of the skunks who live under her barn, Meyer entertains with scenes from her relationship with McCarron, whose immunity to suburban conditioning makes her own environmentalism pale to light green by comparison. We’re talking here about a man who refuses to use pesticides, indoor plumbing or gasoline-powered vehicles. At one point in their adventure together, Meyer points to a pesky fly on her beloved’s shoulder. Patrick looks at the fly, looks back at Kathleen and says, “Pretend it’s a parrot.” The only reservation I have in recommending this memoir is that you may become so addicted to Meyer’s prose, you’ll want to read all her other books immediately. Unfortunately, there’s only one: the international bestseller How to Shit in the Woods. Kathleen, don’t make us wait 10 years for the next one! Lynn Hamilton writes from Tybee Island, Georgia.

dward Abbey, the staunch defender of the natural world, can quit turning over in his grave now. His torch has been retrieved and lifted high by Kathleen Meyer, an environmental writer with as much wit and stylistic color as the man himself. Meyer’s Barefoot-Hearted is, in part, the story of her romance with Patrick McCarron, […]
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According to author Susan Casey, in response to increased temperatures and “other factors no one’s aware of yet,” the world’s oceans have been producing bigger and bigger waves. For researchers and scientists, this has provided a fertile area of foreboding research. But what worries some people brings great delight to surfers, some of whom travel the world finding the next great wave to feed their high.

Casey (The Devil’s Teeth) offers a probing look at both the passionate and the pragmatic sides of these oceanic wonders in The Wave. The first side is represented by surfing legend Laird Hamilton and his friends, who take these gigantic waves—and survive—in two-man teams, equipped with a jet ski, years of experience and respect for the elements. When Casey isn’t tagging along with the humble Hamilton and his affable crew to the next great waves in Hawaii, Mexico and California, she visits experts who explore the scientific side of these massive waves.

Giant, destructive waves are not a recent phenomenon; they have occurred for hundreds of years. What’s vexing, Casey’s subjects reveal, is that there are still a lot of unexplained issues regarding how 80-foot-high waves can appear in typically placid waters, or when all of this geological and temperature-related tumult will exact permanent, worldwide destruction, instead of isolated disasters (e.g., 2004’s Indian Ocean tsunami). The surfers, meanwhile, have no handbook for what they do. Regardless of experience, there’s little room for error, especially with a vocation defined by feel and instinct.

Though some may wince at Casey’s first-person chumminess with her subjects or her gushy outdoors-as-heaven prose, she shows that this occurrence in nature has more than one meaning: It’s an adrenaline rush, a marketing scheme, a cause of apocalyptic-scale concern and a workplace hazard (for a marine salvage expert). Casey’s curiosity in learning about every conceivable aspect of waves makes for compelling reading, regardless of whether you look at waves as a great ride or with great concern.

According to author Susan Casey, in response to increased temperatures and “other factors no one’s aware of yet,” the world’s oceans have been producing bigger and bigger waves. For researchers and scientists, this has provided a fertile area of foreboding research. But what worries some people brings great delight to surfers, some of whom travel […]
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On the morning of Aug. 27, 1883, the volcano Krakatoa, situated in a group of small islands between Java and Sumatra, erupted with such force that it sent tremors both physical and otherwise around the world. Calculated to have been the fifth most powerful volcanic blast in history, it killed, according to the official count, 36,417 people, most by the gigantic ocean waves it set in motion. It was the first world-altering eruption to occur after the invention and spread of the telegraph and, thus, the first to be studied and profiled with scientific exactitude from all points of the globe. How the volcano came into being and what its explosion has meant to humanity is the story Simon Winchester tells in his new book Krakatoa. Whether he is tracing the evolution of the Oxford English Dictionary, as he did in The Professor and the Madman, or detailing how England’s geological foundations were first charted, as in The Map That Changed the World, Winchester’s specialty is putting important historical events into a wider context. His context here may seem a bit too wide, however, taking into its leisurely embrace such diverse arcana as plate tectonics, ancient and modern shipping routes and Javanese social organization under Dutch colonization. It takes the author more than 200 pages to get to the actual eruption. But for readers who savor data and anecdotes as Winchester so clearly does, the wait will be worthwhile. Winchester is just as far-ranging when tracing the effects of the eruption. He credits it with everything from influencing the style of certain landscape painters to being a factor in the rise of Islamic fundamentalism in Indonesia. (And he makes persuasive arguments for both.) “Here was the event,” he writes, “that presaged all the debates that continue to this day: about global warming, greenhouse gases, acid rain, ecological interdependence. Few in Victorian times had begun to think truly globally even though exploration was proceeding apace, the previously unknown interior of continents were being opened for inspection, and the developing telegraph system, allowing people to communicate globally, was having its effects. Krakatoa, however, began to change all that.” The 1883 explosion was so massive that the volcano cone destroyed itself and slipped beneath the surface of the sea. In 1930, though, it began to re-emerge and has since grown into a respectably-sized island now rich in plant and animal life. Winchester concludes his book with a first-hand description of the place that once wrought such havoc and which may someday do so again.

On the morning of Aug. 27, 1883, the volcano Krakatoa, situated in a group of small islands between Java and Sumatra, erupted with such force that it sent tremors both physical and otherwise around the world. Calculated to have been the fifth most powerful volcanic blast in history, it killed, according to the official count, […]
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Today, as on all other days in Louisiana’s bayou country, 50 acres of land will become water. In 10 months, a land area the size of Manhattan will be a part of the Gulf of Mexico. The main reason: Levees built to control Mississippi River flooding have deprived the wetlands of fresh sediments. In Bayou Farewell: The Rich Life and Tragic Death of Louisiana’s Cajun Coast, author Mike Tidwell says nutrient starvation threatens the source of a third of America’s seafood and endangers an entire subculture of America.

Tidwell immerses himself in the Cajun world, with its zesty cooking, toe-tapping music, and ingrained passion for and reliance on hunting, trapping and fishing. Amid new friends who have never flown, owned a credit card or read a book, he finds the soul of bayou life in a shrimper’s observation: “A bayou Cajun man, he loves two t’ings de most in de whole world: bein’ on de water and bein’ wit his family.” Let’s peek as Tidwell visits a tiny, tin-roofed house on stilts: Visitors pass through, each chiming in that the Leeville Bridge is going to be repainted. Everybody asks about the boy born to Tim’s second cousin Nikia across the street. Tim’s nephew comes by to make sure everything’s OK with the new outboard because he’ll be running Tim’s crab traps. Yes, there’s a TV set and it’s on, but it doesn’t stand a chance. Who could possibly follow the banter of a TV quiz show with so many kinfolk coming and going? Tidwell’s writing style makes it easy for readers to feel his new Cajun friends are their friends, too, and to wonder if their way of life must vanish because the rest of the nation doesn’t care enough. An active environmentalist, author of five books and four-time winner of the Lowell Thomas Award, the highest prize in American travel journalism, Tidwell outlines expensive solutions but says the main question is whether sufficient willpower can be mustered to tackle the problem.

Alan Prince is the former travel editor of the Miami Herald.

Today, as on all other days in Louisiana’s bayou country, 50 acres of land will become water. In 10 months, a land area the size of Manhattan will be a part of the Gulf of Mexico. The main reason: Levees built to control Mississippi River flooding have deprived the wetlands of fresh sediments. In Bayou […]
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Science writer Steve Olson captures the background and aftermath of the cataclysmic 1980 blast of Mount St. Helens in his compelling new book, Eruption.

Why did you decide to write about Mount St. Helens, 35 years after the eruption?
I grew up in a small farming community in eastern Washington, about 100 miles downwind from Mount St. Helens. But I moved east for college in 1974 and spent 35 years there after meeting my wife in the back of an English class. When we moved to Seattle in 2009, I wanted to write about the most dramatic thing that has ever happened in my native state—and the eruption of Mount St. Helens was the obvious choice.

How did you find people to talk with about the eruption? Was it difficult?
Almost everyone in the Pacific Northwest has a Mount St. Helens story, and almost everyone was eager to share their story with me when I asked them about the volcano. Many people in southwestern Washington told me, “If it had blown the week before, I wouldn’t be here today”—that’s how many people ventured into what would become the blast zone before the eruption.

Harry Truman became somewhat of a folk hero for refusing to leave his home near Spirit Lake. Why do you think that was?
Harry Truman captured the public’s imagination by coming across as a proud loner defying government authorities. But the situation was more complicated up close. Many people who wanted access to their properties near the volcano said, “If Harry’s up there, why can’t I go?” which made life very difficult for the sheriffs who were trying to keep people away from the mountain. He was taking an immense risk, and his friends feared for his life. And in the end, he was the only one of the 57 people killed who was breaking the law when the volcano erupted.

Mount St. Helens is still an active volcano, as is Mount Rainier southeast of Olympia. Do you think officials learned from the 1980 blast? What would be different if there were an eruption today?
Volcanologists and public safety officials learned a lot from the eruption of Mount St. Helens. They are much better now at monitoring volcanoes and predicting eruptions—plus, new technologies have made monitoring much easier. They have developed systems to warn people in surrounding communities of eruptions or dangerous mudflows, which could happen at Mount Rainier even without an eruption. Public safety officials are much more cautious in keeping people away from dangerous volcanoes. But some volcanoes still erupt without warning, as when Mount Ontake in Japan killed 57 people in 2014. And if people don’t heed warnings, disasters can still occur.

When was the last time you visited Mount St. Helens? How would you describe it?
I drove to the mountain too many times to count while writing this book—and every time I go, I’m as astonished as the first time I visited. It’s an incredible place. The mountain is so huge, and the destruction so vast, that you still can’t believe anyone would be crazy enough to be anywhere near it in the weeks before the eruption. If you haven’t been there, you really should go. There’s no place like it in the world.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of Eruption.
 

This article was originally published in the March 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Science writer Steve Olson captures the background and aftermath of the cataclysmic 1980 blast of Mount St. Helens in his compelling new book, Eruption.
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Through a series of personal interviews, journalist Michael Finkel uncovered the story behind Christopher Knight’s elusive 27-year existence in the Maine woods.

You write in The Stranger in the Woods that news of Knight’s capture in 2013 immediately “grabbed” you. Why did you identify with his story of living as a hermit?
One of the things I like to do most in life is spend time in the wilderness. Another great love is reading. Christopher Knight seemed to have both passions on an exponentially grander scale. I couldn’t help but be gripped by his life story.

You wrote to Knight in jail from your home in Montana. Were you flabbergasted when he wrote back?
Strangely, I wasn’t. Knight’s story—or at least the bit of it reported in the Maine daily papers—resonated with me so strongly that I had this odd sense we were fated to communicate.

Knight wrote you five letters, then stopped. So you took a wild chance and flew to Maine to try to visit him in jail. What did you think the odds were of Knight allowing you to visit?
I’ve been a journalist for more than a quarter-century, and one of the things I’ve learned is that it’s always best to show up in person. So I did. And Knight, despite long odds, agreed to meet with me.

What most surprised you about Knight during your first visit? Did subsequent visits get any easier?
I was most surprised by Knight’s wonderfully poetic way of speaking and his dry sense of humor. But he was not easy to spend time with—he put up with me but was never happy to see me—and the visits never really got any easier. Still, Knight accepted every one of my nine visits to the jail.

"I am certain that Knight wishes he could return to the woods. But I have a feeling he will not go back, at least not so intensely. I can envision him living in a small shack on his family’s land. But I believe that for the rest of his life, he will pine for his campsite on Little North Pond, his personal Eden."

Knight certainly seems to lament being captured. Did he ever acknowledge that as he got older, his life in the woods was becoming increasingly difficult?
Living outside, especially in a place like Maine, with its brutally cold and long winters, demands a great deal of energy and strength. And like an aging athlete, Knight—despite his incredible outdoor skills—found himself in a position where surviving was becoming more and more difficult. His eyesight was failing him. Cuts and bruises did not heal as swiftly. He became less and less confident that he’d be able to survive each winter. And yet he was not willing to quit his isolation.

Knight’s story is ultimately very sad. From your description, he seems highly intelligent and simply unable to fit in with society. Do you think he will ever return to the woods or wishes he could?
I am certain that Knight wishes he could return to the woods. But I have a feeling he will not go back, at least not so intensely. I can envision him living in a small shack on his family’s land. But I believe that for the rest of his life, he will pine for his campsite on Little North Pond, his personal Eden.

Knight once told you he wants to return and let hypothermia claim his life. Do you still worry that he might do this?
Yes. Every psychologist I spoke with about Knight’s case said that suicide is a distinct possibility. He lives by his own rules, and if he gets to a point where he feels that he has no other path to freedom other than suicide, he may opt for it. I certainly hope he will not choose this exit, but my worry remains, and probably always will.

Are you concerned that some readers of your book might be tempted to go to Knight’s hometown to try to catch a glimpse of him, or speak with him—both actions that he would despise?
I believe that one of the reasons Knight shared his story with me was specifically to prevent others from asking. Anybody reading this story who concludes that it would be a good idea to try and disturb Knight is making a grave and cruel error.

At what point did you decide to write a book about Knight? Does he approve of your project?
Though I wrote a magazine article about Knight, for GQ, I understood early in the reporting process that to adequately tell Knight’s story would require a book-length piece of writing. Knight himself indirectly approved of the project. He knew, from my first letter, that I was a journalist, and I took notes right in front of him. He even referred to me, in the end, as his “Boswell”—a reference to the Scottish writer James Boswell, the author of The Life of Samuel Johnson, one of the most famous biographies in all of literature.

Did you find any of your historical research into the subject of hermits especially intriguing or surprising?
Humans have been writing about hermits since writing was invented—it’s a primal fascination. I became obsessed with reading hermit stories, and devoted the better part of a year to historical research. I was continuously surprised that so many of the religious, scientific, philosophical, and artistic successes throughout history were the result of someone spending a significant period of time alone. People who have been compelled to seek alone time have dramatically shaped human history. Three examples: Jesus, Muhammad, and Buddha.

You write that you enjoy being alone, although you once went on a 10-day silent retreat in India, only to find it "grueling." During the writing of this book, did you come to any new realizations about your own need for solitude versus socialization?
The process of writing a book inevitably demands a great deal of time spent alone. While I love socializing with my friends, and I live in a frenetic house with a wife and three young children, while working on this project it became clear to me that, in order to maintain a content life, I need to spend a significant period of time each day by myself.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of The Stranger in the Woods.

A condensed version of this article was originally published in the March 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Author photo by Christopher Anderson Magnum Photos.

Through a series of personal interviews, journalist Michael Finkel uncovered the story behind Christopher Knight’s elusive 27-year existence in the Maine woods.

German forester Peter Wohlleben is a card-carrying nature lover. In his previous book, The Hidden Life of Trees, he examined the unexpected world of trees: their lives, deaths, networks and how they communicate (yes, trees communicate!). In his latest fascinating book, The Inner Life of Animals, he taps into animals’ emotions, feelings and their unique ways of navigating the world.

Your new book is a natural follow up to your previous book, The Hidden Life of Trees. How did the writing and research compare? Was it any easier?
Writing and researching was similar, but much easier. Since I was a little child, I kept animals: Spiders in glasses, aquatic turtles in an aquarium, I brooded an egg on a heating pillow (so the chicken regarded me as its mother)—animals have always been around me.

It is obvious that you have an overwhelming love of nature. What inspired this passion?
I really don’t know. My father worked at the ministry of finance, my mother in a hospital. I was something like the green sheep of the family.

Was there a single “a-ha” moment that made you want to write about the emotions animals feel, or did this desire develop over time?
First I wanted to write one book about trees and animals. But soon I realized that the trees needed a book to themselves—so the animals had to wait for the second.

What is the one thing about animals that fascinates you the most?
We always say that people are working with their mind, animals on instincts. But what is the most important thing in our life? Love! And emotions like love are the language of instincts. So animals should share the most important things with us.

Your loathing for the practice of sport hunting is clear and understandable. How difficult was it to write about the fact that animals are hunted for sport?
Not nice—hunting is responsible for the shyness of many animals. Most people can’t enjoy wildlife because most big animals hide during the daytime. Without hunting, we would see many of them as they are seen on safaris or on the Galapagos Islands—wouldn’t that be great?

Many of your animal observations could also be translated to the way humans behave and feel. Did doing the research and writing for this book give you a better understanding of human behavior as well?
For sure! Horses, for example, can read your body language. If you are in a bad mood (even if you try to hide it) they realize this instantaneously and refuse to work with you. Shouldn’t a boss always be relaxed and fair?

Throughout the book, you compare and contrast wild and domesticated animals. What do you feel is the main difference between the two?
The main difference is that domesticated animals and humans have made evolutionary step toward each other. Dogs, for example, were long regarded as “stupid wolves”. We know today that they can read our mimic and gestures much better than wolves. Domestic animals are something like an intermediary between wild animals and us.

Pets are an important part of the lives of many people. Do you have any advice for the best way to communicate with them?
Love them! Love is an emotion very common among animals. The hormone responsible for the emotion of love, oxytocin, is found not just in mammals but also in some fish. So this strong emotion is the most powerful tool for making the animals we keep happy.

What is the one single message you’d like your readers to take away from reading this book?
Have fun with nature! Always think about the fact that if you are watching wild animals, you are also being watched. This is the first step of communication—and perhaps the beginning of a wonderful adventure.

Are you working on another book project? If so, what is the topic?
The last book of this trilogy is about the network of nature. It is so amazing how it all works. Earthworms control the population of wild boars, cranes affect the ham production in Spain, and trees dictate the quantity of rain. Every human attempt to regulate this network will cause unexpected results. Therefore it’s best just to enjoy nature without manipulating it.

 

In his latest fascinating book, German forester Peter Wohlleben taps into animals’ emotions, feelings and their unique ways of navigating the world.

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