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Rating: 
Summary: "Tell me when the trees stop moving. . . "
Review: In an earlier time, I was part of a team of science writers. TGIF meant participating in a vilification ritual. We would gather around of volume of John McPhee, cursing his name and maligning his person. The reason for this anomalous behaviour was, of course, envy. He could write. He could write science better, with lucidity and deceptive ease, than anyone else in the business. We all aspired to emulate him, with momentous lack of success. Of course, we read every word he published as quickly as it became available. This collection of essays is a typical example of McPhee's incomparable ability to convey nature and people to our view. In it, he covers topics as disparate as micro electrical generation companies, telephone installations in Alaska and his own namesake among the game warden staff in Maine. It is this last story that has captured my admiration of his talents beyond nearly all others. In it, he shows personal courage that war correspondents might envy. Prompted to visit Maine to meet a duplicate John McPhee, ward and warden of the state's wildlife, the McPhee duality flies to count moose. A harsh wind bends the trees below
as the journalist idly wonders at the wind's speed. "Tell me when the trees stop moving." The float plane slows until it hovers aloft indicating a wind speed of 45 miles per hour. Such expeditions are common for the man who has traversed the continent seeking the secrets of the rocks. Closer to home in Princeton, he follows another game warden also counting - this time bears. Even a drugged bear seems a menace, but McPhee is quick to point out that Eastern bears are peaceful collaborators with people. Eastern Black Bears may even have changed their life habits to accommodate human contact. Cat food is best taken from verandahs in the dark. Besides, his contact, Patricia McConnell, takes Dunkin' Donuts to them. It's her bait for traps as she conducts her census. His people skills are not lacking, however. In another essay he recounts the rise of paramedical services to outlying communities. With doctors turning to arcane specialties, often richly rewarding, the general practitioner has fallen victim to evolutionary processes. Nearly extinct, the GP's methods are being adapted by younger people following the ideal of medical service. Rural doctors and "semi-doctors" are introducing "psychosocial input into physical illness." This almost revolutionary approach is restoring medical care to communities otherwise destined to long commutes or doing without. McPhee follows their rounds, recording their abilities for our benefit. And reminding us again of how perceptive he is and how well he conveys what he sees. Reading McPhee continually raises the question, "what makes a good journalist"? If it's training that produced his abilities, why aren't there more like him? If it's a genetic trait, surely there are others, even his own descendants, that should share it. Unfortunately, McPhee, like Mozart, seems unique in the ability to convey what is in his mind. We are grateful for it. It remains a enviable talent, and an ideal to be emulated. Mostly, however, it produces essays that are a delight to read, and may be read again with profit. Read him.
Rating:
Summary: "Tell me when the trees stop moving. . . "
Review: In an earlier time, I was part of a team of science writers. TGIF meant participating in a vilification ritual. We would gather around of volume of John McPhee, cursing his name and maligning his person. The reason for this anomalous behaviour was, of course, envy. He could write. He could write science better, with lucidity and deceptive ease, than anyone else in the business. We all aspired to emulate him, with momentous lack of success. Of course, we read every word he published as quickly as it became available. This collection of essays is a typical example of McPhee's incomparable ability to convey nature and people to our view. In it, he covers topics as disparate as micro electrical generation companies, telephone installations in Alaska and his own namesake among the game warden staff in Maine. It is this last story that has captured my admiration of his talents beyond nearly all others. In it, he shows personal courage that war correspondents might envy. Prompted to visit Maine to meet a duplicate John McPhee, ward and warden of the state's wildlife, the McPhee duality flies to count moose. A harsh wind bends the trees below
as the journalist idly wonders at the wind's speed. "Tell me when the trees stop moving." The float plane slows until it hovers aloft indicating a wind speed of 45 miles per hour. Such expeditions are common for the man who has traversed the continent seeking the secrets of the rocks. Closer to home in Princeton, he follows another game warden also counting - this time bears. Even a drugged bear seems a menace, but McPhee is quick to point out that Eastern bears are peaceful collaborators with people. Eastern Black Bears may even have changed their life habits to accommodate human contact. Cat food is best taken from verandahs in the dark. Besides, his contact, Patricia McConnell, takes Dunkin' Donuts to them. It's her bait for traps as she conducts her census. His people skills are not lacking, however. In another essay he recounts the rise of paramedical services to outlying communities. With doctors turning to arcane specialties, often richly rewarding, the general practitioner has fallen victim to evolutionary processes. Nearly extinct, the GP's methods are being adapted by younger people following the ideal of medical service. Rural doctors and "semi-doctors" are introducing "psychosocial input into physical illness." This almost revolutionary approach is restoring medical care to communities otherwise destined to long commutes or doing without. McPhee follows their rounds, recording their abilities for our benefit. And reminding us again of how perceptive he is and how well he conveys what he sees. Reading McPhee continually raises the question, "what makes a good journalist"? If it's training that produced his abilities, why aren't there more like him? If it's a genetic trait, surely there are others, even his own descendants, that should share it. Unfortunately, McPhee, like Mozart, seems unique in the ability to convey what is in his mind. We are grateful for it. It remains a enviable talent, and an ideal to be emulated. Mostly, however, it produces essays that are a delight to read, and may be read again with profit. Read him.
Rating: 
Summary: The Naturalist's Dream
Review: John McPhee's "Table of Contents" is a great introduction to an author that deserves to be much more widely read. Science has the potential to be highly readable and enjoyable and McPhee capitalizes on this greatly. In subjects ranging from an impromptu chat with Bill Bradley, to bears living in New Jersey, to the time honored tradition of general practitioners, McPhee has the ability to draw out great things in people and relay these stories brilliantly. Not unlike Studs Terkel. This is a great book to start with. McPhee has written many others too, many of which are equally enjoyable.
Rating:
Summary: The Naturalist's Dream
Review: John McPhee's "Table of Contents" is a great introduction to an author that deserves to be much more widely read. Science has the potential to be highly readable and enjoyable and McPhee capitalizes on this greatly. In subjects ranging from an impromptu chat with Bill Bradley, to bears living in New Jersey, to the time honored tradition of general practitioners, McPhee has the ability to draw out great things in people and relay these stories brilliantly. Not unlike Studs Terkel. This is a great book to start with. McPhee has written many others too, many of which are equally enjoyable.
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