Between Man and Beast

A colorful and exciting account of a chapter of natural history, Between Man and Beast by Monte Reel is the story of Paul du Challiu, "discoverer" of the gorilla.

du Challiu was an “adventurer” (or traveler, as his critics later denounced him) who - although ignorant of the scientific methods and painstaking research the larger scientific community demanded - set out into the African Bush, becoming the first white man to ever lay eyes on the gorilla. The long mythologized animal had been described by Africans as some sort of cross between man and beast or a hairy man among other fun descriptions. The creature was then duly shot by du Challiu, preserved and stuffed, shipped off to museums and lecture halls across Europe and America, making du Challiu a legend in his own time.

du Challiu was a lad of uncertain origins (those origins are later uncovered by Reel and their socially damning facts are revealed). He came of age in equatorial Africa, eventually falling under the care of protestant missionaries. du Challiu longs to create a new identity for himself. Under the sponsorship of The Academy of Natural Sciences at Philadelphia, he enters the African bush, ostensibly to collect birds for that institution. On his mind, however, was the creature he had heard the African people refer to as “nyega” – the gorilla. While away from civilization, he encounters and befriends natives, does a good deal of collecting for the museum, and at long last, “discovers” the gorilla. When du Challiu emerges from the bush, he spends some time in obscurity before finally publishing his book, Explorations and Adventures in Equatorial Africa, which details his journey and becomes a bestseller.

 Once they reach America, du Challiu’s gorillas seem to touch every part of society, from the base (PT Barnum had some interesting ideas about how to prevent the young gorilla hunter from upstaging him) to the more enlightened; Edwin Stanton used the term gorilla as the ultimate derision when describing Lincoln. Struggling between the worlds of science and entertainment, du Challiu’s gorillas never really get their footing in America. Eventually deciding to try Europe, du Challiu unveils his creatures at a lecture in London. From here, du Challiu is drawn into the world of Victorian London’s scientific circles. In the days when Darwin had just published on the On the Origin of Species, scientific clubs seemed to abound and men such as Livingstone and andkan were stomping all over the globe, the Union Jack in tow. du Challiu was plunged – gorillas and all – into the debates that were raging over evolution. Both pro-evolution and anti-evolution forces used his gorilla to prove their case. The gorilla was seen as man’s nearest wild relative and was therefore a lightning rod for the evolution conversation, which was taking place in the scientific journals and rarified clubs great men frequented. This was a world that was fascinating to glimpse. Reel does a superb job of setting us down into a pipe-smoke filled, oak paneled room fairly brimming with the great minds of its day. The mix of men of science, the cloth and great wealth and titles at the height of Victorian Imperialism was a tasty treat for me (a confirmed anglophile) and I devoured with relish such scenes as Huxley and Bishop’s historic debate (not as intense as history has claimed, alas) as well as Dr. Owen cozying up is his house provided for him by none other than Queen Victoria herself

Due to his total lack of education in the sciences, du Challiu was called, in some quarters, a fraud. His book’s directions were murky, his maps incorrect, his drawings unscientific – in all, what was originally seen as a book of science was, in short order, denounced as a book of travel, and an inaccurate one at that. These great British men of learning were, in many ways, jealous schoolboys. Their foibles leaves the reader chuckling sometimes at how “evolved” they were. Some of the criticisms leveled at du Challiu were legitimate; others were just weird. Yet, there was real work to be done here, and du Challiu takes the steps needed to gain the respect of the scientific community and at long last, create and identity for himself of which he can be proud.

What could be a dry account of a little remembered sliver of history is rendered delightful in Reel's hands. Although his prejudices shine through (he is clearly on board with the evolutionists and doesn’t hold much water with those who object on religious grounds), he never insults and he seems to want to give every person represented a good showing. The comic infighting amongst the scientists and explorers of the day is revealing and amusing. The stories from the African Bush are unique and enlightening. But what shines through the most is Natural History itself. One gains an appreciation for the art of discovering new terrains and new species, decoding the history of earth and its inhabitants, and all that we now take for granted as being long-known being discovered. A read of Between Man and Beast will make you want to renew your National Geographic subscription or take a walk through your local Natural History Museum. I sure did.

The Signature of All Things

The latest effort from blockbuster author from Elizabeth Gilbert is the novel, The Signature of All Things. I read it. I scratched my head. I read some more. Hmmmm….

It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It wasn’t that I did. It was just…what an odd book. What a very odd book indeed.

Alma Whitaker is a woman born into privilege in 18^th century Philadelphia. Her father is the irascible Henry Whitaker, a low-born Englishman and amateur botanist who makes it his mission in life to acquire tons of money so he can thumb his nose at the high society types who snubbed him (mission accomplished, by the way). Henry is a tough character to like-his deathbed comments on the subject of sailing during his youth are just, well, icky. He is at least a character, though. Alma never really shines the way her father does. Bookish and intelligent, she spends her youth studying botany, languages, etc. etc. She adores geometry and Greek. She dedicates her life to the study of plants. She is deadly dull, frankly; not in itself a problem, but still….I mean, we are talking dull.

So, to assuage her dullness, Alma discovers a passion for a new hobby: locking herself in the binding closet in the library and, er, alleviating the tension that builds from reading certain risqué, banned books. Catch my drift? Well, this mundane activity that millions of girls the world over likely indulged in is apparently a very important part of Alma’s life, as it is referenced again and again in the book. That remains sort of the only thing that happens until Prudence shows up.

Prudence is the orphaned daughter of a prostitute. She is taken in by Alma’s mother, a staunch Dutch woman who is a bright spot in this strange tale. Once adopted, Prudence serves little purpose in the story aside from making the reader go insane over how dull and lifeless and nearly catatonic she is. Alma, too, nearly goes mad, for not only is Prudence cold as ice, she is also extremely beautiful, so she’s doubly annoying. Upon talking to the family housekeeper later in life, Alma learns some facts about Prudence that explain a good deal of her inscrutable character – but the facts are not interesting enough to justify the existence of the girl in this book.

Another character I puzzled over was Rhetta. I wanted Rhetta to have a point. I thought her entrance into the story was a signal that something was going to happen to Alma that was exciting. Alas, no. Although Rhetta has a fate that isn’t exactly as dull as Alma’s (cloistered nuns don’t lead a life as dull as Alma), she doesn’t seem to have an effect on the destiny of the central character aside from putting into relief some facts about her life (facts too revealed in that later conversation with housekeeper).

When a talented young man named Amos comes to White Acre, the family home, Alma’s days of locking herself in the binding closet seem to be at an end. After some unique experiences together, they marry and begin an unconventional and unhappy marriage that leaves Alma mystified. Here, one feels for Alma. She may be as boring as sin, but she is a woman after all and what transpires between her and Amos is sad. And sad for him as well. Not cry over it sad. Not, “I can’t put this book down” sad. Just sort of a downer. It at least propels Alma to do something at long last. However, what she does ends up being sort of odd. At any rate, she has an adventure and the story drags on with uninspired revelations (a person ends up having an unusual name she thought meant something else, for example) and somewhat dull characters. (A minister who simply does not see the harm in anything ever, oh-what-a-lovely-man.)

While I seem to be knocking this tale of…a middle aged scientist quasi-shut-in woman…I really am not. I am just figuring it out. It is a wonderful book and an awful book at the same time. The opening third of the story is quite nice. The saga of Henry Whitaker is terrific. Knowing Gilbert’s ways, we can be confident that whether in the parlor of a lord who is scoffing at him or on the deck of a ship piloted by none other than Captain Cook, Henry’s experiences could have been authentic. Upon making good and settling in America, he marries and has Alma. The second part of this book dries up a little to me. It is largely concerned with Alma’s research, her time in the binding closet and her relationships with her peers – namely Prudence, Rhetta and George, a colleague and friend who lives nearby. These four young people have overlapping and conflicted relationships with each other that come to light later. The final third seems to lag. Just what Alma is hoping to accomplish is okay, but not enough to propel a person across the world in a day and age when travel was extremely difficult. In fact, what  I enjoyed most was hearing about her journey from Philadelphia, around the Cape of Good Hope, through the South Seas to Tahiti – a woman alone on a boat with only men for months 200 years ago is a cool things to read about. But once she lands in Tahiti I lost it. I literally was falling asleep while reading half the time.

Yet something is making resist panning it. The writing was lovely. The language and mood were consistent with the time and place in which the story was supposed to have occurred. The book was jammed with facts and populated with smart people, so one feels smart while reading it. And becomes a little smarter too (I did not know, for example, that when starving it is better to eat bugs than to waste the energy hunting. Good to know). It’s an odd book about people who accomplish very little in their lives that benefits the world at large, an idea that is explored in the juxtaposition of Alma’s life and who Prudence eventually becomes. Gilbert’s voice shines through – her love of travel, her preoccupation with sex, her mile-wide feminist streak - and with Gilbert, you always get a good dose of humor.

 If you are a Gilbert fan (c’mon, who isn’t) then I actually would not not  recommend this. It’s a part of her body of work and her work is all united by how damn intelligently she writes. That shines through from Captain Cook’s ship decks to the darkness of a binding closet. Weird….but intelligent nonetheless.