A particular kind of book

 David George Haskell’s The Forest Unseen is a pleasing kind of book in two ways.

First, it’s a book about place. Haskell studies a square meter of earth on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee and sees the whole of nature.

Other writers have done similar things. The model is Gilbert White’s The Natural History of Selborne, published in 1789. A country clergyman wrote letters about the land, plants and animals in the place he called home. When we lived in San Antonio, I used to walk along Zarzamora Creek to see what a daily walk could teach me about the place. Those walks were as illuminating as any course I took in college. 

Second, I love The Forest Unseen because I think it’s vital for learned people to introduce difficult ideas into the common market. I think that’s vital in a democracy. My bias is that people in universities are under such pressure with workloads and publishing requirements that they have little time to think about the problems of the larger society. The larger society badly needs their expertise.

And, yes, I’m aware of how badly experts with real experience in, say, viruses are treated by demagogues. That’s precisely why these kinds of books are vital in a society where the majority — well informed or ill — rules.

I have never wanted vast sums of money. But if I had that kind of wealth, I think I’d endow a prize for books by real scholars written for the education of lay people. Rather than try to define the kind of book I’m thinking of, let me give examples: Ray Monk’s Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius and Steven Nadler’s Spinoza: A Life in philosophy and Scott Newstok’s How to Think like Shakespeare in English. David George Haskell’ The Forest Unseen is a winner in the sciences.