Am in receipt of a few new books, some of which came in to work as review copies and some ordered by mine own hand and credit card. Notable in the latter category is Michael Bérubé’s Rhetorical Occasions. I cracked it last night before retiring, started reading his treatment of the Sokal Hoax, and look forward to more. I have the germ of an idea for an animated Saturday morning cartoon based on the work. I’m thinking Anime. I’ll get on that after finishing my current project, which is of course the libretto for the light opera version of this book:
Hat tip to PSOTD on that one. I have in mind a sorta hybrid Verdi-slash-HipHop kinda thing, which style I am calling “Mean Joe Green” for now.
My friend Richard Heinberg has been busy: his new book The Oil Depletion Protocol (co-written with Colin Campbell) came into my office last week, and I knocked it back in a day’s commute. One of Richard’s earlier books The Party’s Over: Oil, War and the Fate of Industrial Societies
, which I excerpted in Earth Island Journal a few years back, is perhaps the most justifiably pessimistic things I have ever read. In that book, Heinberg neatly dissected each of the common scenaria by which people say we will avoid massive Peak Oil shocks — hydrogen, biofuels, fuel cells, denial, etc. — and showed that none of them is sufficient to replace fossil fuels without severe social impact. Famine is an example of a severe social impact. The Oil Depletion Protocol is more optimistic: Heinberg and Campbell allege that if 1) oil production peaks twenty years from now or later, which is faintly possible and 2) we all get on the task of winding down our energy use by some not-insignificant percentage per year in a globally organized fashion, we might escape the worst of the dislocations.
You people outside the United States will just have to tell us how that “acting responsibly” thing goes.
Two gigantic coffee-table tomes have hit the desk at work in the last week. One of them brought back some serious pleasant memories. Back in the days before I knew of Carl’s work, I would likely have told you that Robert Bateman was my favorite painter of natural subjects. About twenty years ago the Smithsonian held an exhibit of his work, and I spent more than a few days studying each painting with odd and poignant longings in my heart when I should have been working. His style is an odd mix of photorealistic and Japanese-inspired simplicity: each subject, elk or heron or bobcat or fencepost lichen, is rendered in wonderful detail. The context in which the subject resides is rendered almost as exactly, but much of the detail is seamlessly omitted. It is a painterly equivalent of depth of field:
...but the slight lack of detail in the surroundings is far more subtle than blurring.
That twenty-years-gone frisson came back as I paged through the weighty The Art of Robert Bateman. I’ve set it aside for now: I want to give it the full, undistracted attention it deserves. Maybe I’ll wait until I reallly should be working, and then spend several days looking through it.
Also unread and anticipated and gigantic: George Wuerthner’s The Wildfire Reader: A Century of Failed Forest Policy. I’ve been following Wuerthner’s work for almost as long as Bateman’s: he is among the best Western landscape photographers, up there with Jack Dykinga and Anne Rohrer, though Wuerthner’s work is more frankly journalistic. He has donated his photos to a number of environmental organizations and publications, and I’ve been among those who share in his generosity. Wuerthner is also a fine writer, with about three dozen books
to his credit. In compiling The Wildfire Reader Wuerthner had an explicit aim: “to promote the restoration of fire to the landscape and to encourage its natural behavior so it can resume its role as a major ecological process.”
But that goes onto the pile too, until I finish Douglas Erwin’s Extinction: How Life on Earth Nearly Ended 250 Million Years Ago. Aside from being a sucker for both paleontological subjects and evolving scientific controversies, this book about events that took place 248 million years ago showed up at my door at exactly the right time: I’d just finished reading a short article on the subject in Scientific American, written by Peter D. Ward.
The end-Permian extinction (as it is properly called, because there were other mass extinctions that took place during the Permian) nearly wiped out life on Earth. Between 90 and 95 percent of marine species went extinct at the time, with about 70 percent of terrestrial species dying out as well. The event ended some evolutionary lines that had previously dominated the planet: trilobites, pelycosaurs like the sailback dimetrodon, the dinocephalian therapsids. (For a modern-day equivalent to the extinction of that last taxon, imagine all mammals dying out.) Some paleontologists, California’s Luann Becker among them, have proposed that a “bolide impact” — a big meteor or comet or asteroid hitting the planet — was responsible for the end-Permian extinction, and a few years back the mainstream press responded to a Becker press release by declaring that the cause of the event had been established. But rumors of the cause of death have been exaggerated. Peter Ward has studied the end-Permian for most of his adult life, and has consistently argued that the data support entirely earth-bound, ecological explanations for the extinction. For a time he speculated that sudden exposure of anoxic ocean sediments — the oceans receded, and the muck came out from under — depleted the oxygen in the atmosphere, and only those organisms that could tolerate suffocatingly low O2 levels survived. (The ancestors of today’s supremely respiratorily efficient birds, for instance.)
But Ward’s SciAm article advances an idea even more chilling than worldwide smothering. He’s updated his thinking based on new data, much of it coming from the study of “biomarkers” — trace organic substances in fossil strata left by organisms that do not themselves usually fossilize. One such biomarker is cell membrane lipids, which vary in chemical constitution from species to species. It is thus relatively straightforward to assign cell membrane lipids from, say, end-Permian strata to a particular kind of organism. And in fact, study of biomarkers in end-Permian, early Triassic ocean sediment rocks indicate that the oceans experienced a huge spike in the population of certain kinds of bacteria, huge population spikes of which are inconsistent with a comfortable planet for us oxygen-breathing types. Here’s the bullet-point version of the hypothesis, excerpted from a sidebar accompanying Ward’s article:
- Trouble begins with widespread volcanic activity that releases enormous amounts of carbon dioxide and methane.
- The gases cause rapid global warming. A warmer ocean absorbs less oxygen from the atmosphere.
- Low oxygen (anoxia) destabilizes the chemocline, where oxygenated water meets water permeated with hydrogen sulfide (H2S) generated by bottom-dwelling anaerobic bacteria.
- As H2S concentrations build and oxygen falls, the chemocline rises abruptly to the ocean surface.
- Green and purple photosynthesizing sulfur bacteria, which consume H2S and normally live at chemocline depth, now inhabit the H2S-rich surface waters while ocean-breathing life suffocates.
- H2S also diffuses into the air, killing animals and plants on land and rising to the troposphere to attack the planet’s ozone layer.
- Without the ozone shield, the sun’s ultraviolet radiation kills remaining life.
Whee!
No one knows what the atmospheric CO2 and methane levels were in the end-Permian. We do have figures for other mass extinctions in which climate is thought to have played a role, such as the end-Paleocene and end-Triassic. During both of those extinctions, atmospheric CO2 levels were somewhere around 1,000 parts per million. The good news: this is three times the atmospheric CO2 we currently enjoy. The bad news: most climatologists predict we’ll get to those levels somewhere around 2100 if we follow Bush administration climate policy. And that’s not even taking into account things such as outgassing of the insane amounts of carbon now locked up in polar soils, which catastrophic event is almost likely inevitable. In fact, it’s happening now, or starting to at least, as the reports coming across my desk from Siberia indicate. Or the bright boys at ExxonMobil tapping into unstable methane hydrates reserves beneath the ocean floor, as is currently planned, and dislodging a couple billion tons of methane into the atmosphere — a possibility discussed soberly in the engineering documents.
So I’m reading that Erwin book first. And then I’ll need to look at the pretty paintings.
Posted by: Chris Clarke
Categories:
Books
Paleontology
Science
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