The Sea Around Us (1951) by Rachel Carson
Sometimes you get known for something and that becomes how people define you. For me, in the cruel world of grade school it was Mr. Poopy Pants… but let’s not get into that. A better example is Eli Whitney… cotton gin. What the hell is a cotton gin and who the hell was Eli Whitney in the first place!?!? This man’s life has devolved into a Jeopardy answer (or should I say question) and 1 point on a high school U.S. history test.
But hey, it is a compliment as well. In the annals of history there have been scores of useful inventions and billions upon billions of humans beings. Few of either are committed in any semblance to our long term memories. So Eli Whitney/cotton gin, stand proud! Same goes for you Soft Cell/Tainted Love!
I suppose in a similar manner–for many at least–Rachel Carson is solely synonymous with her most famous book Silent Spring, which put the spotlight on the effects of synthetic pesticides and helped launch the modern environmental movement. As a symbol of what can be a very politically polarizing subject, this association–Rachel Carson/Silent Spring–can get twisted into undue monstrosities and idolatries, derived from melodramatized disagreement or respect. I suppose that’s just the dangers and corrupting amplifying power of symbolism.
Prior to Silent Spring however, Carson was already a successful science and nature writer. As a New York Times Bestseller and winner of the National Book Award for Nonfiction, The Sea Around Us is a sterling example of this. In the book, Carson serves as a most eloquent docent of the oceans, explaining natural processes and illustrating the wonder of prehistoric and unexplored worlds. Unlike Silent Spring, where Carson is more defender of the environment and public health through argument and elucidation of negative effects, here Carson is more admirer-navigator of the seas.
To summarize the book’s topics would take pages and is beyond the scope of this post. Due to the vastness of subject matter, the book covers a lot of ground including the formation of the oceans, the topography of the ocean floor, the history of exploration, the movement of the seas (e.g. currents), and the differing habitats of marine life to name a few. Being published in 1951 (some chapters were serialized in the New Yorker prior to its publication as a book), some details may be dated by virtue of new research and theory. However, through its clarity and eloquence, its readability likely remains undiminished. Here’s a snippet from a chapter entitled The Long Snowfall describing the perpetual discharge of sediment to the ocean’s floor. :
“For the sediments are the materials of the most stupendous ‘snowfall’ the earth has ever seen. It began when the first rains fell on the barren rocks and set in motion the forces of erosion. It was accelerated when living creatures developed in the surface waters and the discarded little shells of lime or silica that had encased them in life began to drift downward to the bottom. Silently, endlessly, with the deliberation of earth processes that can afford to be slow because they have so much time for completion, the accumulation of the sediments has proceeded. So little in a year, or in a human lifetime, but so enormous an amount in the life of earth and sea.” (pages 75-76)
As someone who only knew a couple of isolated factoids about the ocean from past experiences, tangential information from school, and films like Finding Nemo, The Sea Around Us was a cohesive and excellent primer on the subject matter that simultaneously piqued and satiated my curiosity. I now know that much more about how the natural world around us works, yet I also better understand how little we actually do know, as there is a great deal that remains a mystery. Regardless, through expanding my knowledge of the world or by alerting me to the still unanswered questions, I have a greater appreciation for the mysterious and magnificent ocean. And for that I have to thank Rachel Carson/The Sea Around Us.
The Straining Reader 