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352 pages, Hardcover
First published April 28, 2020
I learned about the sorts of whales we never see and why that might be so: I learned of the whale that has no name, the whale with two voices, whales with two pupils in each eye, and whales puppeted by storms on the sun. I discovered that whales have been the subjects of cuisines and conspiracies, that they have housed monsters and do still. I learned that we change the sounds of whales even where we do not make a noise, that humpbacks have pop songs, and that beluga have tried to speak human tongues. I learned about whale vision, bisonar, and memory: human grief, human love, and interspecies recognition. I set out to draw a few lines between myself, the stories I knew about whales, and the science of our changing seas. By the time I came to the end, I understood that these connections were far from esoteric concerns. Whales, I saw, can magnify the better urgings of our nature and renew those parts of us that are drawn, by wonder, to revise our place and our power in the natural world.
What environment was ever more shielded from our collective imagination than the underside of the sea surrounding Antarctica? Unlit omnisphere, far-fetched. White noise; ice shifting, krill krilling. Trundled by see-through salps, orbital sponges, and other questionably animate organisms, the seabed shilly-shallies into murk, lacking all tactility and aspect. No writer, in good conscience, could reach for a word like “terrain” to detail it. A void. The Southern Ocean is galactically dark. A mirror for the Vantablack of the cosmos.
Though we may believe in the reality of being materially connected to many, many far-off things, it is only when we hear of these connections breaking, we can confirm that it’s true. Which might be the ultimate value of all these stories: to underline how large our lives are, when they can sometimes feel small and short, slotted into ever narrower silos and categories. The sea is not eternal and unchanging as once we imagined. But neither are we condemned to be changeless. After all, to say that our impacts are global coaxes us toward seeing that our powers to affect positive change are too.
"A whale is a wonder not because it is the world's biggest animal, but because it augments our moral capacity. A whale shows us it is possible to care for that which lies outside our immediate sphere of action, but within our sphere of influence - we care deeply, you and I, about the whale because it is distant. Because it speaks to us of places we will not go. Because it magnifies the reach of our humanity, and reminds us of our collective ability to control ourselves, and of our part in a planetary ecology."