From Publishers Weekly
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Reviewed by John VaillantIn this radical departure from Preston's bestsellers on catastrophic diseases (
The Demon in the Freezer, etc.), he journeys into the perpendicular universe of the world's tallest trees. Mostly California redwoods, they are the colossal remnants of a lost world, some predating the fall of Rome. Suspended in their crowns, hundreds of feet above the forest floor, is a primeval kingdom of plants and animals that only a handful of people have ever seen. Now, thanks to Preston and a custom-made tree-climbing apparatus called a "spider rig," we get to see it, too.According to Preston, it wasn't until the 1980s that humans made the first forays into the tops of "supertall" trees, in excess of 350 feet high. The people who pioneered their exploration are a rarefied bunch—equal parts acrobat, adventurer and scientist. The book revolves around botanist Steve Sillett, an exceptional athlete with a tormented soul who found his calling while making a borderline suicidal "free" climb to the top of an enormous redwood in 1987, where he discovered a world of startling complexity and richness. More than 30 stories above the ground, he found himself surrounded by a latticework of fused branches hung with gardens of ferns and trees bearing no relation to their host. In this Tolkienesque realm of sky and wind, lichens abound while voles and salamanders live and breed without awareness of the earth below. At almost the exact moment that Sillett was having his epiphany in the redwood canopy, Michael Taylor, the unfocused son of a wealthy real estate developer, had a revelation in another redwood forest 200 miles to the south. Taylor, who had a paralyzing fear of heights, decided to go in search of the world's tallest tree. Their obsessive quests led these young men into a potent friendship and the discovery of some of the most extraordinary creatures that have ever lived. Preston's tireless research, crystalline writing style and narrative gifts are well suited to the subject. Sillett, Taylor and their cohorts, who include a Canadian botanist named Marie Antoine, are fascinating, often deeply wounded characters. Their collective passion and intensity have illuminated one of the most vulnerable and poorly understood ecosystems on this continent. Preston adds a personal twist by mastering the arcane tree climber's art of "skywalking" and partnering with Sillett and Antoine on some of their most ambitious ascents. As impressive as this is, Preston's cameo appearance disrupts the flow of the main narrative and somewhat dilutes its considerable power.
John Vaillant is the author of The Golden Spruce: A True Story of Myth, Madness and Greed
(Norton) and winner of the Canadian Governor General's Award for Non-Fiction (2005). Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From The Washington Post
Reviewed by Grace Lichtenstein
Richard Preston, best known for The Hot Zone, the terrifying tale of the Ebola virus, is a science writer with an uncommon gift for turning complex biology into riveting page-turners. In The Wild Trees, he hoists himself into a gentler subject: old-growth forests, mostly redwoods, that have managed to evade the timber industry's blades and still live along the coast of northern California. Preston assures us that, amazingly, until the past two decades the ecosystem formed by the intertwining limbs of these ancient, gargantuan living things had never really been studied. Preston introduces us to several researchers, most prominently botanist Stephen C. Sillett, who are probing the mysteries of the skyscraper-high forest canopy. In addition to Sillett, there's Michael Taylor, a millionaire's son and speed-chess champion who is afraid of heights but downsizes his life to work as a grocery clerk while he searches for the world's tallest tree, and Marie Antoine, who at the age of 8 lost her mother to cancer and became a scholar of lichens. Eventually, Preston, who took up tree-climbing as a respite from writing, joins them up in the treetops.
Preston invokes the spirit of, among others, Darwin, Audubon and Jacques Cousteau as he makes the case that Sillett and the others are master explorers who have begun to reveal the enchantment and majesty of the world's largest living things, some of them thousands of years old. And a reader can't help but compare these skywalking Ph.Ds, inventors and oddballs with mountaineers such as Whymper, Mallory, Hillary and Norgay who challenged the world's highest peaks, especially as the tree climbers bestow appropriately grand names on their discoveries: Atlas, Gaia, Icarus, Helios, Hyperion, the Screaming Titans. In his rich metaphorical style, Preston makes us feel the forest undergrowth tearing at the explorers' clothes, the wind swaying the "Treeboats" they sleep in, the bees stinging their faces as they make epic ascents of behemoths. Stands of virgin redwoods that survive amid clear-cut stumps are like "Mohawk haircuts." When a middle-aged redwood loses its top spire, it is "a little like a man going bald." The expansive crown of a really old tree "can look like a thunderhead coming to a boil." Redwoods "as tall as an office building" are balanced in a "pancake of roots" so shallow one looks like "a pencil standing in mud."
This ambitious narrative has multiple interconnected branches. Preston instructs us in the history of old-growth forests, explains forest-floor and canopy ecology, tells how gadgets and techniques to climb were invented and introduces recreational tree-climbing as a sport. Throughout, he weaves in the personal stories of a crew that includes the studious, the brave and the eccentric.
Like the forest canopy itself, The Wild Trees is a tangled but rewarding labyrinth. There's the story of the climber who professionally shouts "Headache," the signal for a falling object, as he tumbles from a branch nearly 100 feet off the ground. And of Sillett, whose first girlfriend leaves him because he is so preoccupied with redwoods. He breaks down sobbing as he reveals his despair to Taylor. Then Sillett meets Antoine; they consummate their union in an acrobatic act of treetop lovemaking and later have a wedding aloft with everyone, including the minister, roped and harnessed.
Ultimately, what distinguishes these climbers from other explorers is that they don't simply play Tarzan and Jane or ascend a redwood "because it's there," as Mallory famously said of Everest. "This forest gives us a glimpse of what the world was like a very long time ago, before humans came into existence," Sillett tells Preston. "These trees can teach us how we can live. We can be hammered and burned, and we can come back and be more beautiful as we grow."
As is the case in mountaineering books, these expeditions do get a little repetitious. But more problematic is that the author, having joined the redwood explorers' club, now hopes his readers will never see the objects of the climbers' obsession. He says he honors the "tradition of botany" by not revealing locations of rare trees or groves. But having inspired reverence for them, isn't he motivating new worshipers to find them? And isn't it a bit selfish to be the lone outsider to experience them and then to slam the door to this treetop Eden behind him?
Copyright 2007, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved.
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