Book review: Finding the Mother Tree: Uncovering the Wisdom and Intelligence of the Forest
Key theme(s):
Media Type: Book
Title: Finding the Mother Tree: Uncovering the Wisdom and Intelligence of the Forst
Author: Suzanne Simard
Year of Publication: 2021
What’s it about?
If you had to put this book into a category, it would probably be a memoir. But really, it’s the story of how one scientist developed the idea of “Mother Trees” over the course of many years of research, experimentation and reflection.
Scientific ideas are often presented to audiences in their fully-formed “final” versions. And there’s good reason for this, of course – a lot of scientific communication is primarily instrumental. An aeroplane designer doesn’t need to know all the different stages and versions that the Wright Brothers went through before finally arriving at the design that would carry them into the history books. No, an aeroplane engineer just needs to understand thrust-to-weight ratios, fuel fractions, etc. The question is not “How did we work this out?” but rather “How does this work?”
And yet, it’s amazing how many people know the story of the Wright Brother’s aeroplane, or Newton’s apple, or Fleming’s petri dish. Because human beings are story addicts. There’s something about a good story that is just irresistible to most people. And what Simard lays out in this book is just that: the story of how her ideas emerged and evolved over time, from the first inkling to the complex, multi-year experiments that would (dis)prove her ideas. And it’s about how all of her life’s experiences are intertwined with and run through those ideas, in both positive and negative ways. It’s slow, meticulous and undeniably human, and exactly the opposite of a forestry procedures manual, for example.
In that sense then, this book is the memoir of a notable scientist, but it’s also the biography of her most famous idea. Or perhaps a baby photo album is a better metaphor. I think it’s clear from the end of the book that Simard does not think the idea has reached its final, mature form – there is plenty more fruit to bear.
What’s the key message?
At a very superficial level, the book lays out how Simard identified some of the ways that trees interact with each other through mycorrhizal networks in the soil (the “Wood-Wide Web”) and more specifically the role of “Mother Trees” in forests.
What’s a Mother Tree? Well, in the words of The Mother Tree Project, initiated by the author:
Mother Trees are large trees within a forest that act as centralized hubs supporting communication and nutrient exchange amongst trees. Using a vast underground fungal network, called the mycorrhizal network, Mother Trees supply seedlings with the resources they need to grow.
The FAQs page of the project is a really interesting summary of some of the key ideas and the evidence for it, and well worth a read. This is all very interesting in and of itself, of course, and I think it probably makes sense on an intuitive level to many people. There are practical implications too. As becomes clear from the book Simard’s background is very much in the practice of forestry – indeed, her first attempts to put forward her ideas took place in the context of trying to convince forest policymakers that mass application of pesticide to remove birch trees (believed to be competing with the fir tree crops) was ineffective and damaging. But really, the very concept of a Mother Tree requires us, both as individuals and as industrial sectors, to reimagine the way the pieces of our world fit together – indeed to abandon the idea of them being individual, discrete pieces. It uncovers and provides evidence for a really profound idea:
Cooperation (and collaboration) is at least as important in natural systems as competition.
Simard was not the first to come up with this idea, of course, but it comes across particularly effectively in this book for a couple of reasons. The first is the writing style and narrative, both of which demonstrate the care and level of detail that the author followed in her work, thereby reinforcing the validity of her claims. But the second is an interesting parallel – whether intentional or not – between the forces at work in nature and the forces at work within the world of science itself. The ideas themselves may be developed through careful and warm collaboration (whether with colleagues, partners or family), but they must then be sent out into the world of scientific competition – and often a very unfriendly one. As I say, I have no idea whether this parallel was drawn deliberately, or if it’s a natural consequence of the story itself, but it highlights one other really interesting message:
Science is and always will be a profoundly human affair.
As mentioned, this book is not just a story of experiments and results, data-crunching and graphs (though there is plenty of that). Instead, it describes a lifetime of meticulous work and the gradual emergence of an idea. It not only narrates how the data led to the conclusions, but also what was going on in Simard’s life at the time and how that affected her thinking – both positively and negatively. And not in that fakey “Here’s what feeding my dog this morning taught me about empathy…” way. For example, it provides context for why Simard was not more vigorous in defending her ideas when they first came in for public criticism, or how being a new mother forced her to speak calmly whilst being interviewed to avoid disturbing the baby. Or in more general terms, how a life and family history bound up with the forest informed her thinking generally, not just in terms of the science she was working on.
And crucially, how very human factors like rivalries, entrenched sexism and vested interests can prompt some to resist new ideas and hinder progress, even in the face of evidence.
You should read this book if…
You instinctively agree with the idea that everything is connected in ways we cannot see and map and want someone to explain the science to you without overwhelming you.
Don’t get me wrong – for all this book is a story, there’s also plenty of science. I’ll be honest and admit if I had to explain all the details of all of the experiments that prove the principles laid out, I think I would struggle. But that information is there, and in spades, if you want to really dive into that detail (or go back to it later, as I undoubtedly will). But part of the glory of this book is that you don’t need to if you don’t want to. The experimental protocols and results are woven together into an overall narrative in such a way that you can take away the broad strokes, even if you can’t retain all the details.
And that is, I think, true popular scientific communication at its best. It is accessible to non-experts but still contains enough detail that experts who really understand the issues can track (and potentially replicate) the process and results if they want to. I guess what I’m trying to say is that it takes the academic rigour of true scientific method and renders it as something that non-scientists can understand, without resorting to patronising metaphors and over-simplification.
What makes it effective?
Honestly, it’s a masterclass in storytelling.
The book is a perfect combination of form and content. The deliberate, painstaking work that went into actually developing the ideas is mirrored in the level of detail applied to telling the story of that work. This might sound like it would be too much information, but far from it – you would struggle to find a single superfluous word in the text. In that sense, then, form mirrors content in this book, and it’s a joy to read. It feels as if you are reading a story that has been pared back to the bare essentials – a narrative informed by science, emotions, intuition, relationships and a love for the forest and the whole living world, without being dominated by any one of them. The overall tone is one of careful, even meditative, reflection – it explains without justifying, one way or another. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if trees really are wise, as Simard claims, then some of that has rubbed off on her as well.
The quality of the storytelling is, of course, complemented by the “cinematic” potential of all the characters and events involved. Simard sketches all of these out in just enough detail for them to take on a certain filmic quality. (How true this rings to life for the actual people involved, I can’t possibly say, of course.) And where a “purely” scientific text might downplay the drama and the emotions of the events for the sake of inspiring confidence through neutrality, this book takes a different tack by inspiring confidence through humanity. And it works. Every time you read about a breakthrough or successful experiment (or failure), you find yourself there with her. You can empathise with all the very human moments of the story, from the “wrongness” Simard felt spraying pesticides on saplings (even though it was to prove doing so was pointless, even counterproductive) to the awkwardness of standing up to present to a larger room of people, you so easily slip into Simard’s shoes. And the overall effect of this is that you celebrate the highs and commiserate with the lows. And you find yourself thinking, “So what happened next?” at every turn.
That’s one of the disadvantages of getting swept up in a story, of course – eventually it crashes into reality. If you were reading a book, and a scientist proved that a particular practice was harmful, the logical next step would be for the practice to be stopped, even banned.
But that’s not how things work in the real world…
Takeaways for communicators
Detail is not inherently overwhelming – if deployed carefully it can inspire confidence.
Scientific communication and human communication are not mutually exclusive!
A reflective, pared-back tone is never a bad idea.