Books like A Natural History of the Senses — picked by fans

In this classic book, Kuhn introduces the idea of a "paradigm" and shows that real progress comes through paradigm shifts.

That hit me like a rock when I first read it. I love how in the second edition, Kuhn talks about the difficulties of deep change: "the problem is that the new paradigm is always worse than the old one." 

The new paradigm may be better in some way, but it is also sketchy, unformed, and it creates lots of new uncertainties. So, for somebody to shift to a new paradigm always requires a leap of faith!

My father gave me a copy of this book when I was in 6th grade and it introduced the world of natural science to me. This was the first in a series of volumes that collected his monthly essays written for Natural History magazine.

Gould has an eye for unusual scientific phenomena that illuminate a deeper truth about the relationship between humanity and the natural world. He was not afraid to tackle moral issues, such as eugenics and the science of IQ, recognizing the importance of the popular scientist as more than just a translator.

But the most important thing for the 11-year-old me was that he was such a clear writer–I could follow all of his arguments without knowing anything about genetics, statistics, or anatomy. I still have the copy my father gave me–it is dog-eared, and the spine is long broken, but when I thumb through it, I… show more.

A gruesome story of murder and desire that also happens to have the most vivid olfactory descriptions of any genre.

Suskind’s preternatural ability to summon odor from the page makes you feel as if you are there beside him, walking through the flowered hillsides of Provence, or in the back room of a perfume shop on the Pont au Change. His twisted use of classic perfume techniques is as accurate as it is chilling.

I lived Augusten Burroughs’ life while walking in the U.S. National Arboretum through the medium of his audiobook. Augusten Burroughs’ parents had the same issues as my parents, and his life was as eclectic as mine. This allowed me to heal my long-time wounds in a way.

The more I read about the emotional struggles of others, the easier it is for me to fully remember the darkest moments of my childhood. This particular memoir also made it difficult for me to put it down because of its very bizarre plot and dark humor. Additionally, I was fascinated to read about the time before I was born. Isn’t it odd that the world once existed without us?

Luca Turin, a biophysicist and writer, is obsessed with smell. You know those poetic-seeming, almost made-up descriptors we see in wine marketing? Well, that’s how he talks about smells. Turin also wants to figure out how we smell, which we still don’t know the answer to. Ultimately, by delving into some past research and building on it, he finds some answers, though they’re still not widely embraced.

Burr shares Turin’s story about the complexities of navigating the world of sensory science, especially as a passionate iconoclast. It also left me thinking about the art and science of sensing and about who has more expertise–the seasoned perfumer who can detect the fine notes within a glass bottle or the research scientist trying to describe the smell in a purely factual, scientific way.

I’ve been fascinated by all living organisms since my early childhood on Long Island. In our suburban yard, I would sit raptured, watching the hunting techniques of praying mantises, the burrowing ability of earthworms, or the seemingly drunk behavior of cedar waxwings after feasting on over-ripe berries. But I never fully appreciated the intricacies of animal behavior until I read this book. 

What Ed Yong masterfully achieves in this 400-page text is neither a Disney-like humanizing of other species nor an overly scientific explanation of how creatures respond to their environment. Rather, he brings us to a place where we are no longer perceiving other organisms through human eyes but through their own complex senses. 

This greatly increased my fascination with the natural world and, consequently, my need to preserve every precious species on this earth.

This is a book about how our different experiences of the senses unite and divide us, as explored through Braille Without Borders, which was the first school for the blind in Tibet.

It’s about how self-actualized and independent many blind people are, even as they inhabit a world that views blindness as one of the worst things that could happen to a person, even a curse. For the students at this school, who’ve sometimes been ostracized in their communities, school is an opportunity many of their sighted peers don’t have, further complicating their relationships. For me, it was a reminder of something basic about vision. 

We don’t know how to use sight when we’re born. We must learn it. And that early experience changes the lens through which we see for the rest of our lives.

This is my curveball selection because it’s fiction. It’s a dystopian book about our disconnection from our sense of touch, and it so well highlights our fears about technology cutting us off from true experiences. It tells the story of Sloan, who works at a company whose consumers prefer virtual relationships and whose partner believes in something called “post-sexual sex.” 

But she slowly realizes that people, including herself, are feeling deprived, and she goes on a journey to fight for connection. If I had a criticism of this book as fiction only, I’d say it feels very obviously topical in a way that sometimes detracts from the narrative. But as a treatise on the value of touch, it delivers entirely.

Historian Mark Smith has written widely on the topic of understanding sensory experiences of the past.

At just over 100 pages long, his most recent book is an excellent insight into the field for both those new to it, and those who are already familiar with writing history of the senses.

Starting with an overview of the origins of sensory history and moving through to consider both the strengths and challenges of current research in this area, Smith concludes this book with a clear, accessible, and persuasive argument for future directions of work in the field.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough for anyone interested in exploring sensory history!

These poems—most of every poem that Lee writes, really—do more than paint a picture. These poems appeal to every one of your senses. They are rich in description and you want to savor each one, sit with it, and let the poem envelop you. 

I heard or read somewhere that Li-Young Lee is a slow writer, not producing a lot of work but always producing good work. I don’t know if this is true, and except for my greed of wanting to consume more of his words asap, I don’t mind that his poems are slower coming. I like to spend time with them.

I share Rose because Lee teaches me—and my students—that writers depend too much on visual imagery and fear spreading out into the other senses.