Eighteenth-century innovators came in many forms. Some were artisans, the craftspeople who made utilitarian things. Some were what were sometimes called toy makers, not because they made toys, but because they made baubles and trinkets for adults. Some were natural philosophers, whose innovations came in the physical sciences. And some were artists—creators of high-priced, highly-prized, and beautiful things. In this latter category, John Singleton Copley was America’s most accomplished. Perhaps the finest portraitist ever to paint in America, on the eve of the War for Independence, the young Copley left for Britain, never to return to the country of his birth. Kamensky’s intimate and moving portrait shows Copley, the ex-pat and loyalist, ascending to the pinnacle of the British art world. But far more importantly, it shows the price Copley and his family paid for this ascent, reminding the reader that innovation does not happen in a political vacuum. 

This book helped me release shame after a colleague of mine told me my work wasn’t “science.”

Here’s the truth: to create a healing platform, I needed to tap into ways of thinking that academia sees as “woo woo” and “savage.” I looked to the stars. I meditated. I did rituals and read myths.

Dr. Kimmerer, trained as a traditional botanist, realized that the Indigenous myths and stories she was told as a child contained scientific knowledge passed down for generations by her tribe.

She realized there were scientific truths her community knew for millennia that traditional scientists only discovered within the last 100 years. This is the power of Ancestral Intelligence, disregarded by the same science that ultimately created AI.

What stories, fables, and myths have taught you valuable lessons about the world?

Hailed as a “new genre of nature writing,” Mueller’s book is species-specific, dwelling upon the lives and deaths of salmon, yet the subject matter could apply to any creature that has become a commodity within late-stage capitalism. Mueller contrasts the Norwegian farmed-salmon industry and the increasing mechanization and reduction of living beings to things with wild salmon populations and Native people’s perspectives from the Pacific Northwest. Critically, he dares to take on the perspective of salmon, sprinkling memorable and moving vignettes throughout the book, helping readers imagine the world from a salmon’s-eye-view. This work of interspecies empathy is a rare and welcome contribution to thinking about personhood through a lens that is other-than-human.

This book holds a special place in my heart as one of the first books I encountered on the history of science and religion. Lindberg's masterful exploration of the European scientific tradition from 600 B.C. to A.D. 1450 served as my introduction to this captivating field of study. 

In many ways, I owe my journey as a historian of science to the insights gleaned from Lindberg's work. While I never had the privilege of meeting him before his passing, his scholarship continues to inspire and shape my understanding of the intricate relationship between science and religion.

For anyone embarking on their own exploration of this fascinating topic, Lindberg's book is an indispensable guide that will leave a lasting impression.

Regency romances tend to focus on the privileged and titled, so I was drawn to this gorgeous story by Annick Trent because it features a romance between two working-class men. I loved the dramatic opening where the surgeon and radical George first encounter Noah, valet to an earl who has been injured in a duel.

I really appreciated Annick Trent’s sure handling of the complex social nuances of Georgian England, where, after the French Revolution, any group of working people meeting in a self-improvement or reading group could come under suspicion by the authorities. This sense of threat and risk informed the story and brought tension and realism to the prohibited love story between George and Noah. I found this a deeply satisfying read.

We are such a visual species that it is easy to forget how the other senses contribute to the colorful world we share. Moore’s elegant account of the sounds that rumple the aether through which we move opened my eyes (and especially my ears).

Moore is known for her ability to wrap beautiful words around important concepts. Like me, she is trained as a philosopher. Her blend of poetry and insightfulness is fully displayed in this rare homily for nature’s sounds.

Moore worries about their loss as the noise of industry drowns out nature’s own voice. But I would read a chapter before bed each day and drift off to sleep accompanied by lullabies sung by the remarkable kin who share our world.   

First and foremost we are sensual critters. At birth, our brains still have significant development to accomplish and focuses initially on the Sensory Control area since it’s vital for growth that we fully realize the messages and signals that the physical world is constantly sending. Here’s a poetic and philosophical exploration of how we emerged from and continue to be part of the physical sensual world. It makes sense it’s last. I’ve been reading it for two years without finishing; after a couple of pages of Abram’s beautiful wisdom about how, for instance, the first spoken languages were composed of natural sounds I need to put the book down and ruminate for a few days on the creative implications of my speaking and the sounds I make. 

This book stopped me being scared of death – well almost. It is a wonderful read about how we are embodied creatures of planet Earth. Our very being is relationship. Take breathing for example. As you sit there you breathe in oxygen, nitrogen, and a little carbon dioxide. When you breathe out you release extra carbon dioxide – with that carbon coming from your body itself. You gift a little of your being in exchange for the oxygen - fragments that may end up in that tree outside your window. Once we understand that exchange is the essence of life, it helps us live well on our shared planet. As Weber explains, joy comes when we sense that life is increasing – for us and for others.

Our task then becomes to nurture life – the creative striving of all living things to become themselves and connect with others. Weber… show more.

When I go out for nearly daily walks, I’m reminded that time in nature can stimulate us in many ways–from identifying the species we encounter to considering the essential interactions between organisms to simply being awed by the status of humans in the complexity of life on earth.

It is this swirl of nature engagements that Lyanda Lynn Haupt captures so beautifully in Rooted. Part poetic reflections, part call to change our daily habits, Haupt finds wonders in urban green spaces and amazement in greater forests. Along the way, she urges us to walk barefoot, clear our minds of daily worries, engage in forest bathing (but to also get muddy on occasion), and to move beyond our human-centric perceptions. 

Haupt includes enough personal anecdotes to temper her more radical suggestions, weaving insights, excitement, and, yes, humor to grab and hold the reader throughout. After reading this book, I feel that… show more.

I originally read the adult version of this book and quite honestly, it’s a book I’ll never forget. It changed the way I think about the relationship between human beings and the earth. I absolutely loved it. And I was so excited when this young adult version came out, because it’s now so accessible to younger readers and I could share it with my teenage daughter. I love to read books alongside my kids and find ways to broaden and deepen our conversations about the natural world… and this one is top of my list for doing just that.