THERE ARE GOOD books of popularized science, then there are really good books of popularized science, and then there are the stop-you-in-your-tracks, stone-cold classic books of popularized science, the ones that reconfigure reality for us--Silent Spring, A Brief History of Time, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Entangled Life is of that small but mighty subset.
I picked this up with little knowledge of fungi other than as something nasty that could happen to your toes or as something tasty when fried with onions. My eyes were well and truly opened. For one thing, mushrooms are only the tip of the proverbial iceberg, so to speak. Fungi are their own kingdom, alongside plants and animals. We all now know that trees communicate, but how do they communicate? Thanks to fungi, mostly, or the threadlike extensions known as mycelium. Fungi convey information. They solve problems. They make possible bread (!) and beer (!!). They colonize everything. They give us visions of the oneness of being.
Entangled Life is not merely brimming with illuminating fact, though; it is also gracefully, wittily, lyrically written. Try this, plucked at random:
I walked into the growing rooms, packed with shelving units three meters tall. This was the fungus comb. Thousands of bags charged with soft blocks of furry mycelium filled the space. Some were white, some off-yellow, some a pale orange. If the fans filtering the air had stopped, I felt that I might have heard the crackling of millions of miles of mycelium running through its food.
Good lord. What is the happiest phrase hit upon in that short passage? "This was the fungus comb"? "soft blocks of furry mycelium"? "fans filtering the air"? "the crackling of millions of miles of mycelium"? And Sheldrake's not even in top gear here--try the chapter "Mycelial Minds."
The best book I have read so far this year, that's for sure, and it will be difficult to surpass.
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