On the edge of a grey world: Learnings from 'Sapiens' and 'The Sixth Extinction'

Part I

Dipping a toe in

The Sixth Extinction, by Elizabeth Kolbert makes for an immersive experience. Written about the circumstance, i.e., the sixth extinction that man has driven the planet into, it makes for a fascinating read. In parts, it reminded me of Sapiens, an absolute ripper of a book by Yuval Noah Harari. Although the areas of discussion in the books overlap in a few places, the differences in perspectives and narratives allow the reader to take away different ideas from each read. In this three-part series, I will attempt to juxtapose what I saw as the major joint-takeaways from the books. 

The Sixth Extinction examines the repercussions of man's steamrolling of every possible delicate ecosystem that the planet amassed over billions of years. Kolbert is meticulous with her details, and doesn’t ease up on the rate at which she plods through fact after fact, species after species (with their scientific names). The writing is detailed and occasionally humorous, with a touch a flourish thrown in. Kolbert traipses across geographical boundaries, examining threats that various life forms-corals, rhinos, amphibians, bats among numerous others, face because of the actions of man. Unlike Haari, she does not concern herself with the evolution of the lifestyle that has led the planet into the sixth extinction. She busies herself with museum and field visits, discussions with scientists and conservationists, and with the study of endangered species. The Sixth Extinction is a demanding read, because of the sheer number of species, their lifestyles and their battles against a rapidly changing environment that she discusses. She is objective with her findings and, in spite of bleak future projections, remains hopeful for the biodiversity of the planet. 

Kolbert begins her book with a journey to Panama, where she traces the phenomenon of the Panamian golden frogs (Atelopus zeteki) dropping dead, almost as if cursed. The rate of their disappearance forces the locals to demand of the conservationists, "What happened to the frogs? We don't hear them calling anymore". The reader learns that frogs are dropping dead, across the world, even in pristine places. Kolbert handles the narrative like a proficient student of science. Journeying from the banks that mark mass graveyards of frogs, to labs (where the killer is identified as a type of fungus), Kolbert’s interactions with field biologists and conservationists make it an extraordinarily thorough, and engaging narrative; heartbreaking, but deeply engaging. She uses this specific narrative arch later on in the book as well, when she writes about the dying bats of the world.

 Sapiens, for its part, is the entire story of the human race. It traces the history of the evolution-genetic, cultural, societal and technological; of the Homo sapiens. Harari's writing is deeply enjoyable. He is witty, insightful and has no qualms in calling out the innumerable fallacies of the human race. 'Sapiens' is impeccable in its efforts. Harari travels linearly along the timeline of man, offering observations on the cultural evolution of the species-from the days of a hunter gatherer to the modern days of a coder. Sapiens is idea-driven, with Yuval Noah Harari introducing idea after astonishing idea on the human race and then proceeding to supplement them with evidence.

An example of the many interesting ideas that Harari examines, is how the evolution of the human language (among other things) led to the global dominance of the species. More important than knowing where a killer-lion licks its wounds, Harari says, it was more important for the hunter-gatherer human to “know who in their band hates whom, who is sleeping with whom, who is honest, and who is a cheat”. As a subsection of the miracle of human language, it is incredibly interesting to read that ours is the only race that is able to talk about “entire entities that have never been touched or smelled”. It isn't a shockingly new thought, one could argue, it is one that could have entered a reasonably proactive mind. But Harari doesn’t merely introduce distinct ideas; he uses multiple ideas to uncover interesting ways of examining the human race. Another key to understanding what lead to the sapiens domination is how staggeringly vast numbers of the race are willing to cooperate with each other. When Harari puts the two ideas together, of the human ability to fiercely believe in “things that don't really exist”, and the ability to cooperate in large numbers, we arrive at ideals that rule our world today-patriotism, religions, legal codes, and numerous other beliefs that dictate our lives. 

Continued in Part II

Departure

Like a lost thought
You hover in my mind-
An absent chasm that
My memory fails to find

Like a song long buried in
the sea of noise-
You're a whiff of pleasant silence
In a maddening din.

Like a gasp of fresh breath
amidst blackening smoke
I find you in my muffled chuckle.
A giggle, a choke.

But I remain lost to you.
And all that I have left
is a lost tune that craves your memory. 

Running Away

I walked by shallow puddles

My feet straying into that muddy world

Noisy mynahs screeched in huddles

Squirrels squealed, their grey skins curled

People fled past each other, afraid

That they wouldn’t be where they ought to be

Their long coats fluttered up and made

Dark waves ripple over the brown, gravelly sea.

Bricks of red walls shifted, to let

Rain conquer their entireties, ringing

Of a time when tall walls set

Aside memories of blood and frenzied singing.

Weakened colours-yellow, blue, green

Clung to their islands of metal, while

The rain fell as a shining silver screen

Gleaming with a dull sun’s smile

Clattering past huddles and weakened colours,

I flew past shivering boughs

As they waltzed, as young lovers

Nervous, with their curtsies and bows.

Umbrellas flipped up, pointing to the sky

That, greying, rumbled low

And gushed, like a shallow, fleeting sigh

And beat out a thunderous roar

I ran too, but I forget now to where.

I fled, and stumbled and fell.

The rain shuddered, and alone

we knelt, my face a telling tell.

My bloodied knee coloured the brown

My hair poured down my shoulder

As I watched you, a stranger, dust my white gown

That lay, reddening. And I grew colder

From the stillness of your warm eyes

That grew scared at the white and red

I whispered to you consoling lies.

And then you smiled and said, “-

Things that I don’t remember now as I

 Step out of the red and white

And watch it pool around my feet. My

finger, naked, has been stripped off its glinting light.

My window hides in plain sight

And only now do I see the reign

Of the pouring knives, darkening the night

With tales of unending rain.

I see in your eyes now the day that had

passed me by in a hurried lash.

Of the weakening colours and walls sad,

Of a muddy world, and a deepening gash. 

Beach House

I watched the sea, as she gushed
forwards, warming my little home
that grew weary of the tide, hushed
in the day, under the white foam

That stirred the dulling dreams
of the skies that dully gaze
at the laughing child's screams
as she ran in the salty haze.

I fear the sea, her reaching arms
draw me in, tearing me from my
home, from the loving swarms
of loud laughs and sagging sighs.

I hurry to my right
As the sea thunders in.
Under the dying moonlight,
I struggle, as do my dying kin.

I cling to the cascading sand
I hurry to my left
In the gash of my homeland,
that the waves had cleft.

And lo! it is suddenly quiet again.
And again I rush to the side.
Under a sheet of sand. And again,
my home is where I hide.

Keeping the dark away

We look out the window

Out, away from our shining light

Out, into the pining night

that draws uneven breath

The night is pitch, utter,

complete in its darkness

that hurries away when

stray light flickers on, and then

burns a soft scar

of ash, as a star

does when it streaks

across an empty sky.

Silence: she links arms,

with the night. Wily,

Their charms, slyly,

They steal past us-the bright and happy.

Who sit, in rising smoke

and laugh in the noise

that cascades around

the room. The music, the sound

Tremble when the thought

of night crawls out, and is caught

in the minds, and eyes of those

once laughing, once talking.

For who, I wonder, staring

at the black, darkening eyes,

Can flee the dizzying cries

Of a beckoning night.

So we huddle together,

to find an endless light

in some warmth that glows

as tears spill, and wine flows

Echoes of laughter in the warmth

Caught among the wires, she fell,
Her face kissing the grass that
grew lazily in the brown mud

Their giggles fell over the empty
garden, like the morning rain that
had poured hurriedly before the
sun had shone a deep yellow

Their footsteps stole across the
Meditating Grasshopper's still leaf,
and leaped over the Angry Frog's puddle,
as they fled the chasing wrath of their mother
who ran, her hair pouring down her face and
catching on the rim of her purple glasses
that glared sharply in the morning light.

On and on they ran towards the sun.
On and on she ran after them,
her ladle swinging angrily in the air,
striking surprised dragonflies that
zipped about in fumbles and stutters.

Suddenly, her footsteps stopped,
the mud beneath her feet crumbled weakly.

Their heads flipped around, their hair
windswept, pointing back, in her direction.
They slid to a stop and trudged back,
towards their mother, who drew them in
with a lilting smile that hurried them
towards her warmth, away from the
Rising sun spewing yellow into the sky.

Their laughs and footsteps now
Bounced across the muddy, green meadow,
lifting yellow butterflies up from the
Long grass, gushing past a lonely
Stream where little birds fed and flew.

I wave to them from near the stream,
they smile and wave to me, as their
feet now skip together, over grass and
Grasshopper, away from the sunny field,
and into their warm home.

Buried

The walls around me had turned the dull yellow of a windy winter morning. I let the dullness wrap herself around me. I shut my eyes to the sounds of laughs that had long since peeled away from the aging wall. I couldn’t smile, even though the image I saw in my mind was of a little girl laughing and running. Dim walls trembled under the weight of her memory. I tried to pat away the white that the crumbling wall had smeared on me. I left clouds of white swirling helplessly in the empty room. Black and grey cobwebs huddled together in the cold corners. The image was recurrent, and I wondered where to bury it. I looked around the emptiness. The house had been stripped clean of all living thoughts. The walls and floors writhed in the echoes of those who had lived, and those who had died, and those who had abandoned memories.

I shut the door behind me as I walked out of the room, out into the greying hall. It swung, without a whisper, into place. I let my feet land in the wiry webs of all things forgotten. My feet grew tired of the resistance and yearned to collapse under my weight on the dust ridden floor.

Talk to me, I thought to the blackening brown dust that lay in semi-formed spirals on the floor. They scattered under the gush of my warm breath. I wished to be forgotten like the laugh and lies, like the secrets and whispers of a past that had allowed itself to be forgotten and stowed away by the overwhelming rush of hurrying time. I wondered what to do with my wandering, drowning mind. I watched the darkness as it poured in from the cracks of windows that had long been sealed shut by the force of billowing winds and fiery heat. The rubber washers were cracked and had begun to crumble. They had spilled over the silvery rims of the window sills like powdery ash. I remembered the time when the freshly scrubbed windows had held the face of a smiling girl, clapping noisily at the kids who ran around and played. Images of happiness gain, again my smile froze in my mind. Were all my memories of happiness being strangled? Where had my laughs gone, then? I drew my limbs in closer, pulling the black snow in closer. I waited for sorrow to force silence aside and embrace me like a frenzied lover. I waited.

The walls of the forgotten house rang sharply as I laughed humorlessly when the tears didn’t pour out. Spurned, again by a lover. I had to rise to rid myself of morbidity. But how could I, when the walls chose to cling so weakly, so powerlessly? Spindly claws of webs had spiraled themselves around me. They tore pitifully as I stood up. My feet rang noisily through the house as I stumbled outwards. Everything vanished behind the brown door as I fumbled with the latch. I touched the door with my palm, my mind yearned to wrench it open, to drown again. I pressed my face to the door, feeling powdery brown dust crawl against my cheek. I whispered to hazy images of a little girl running.

 Bury me, as you did my memory, my child.