Following on from this 2022 book Travels with Trilobites, fossil collector and trilobite enthusiast Andy Secher returns with The Trilobite Collector’s Guide. Leaning fully into his background as a long-time editor of hard rock magazine Hit Parader, he here presents 52 chapters with top 10 lists that present a medley of trilobite facts and factoids. As before, this book is chock-a-block with many previously unseen colour photos of these fossilised arthropods, showcasing their tremendous morphological variation. In the spirit of this book, here are my top 10 observations on The Trilobite Collector’s Guide.

The Trilobite Collector’s Guide, written by Andy Secher, published by Columbia University Press in February 2024 (hardback, 453 pages)

1. Let others sing your praises
Travels with Trilobites featured three forewords by notable palaeontologists. For this book, Secher managed to snare no less than trilobite mastermind Richard J. Fortey, the former head of fossil arthropod research at the Natural History Museum, London, and Melanie J. Hopkins, curator of fossil invertebrates at the American Museum of Natural History, New York (where Secher co-edits their trilobite website). Hopkins provides her own top 10 reasons why you should read this book and nicely observes that “to be a truly great collector, however, is also to be an ambassador” (p. xiii). That describes Secher to a T.

2. Mind the collectors
For those who have bought Secher’s previous book, rest assured that this one has the same dimensions and sports the same font on the cover. The two make a fine pair on your bookshelf.

3. Abundant alliteration and purple prose
More so than in his previous book, Secher leans heavily on alliteration. Scanning the table of contents, alliteration abounds: “10 Significant Silurian Trilobite Localities”, “10 Eminently Elegant Trilobites”, “10 Pertinent Preparation Steps”, “10 Extravagantly Expensive Trilobites” etc. etc. In the text, too, Secher will not resist talking of “fossiliferous fascination” (p. v), “the trilobite line’s tenacious trek through time” (p. 89), websites such as eBay encouraging “auction action” (p. 307), and of “callous-causing hours spent breaking rock” (p. 417). He can occasionally go overboard on the purple prose, e.g. by describing collectors who are not intimidated by large numbers and controversial theories as people “willing to stare the great abyss of time squarely in its fanciful face” while they deal with “cerebrally challenging topics [and] scientifically scintillating theories” (p. 127). Secher is nothing if not enthusiastic, but it might not be everyone’s calcareous cup of trilobite tea.

4. Location, location, location
Something that I have only been slow to realise is that much of what we have learned in palaeontology is intimately bound to very specific locations that provide a window into a very specific period in time. For each geologic period, he features 10 notable locations all around the world (for me, the beautiful Ordovician fossils found around St. Petersburg, Russia stand out). Additional chapters highlight spectacular fossils from trilobite-hotbeds such as Morocco or Utah, or focus on famous quarries such as the Walcott/Rust quarry and Rochester Shale in New York State, or outcrops in Dudley, England.

5. No subject left behind
Next to the obvious top 10s with superlatives (the oldest, youngest, rarest, biggest, and most expensive fossils), the 52 chapters leave virtually no topic untouched. There are chapters on morphological aspects (enrollment, eyes, spines, disarticulated fragments, and soft tissue preservation), some very interesting chapters on practical aspects of the hobby (with top 10 tips on collecting, curating, preparing, and valuing your fossils), and chapters offering mini-reviews of the top 10 best books, websites, museums, and fossil shows. It feels like he has taken the long and scattershot “Trilobite Thoughts and Observations” chapter in Travels with Trilobites and fleshed it out for this book.

6. Is more always better?
Tying in with the above observation, whether more is better is a fair question to ask. At 453 pages this is a long book and some chapters struggle to set themselves apart: is there really any difference between “10 Legendary Trilobites”, “10 Strikingly Strange Trilobites”, and “10 Deserving-of-Mention Trilobites”? Chapter 44, “10 Trilobite Orders”, which lists 10 names for each order, feels like filler and could have offered a far more interesting summary of what sets each order apart from the other.

7. Lest we forget the science
Though collector interests take the lead in this book, there are sporadic injections of interesting science here. A recurrent theme is how similar or even identical trilobite species showing up in outcrops on different continents is a key observation in support of plate tectonics. Another theme is the fossilised evidence of behaviour such as enrollment, traces of predation, the famous conga-line of trilobites on the march, and so-called mass mortality plates with lots of fossils heaped on top of each other, which could have resulted from moulting or mating assemblages.

8. What mad medley
As with his previous book, the aim has been to produce a “package of pure Paleozoic entertainment” (p. 5). Secher leans heavily on fast-paced, bite-size, listicle-style content. The topics are thoroughly mixed up and he bounces between them in no particular order, making the book more suitable for dipping into than reading in long sittings.

9. Opportunities missed
Overall I feel Secher has done a good job of presenting an accessible and entertaining collection of trilobite-themed facts but, in my opinion, there are some minor opportunities that he missed. I would have liked to see a better overview of commonly found body parts and fragments in the chapter “10 Tantalizing Trilobite Teasers”. Also, many fossils are found as moults and Secher repeatedly mentions these can be recognized because they miss their free cheeks. I still do not know what that looks like in practice so some comparison photos would have been helpful. As before, the book features no references and thus has many generic and unverifiable statements about what scientists think or have disagreed about. At the other end, there are several scientific conventions that he does not explain: for instance, what do n. sp. or cf. in species names stand for? (I was unfamiliar with the latter.) And how does the species concept work for fossils?

10. Thoughts on the photography
Finally, a word about the photography as I was rather critical of this in my review of Travels with Trilobites. He has improved on it here. Somewhat. In his introduction, Secher clarifies that he is indeed the photographer. Not happy with the photos taken by a professional, he gave it a shot himself, “but I fully recognize my limitations behind the lens” (p. 7). This time around there has fortunately been no embarrassing inclusion of pixelated photos. Though many photos are nice and sharp, many are equally still notably grainy (for example the Proceratocephala specimen on p. 68) or partially out of focus. It is telling that the few photos contributed by others are noticeably better. Seeing that this is a book to be enjoyed for its visual content, I would have implored Secher to hire a professional photographer had I been his editor.

Overall, The Trilobite Collector’s Guide boils over with Secher’s enthusiasm for trilobites and it is, I must admit, rather infectious. I have been eyeing up several further books after reading his top 10 recommendations, and thus, incidentally, discovered that a second volume of the rather legendary The Back to the Past Museum Guide to Trilobites was published a few months ago. If you enjoyed his previous book, then buying this one is a no-brainer, especially given the huge amount of new photography. For those new to Secher or already in possession of other trilobite books I am a little bit more reserved in my recommendation. Given the book’s idiosyncratic format of top-10 lists, occasionally iffy photography, and rather hefty price tag of £50/$59.95 at the time of publication, you may first want to leaf through a copy in a bookshop if you have the opportunity.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

The Trilobite Collector’s Guide

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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Given my academic background, I often overlook the fact that fossils are not just objects of scientific study, but also sought-after collectables. While the previously reviewed Trilobite! by Richard Fortey focused on the former aspect, Andy Secher’s Travels with Trilobites combines an enthusiastic insider’s perspective of the world of trilobite collectors with photography of his extensive collection. This, then, is the second of a two-part dive into the world of that most enigmatic extinct creature: the trilobite.

Travels with Trilobites: Adventures in the Paleozoic, written by Andy Secher, published by Columbia University Press in July 2022 (hardback, 376 pages)

Fossil collectors come from all walks of life. Secher previously was the long-time editor of hard rock magazine Hit Parader and president of Titanium Records. While collecting trilobite fossils took a backseat during his younger years, it has become his main passion later in life and he is now a field associate in palaeontology with the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH). Having amassed over 4000 fossils, he ranks as one of the world’s most prolific collectors. As the three forewords by Niles Eldredge, Mark Norell, and Kirk Johnson reveal, he is keen to share his collection with the wider world. He has provided the AMNH with important specimens for study and display, and co-edits their trilobite website which laid the groundwork for this book.

Secher is straightforward about the book’s aim: this is “a package of pure Paleozoic infotainment” (p. xxix) that takes the reader on a journey around the world to some of the most important fossil localities. The book is organised chronologically, with five chapters for the six geological periods making up the Palaeozoic Era, 541–252 million years ago, which encompasses the ~270 million year lifespan of these arthropods. Each chapter contains multiple self-contained sections, which introduces some repetition but means the book can be read in any order.

The biology and palaeontology of trilobites are covered in short essays that are sprinkled throughout the book in no particular order and without an overarching narrative. This covers such diverse topics as their unique calcite eyes and the spines that were only properly revealed when preparation techniques improved. It covers behaviours for which we have fossil evidence (moulting and enrollment, the capacity to roll up in a ball, likely for defence) and those we can only speculate about (feeding behaviour or the possibility that some trilobites ventured onto land on tidal flats). And there is of course their part in the Cambrian Explosion and in supporting the theories of plate tectonics and punctuated equilibrium. For those new to trilobites, there is interesting information here, though having read Fortey’s book I found only a few new ideas. The book furthermore includes no references. Occasionally an author is mentioned, but more often you are left with generic statements along the lines of “some scientists think…”. Given the book’s stated aim and the author’s background, you could argue there is no reason to expect them.

“[…] the backbone of this book is the essays that introduce you to key fossil locations. This is where Secher shines and gives insider stories and insights by himself and other seasoned collectors.”

Instead, the backbone of this book is the essays that introduce you to key fossil locations. This is where Secher shines and gives insider stories and insights by himself and other seasoned collectors. He introduces famous locations such as the Canadian Burgess Shale and the Chinese Chengjiang Biota, and lesser-known ones: Australia’s Emu Bay Shale which sits between the previous two in age, Portugal’s Valongo Formation that has yielded giant trilobites, or Quebec’s hard-to-reach Anticosti Island. He takes you to hotspots in Russia and Morocco and describes in detail how local collectors go about unearthing fossils. With Secher hailing from the USA, plenty of North American locations get a good look-in. For some quarries, such as the Walcott/Rust Quarry in New York where the legendary Charles Doolittle Walcott dug for fossils, he can tell the full history from 1860 to now. Elsewhere he introduces you to some of today’s veterans, such as Bob Carroll, who single-handedly put Oklahoma’s Haragan Formation on the map and is legendary for his fossil preparation skills.

It is clear that the book benefits from the chronological structure Secher has imposed upon himself because the moment it disappears the book meanders somewhat. The final chapter is aptly called “Trilobite Thoughts and Observations” and is indeed a collection of various musings on collectors and collecting. He ponders how to find trilobites, how to value them, and how to curate your collection. He describes the bazaar atmosphere of fossil shows such as that in Tucson, Arizona. He celebrates the work of fossil preparators (there are very few books doing this), lists the museums with the best trilobite collections, and talks of colour patterns, deep time, and the role of trilobites in history. And though he touches on sore points such as restrictive legislation by countries keen to protect their natural heritage or the problem of fossil forgery in Morocco and Russia, I found such sections somewhat superficial. Many important topics are briefly introduced, but none are exhaustively or objectively analysed. With 17 topics over 70 pages, this chapter could have been edited for length and focus. Or the best topics could have been incorporated in the first five chapters instead, where e.g. forgery is already mentioned.

“The essays are livened up by some 300 colour photos […] Secher’s collection and the selected specimens are jaw-dropping […] However, this is let down somewhat by the quality of the photos.”

The essays are livened up by some 300 colour photos, primarily of specimens from Secher’s own collection. These are not intended to be an all-encompassing catalogue such as Trilobites of the World, but to showcase the incredible diversity of trilobite form. Though Secher has attempted to tie them to the subjects and locations discussed, many noteworthy pictures were left while compiling the book. He has cleverly resorted to including a photo gallery at the end of each chapter to accommodate these. Now, Secher’s collection and the selected specimens are jaw-dropping. My mental image of what a trilobite can look like has been completely scrambled and reset. However, this is let down somewhat by the quality of the photos, which is a shame as the book’s large format clearly suggests this is a book to be enjoyed for its visual content. I am not talking about the 18 photos in chapter six that are visibly pixelated: this looks like an honest if embarrassing mistake where, I guess, low-resolution placeholder images used in early drafts accidentally made it into the final version. Instead, many images of especially smaller fossils look somewhat blurry. Since no photographer is mentioned or credited anywhere, I can only assume these are Secher’s own photos. My guess is that he made close-up photos using digital zoom, which simply crops and upscales the photo and is unsuitable for print reproduction at large sizes. The book would have benefited from the involvement of a professional (macro)photographer, ideally someone familiar with focus stacking to let the pictures of three-dimensionally preserved fossils pop (these are now also partially out of focus). This is a labour-intensive process, but if you have ever seen insect macrophotography combined with focus stacking, you know these pictures jump off the page.

Some of you might wonder how this book compares to The Trilobite Book by the late Riccardo Levi-Setti, which was published in 2014 and had a similar approach though was organised geographically. Having leafed through it, the quality of the photography is noticeably better. Especially if you already have that book, you might want to first peruse a copy of Travels with Trilobites in a bookshop to make up your mind. I enjoyed Secher’s enthusiasm and the perspective he provides into a world I was not familiar with (I know of only one other recent book with input from fossil collectors and dealers). Even so, I could not help but feel that some opportunities were missed to really make this book shine.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Travels with Trilobites

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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In 2019, Princeton University Press published Fungipedia, being a brief compendium of mushroom lore. The format was clearly successful, because in 2021 they expanded the concept into a small series, adding books about flowers, birds, trees, and now dinosaurs. A further two on geology and insects are in the making. Each of these is illustrated, pocket-sized A–Z miscellanies with a hardback, cloth cover that is very giftable. In Dinopedia, palaeontologist Darren Naish has written 75 entries on dinosaurs and relevant people and places, and added a selection of his illustrations. Is October too early to start talking about stocking fillers?

Dinopedia: A Brief Compendium of Dinosaur Lore, written by Darren Naish, published by Princeton University Press in October 2021 (hardback, 195 pages)

As the preface clarifies, Naish’s vision for this book changed several times during the writing process. Initially, he wanted to discuss how the portrayal of dinosaurs in popular culture has changed over time, which sounds like a very interesting concept worth exploring further in the future. But to do so required him to introduce more and more dinosaur groups. This in turn flagged up the question of how higher-level clades are related to each other, which dinosaurs are part of which clade, and where on the tree of life they belong. This, too, could be a book in itself (and a technical one to boot, as Naish quickly realised). The reason I mention this preamble is that the resulting Dinopedia retains all these ideas. Naish almost apologetically admits that in such a short book his coverage will be limited, and his choice of topics idiosyncratic.

Reading Dinopedia it indeed quickly becomes clear that Naish is very interested in higher-level taxonomy. Out of the 75 entries, no fewer than 42 cover a major dinosaur clade. This includes ones that you would reasonably expect, such as the two historical supergroups Saurischia and Ornithischia, or the recently proposed Ornithoscelida taxon, but also emblematic taxa such as sauropods, theropods, ceratopsians, or hadrosaurs. However, Naish digs deeper than that, covering smaller taxa more familiar to specialists, such as alvarezsaurs, heterodontosaurids, rhabdodontomorphs, and turiasaurs, to name but a few examples. Most of these entries cover some biology and some history, but inevitably the descriptions turn back to taxonomical relationships.

“Reading Dinopedia it […] quickly becomes clear that Naish is very interested in higher-level taxonomy. Out of the 75 entries, no fewer than 42 cover a major dinosaur clade.”

I have two minor gripes with this approach. First is that the A–Z format of the book does not allow you to discuss groups in a logical order. For example, you will first encounter several lower-level theropod clades that are nested inside of maniraptorans, then read about coelorusaurs (a clade containing maniraptorans and other theropod clades), before you get to read about maniraptorans. Every entry does refer to other relevant entries included in the book, but you will be jumping back and forth both in the book and the family tree. Second, unless you are familiar with the terminology, it quickly becomes a flurry of group names. Especially once you start discussing nomenclatural subtleties such as the difference between Megalosauridae, Megalosauria, and Megalosauroidea (each of these is nested inside the next one). Naish does a fantastic job here in being brief and to the point when summarising group relationships and the progress in our understanding. Still, to do this justice, in my opinion, you need illustrations of family trees showing the various scenarios. Even small, in-line sketches would suffice. I hope Naish will consider this if he does get around to writing the bigger book on the evolution of dinosaur taxonomy that he envisions. Clearly he has both the knowledge to write an in-depth, technical treatment on this topic and the skill to craft it into a satisfying narrative.

The preface mentions Dinopedia is a fairly deep dive into dinosaur diversity and, I will be honest, I feel this has gone a bit at the expense of covering other topics. There are seven entries each on iconic species or genera, famous palaeontologists, and significant fossil localities. But there are only three entries each on cladistic hypotheses, biological topics such as anatomy and behaviour, significant events such as the Bone Wars or the Dinosaur Renaissance, or notable cultural expressions such as books, movies, or artwork.

Naish has chosen to highlight the more recent history of palaeontology, particularly the Dinosaur Renaissance from the 1970s onwards. He includes short biographies of living palaeontologists such as Paul Sereno, Robert Bakker (of Dinosaur Heresies-fame), or Jack Horner, all of whom played significant roles in changing how we think of dinosaurs: not as dim-witted brutes, but as smart, well-adapted creatures. Of course, an influential movie such as Jurassic Park features—deservedly so, seeing how many people it drew into the field. When it comes to books on the history of palaeontology, this recent era is not much discussed (Naish’s Great Dinosaur Discoveries being a notable exception) so this is very welcome coverage.

“When it comes to books on the history of palaeontology, [the story of the Dinosaur Renaissance] is still very much a chapter that needs to be written, so it is fantastic to see Naish make a start with it here.”

Fortunately, the book never succumbs to hero-worship. Cope and Marsh made major contributions to science but left a huge mess for other researchers to sort out, and Cope had “appaling racist and sexist” views. Naish concludes that “Cope and Marsh probably saw themselves as heroes, but I don’t think the rest of us should” (p. 31). Bakker and John Ostrom were far from the sole reason the Dinosaur Renaissance happened, argues Naish; there was much else in the air. He is similarly not afraid to voice his opinion that the small minority who continue to argue that birds are not dinosaurs, despite the mountain of evidence against it, are wasting people’s time and “that their continual gaslighting and sniping has done little more than make evolutionary science look weaker […] than it is” (p. 26). Take that, you BANDits!^[1]

The book is livened up by a selection of Naish’s illustrations. I am still undecided whether I like them or not. The close-ups on the endpapers highlight the detail of the drawings, much of which is lost in the small reproductions here. To my taste, his style of drawing works great for anatomical details such as bones, but some full-body reconstructions look a bit cartoonish to me.

Overall, Dinopedia is both a book of well-written trivia to be whipped out at a dinner party and an up-to-date primer on dinosaur diversity. Although it feels too early to already be talking affordable stocking fillers, this is a sure-fire gift for the dino fan in your life who does not need another lightweight pop-science book but would appreciate something with a bit more substance.

1. ↑ Listeners of the Tetrapod Zoology Podcast will no doubt agree this needs to be said in John Conway’s voice.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Dinopedia

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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Princeton’s Pedia Books:

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Given that we are nothing but mammals, it is perhaps understandable that humans are rather mammal-centric, something that conservation organisations capitalise on. But where palaeontology is concerned, dinosaurs get all the love. And that does early mammals little justice says Scottish palaeontologist and Palaeocast co-host Elsa Panciroli. Far from mere bit players cowering in the shadows of these “terrible lizards”, mammals have a long and rich evolutionary history that predates the dinosaurs but is poorly known outside of specialist circles. Panciroli’s debut changes all that and does so in a most readable and immersive fashion.

Beasts Before Us: The Untold Story of Mammal Origins and Evolution, written by Elsa Panciroli, published in Europe by Bloomsbury Publishing in June 2021 (hardback, 320 pages)

To pick up the tale of mammal evolution, Panciroli takes you all the way back to the Carboniferous (roughly 360–300 million years ago) when higher oxygen levels supported a land of giants. It was here that the first fish made landfall and tetrapods evolved. To get from this distant ancestor to modern mammals, you have to follow the story through groups whose names are likely unfamiliar. To help you visualise these, stylish illustrations from April Neander open each chapter, while the endpapers* provide a helpful family tree drawn by Marc Dando. These do not list all mentioned groups but do present the big picture and I found myself referring to them frequently.

Thus we get to meet the synapsids, one of which you will know: the sail-backed, no-it-is-not-a-dinosaur Dimetrodon. Synapsids included the pelycosaurs (also not dinosaurs), which gave rise to the therapsids: carnivores with more powerful jaws and a stronger bite. Some of these, including the gorgonopsians, pioneered sabre-teeth, proving later groups to be mere copy-cats. Convergent evolution is, quite literally, a recurrent theme that Panciroli mentions whenever she can get away with it. Various therapsids were also the first groups to evolve endothermy or warm-bloodedness, though “like so many of the features associated with mammals [it] emerged scattershot. It wasn’t switched on like a lightbulb, lighting up all therapsids at once” (p. 120).

As the end-Permian mass extinction wiped the slate clean, the age of reptiles had begun. But some of our mammal ancestors survived. Rising like a phoenix from the ashes were, amongst others, the dicynodonts, who would have looked you in the eye from behind tusks and a turtle-like beak. One particularly successful group, possibly because it dug burrows, was Lystrosaurus, a genus that in the early Triassic made up 90% of all vertebrates. A related group, the cynodonts, is largely responsible for the misconception that our ancestors were insignificant during the reign of the dinosaurs, as they evolved to be smaller. But this was a feature, not a bug: “With no space among the giants, they took a different route: they perfected being tiny” (p. 163). They exploited the safety of the night, became nocturnal, and developed sensitive eyes. They also lost some ribs and developed a waist, allowing for more flexibility in their locomotion—early synapsids had ribs all the way down.

“[One] group, the cynodonts, is largely responsible for the misconception that our ancestors were insignificant during the reign of the dinosaurs, as they evolved to be smaller. But this was a feature, not a bug”

The Jurassic saw groups such as tritylodontids, docodontans, and multituberculates flourish. As their names imply, these groups experimented with tooth morphology, which later became important diagnostic fossil characters. None of them left living descendants. Instead, it was the therians who were our direct ancestors, but they did not diversify until after the K–Pg boundary. Interestingly, Panciroli suggests** that it was not the dinosaurs that kept the therians in check, but competition from all the other Jurassic mammal groups. This more recent history of the adaptive radiation into modern marsupials and placental mammals is well known, so she purposefully ends the book where most others start the story of mammal evolution .

This brief exercise in name-dropping provides only a snapshot of what Panciroli discusses, and she does a far better job of it. She weaves in the history of fossil discovery and her own work at dig sites in South Africa and Scotland, or labwork at the European Synchrotron Radiation Facility in France. Next to telling the story of mammal evolution, Panciroli also takes on the task of disarming and deconstructing a large amount of cultural and linguistic baggage, with two issues standing out.

First, as part of a younger generation of scientists, Panciroli is keen to decolonise her discipline. This means acknowledging that the scientific collections on which she herself works are the spoils of empire. Our museums are filled with colonialist plunder. Especially in the first chapter, where she gives a potted history of geology and biology, she repeatedly points to the imperialist framework in which these disciplines were born and how that has shaped conventions and biases to this day. Celebrated figureheads such as Buckland, Darwin, Lyell, Cuvier, Hutton, Lamarck, Owen etc. simultaneously held ideas now considered unsavoury, and they rarely credited Indigenous knowledge or help in the acquisition of fossils. Furthermore, as a woman, she has a few things to say about diversity. Like many academic disciplines, palaeontology remains largely populated by white, Western men, and it has been hard to shake off the image of the “stereotypical male adventurer” and his “macho plundering of the past” (p. 249). Fortunately, the contributions of women are increasingly being acknowledged, and Panciroli here celebrates Polish Mesozoic mammal researcher Zofia Kielan-Jaworowska who was the first woman to lead fossil collection expeditions in Mongolia.

“[…] the long history of evolutionary theory means that outdated modes of thinking continue to permeate our language. […] Panciroli similarly uses every opportunity to remind you that evolution is not goal-directed”

Second, the long history of evolutionary theory means that outdated modes of thinking continue to permeate our language. She shudders at the term “mammal-like reptiles” still used to describe the synapsids: “This first amniote tetrapod was neither mammal nor reptile—neither of those groups had evolved yet” (p. 61). We did not evolve from reptiles, nor are they more primitive compared to us. Panciroli similarly uses every opportunity to remind you that evolution is not goal-directed: “It is random, the route forged by happenstance” (p. 57). It has proven hard to let go of the Scala Naturae, the idea of a linear series of improvements, “like an assembly-line through time” (p. 120) leading ultimately to the perfect organism: us.

This neatly leads to my last observation: Panciroli’s writing is sublime. Her prose is concise without being stunted, her visual metaphors rich without being flowery. Of the late Triassic mammals she writes: “These tiny ancestors were living microchips. They were night-vision goggles. They were fuzzy little ninjas, wielding shuriken teeth to reap their insect prey in silence and stealth” (p. 171). On the break-up of Pangaea: “After their epic 250 million-year snuggle, the continents of Earth were parting ways […] By the end of the Jurassic, the whole world was unzipping itself, with new seas and oceans splashing into the gaps” (p. 203). On the K–Pg event: “The universe drew an iridium line under things. From here on, life would be different” (p. 274). And her description of the tritylodontid herbivore niche is just beautiful: “All of the non-mammalian cynodonts had turned to dust, except for the tritylodontids […]. Natural selection had moulded them into premier leaf-grinding machines. Of course there had been synapsid herbivores before […] but those bulky predecessors were gone. In the world of crocs and dinosaurs, mammals had microscoped themselves into the understorey, and the tritylodontids were left to eat the scenery” (p. 237).

Beyond a few academic textbooks and technical monographs, the deep evolutionary history of mammals has remained largely hidden in the academic literature. Beasts Before Us unleashes their story most spectacularly and engagingly. This beautifully written debut marks Panciroli as a noteworthy new popular science author. May this be the first of many books! You might also want to check out my Q&A with Panciroli published over at the NHBS Conservation Hub.

* Illustrated endpapers are one of my favourite features in a book, and one that, I think, too few publishers and authors use.

** The paper arguing this, still in press when she wrote this book, has just been published in Current Biology.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Beasts Before Us

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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Most people might not quite realise this, but our picture of dinosaurs and other prehistoric life is largely based on a small number of very-well researched fossil localities. The Morrison Formation in the American Southwest is one example, offering a window on life during the end of the Jurassic, between 157 and 150 million years ago. Published 13 years after the 2007 first edition, the second edition of Jurassic West updates you on the latest findings and the many taxonomical advances and stands out for just how readable and comprehensive it is.

Jurassic West: The Dinosaurs of the Morrison Formation and Their World, written by John Foster, published by Indiana University Press in November 2020 (hardback, 531 pages)

This book is part of one of my favourite series, Life of the Past, and is one of several books that gives an as-complete-as-possible overview of a major fossil locality. Compared to the previously reviewed Oceans of Kansas I found this one to be more suitable for a general audience, as palaeontologist John Foster makes few assumptions as to what you might already know.

This starts with a very thorough overview of the geology and the stratigraphy of the Morrison Formation. What kinds of rocks does it consist of, what do these look like in the field, and how were they laid down? What are the names of the different rock layers; where are they, both geographically and in relation to each other; how old do we think they are; and what sort of fossils have we found in them? The many photos and diagrams help to further clarify the basic setting. Then there is the history of discoveries and the people who made them, and the descriptions of fossil quarries. I had never really appreciated how unassuming some scientifically important sites are—mere patches of dirt in the middle of nowhere.

“Foster makes few assumptions as to what you might already know, [starting] with a very thorough overview of the geology and the stratigraphy of the Morrison Formation”

These first four introductory chapters already take you to page 165 before Foster starts describing the fauna. For groups such as fish, amphibians, turtles, snakes, lizards, pterosaurs, and the many small mammals he is necessarily brief. Beyond describing the fragmentary specimens there is simply too little information to reconstruct their lifestyle and behaviour. The bulk of the book deals with the larger dinosaurs whose bones have better withstood the rigours of the fossilization process: the theropods (especially the omnipresent Allosaurus), stegosaurs, ankylosaurs, and especially the sauropods. Because we have more complete skeletons, we can say much more about what these animals were like in life. Foster’s text remains readable here, even when when he descends into technical detail, for example, the anatomical description of Diplodocus longus on page 248.

Foster makes some really interesting observations and puts forward ideas that I was not yet familiar with. For example, he points out the value of finding yet another Camarasaurus specimen: “we can’t forget that the sample sizes of most dinosaur species are pathetically small” (p. 240). And trying to understand dinosaur physiology “is not a simple matter one modern analog or another. It appears more and more likely that dinosaurs were unique” (p. 244). Foster is not afraid to admit his past errors, such as the identity of a crocodyliform mandible on page 196, or to defend views that are not shared by everyone. He thinks that diplodocids did not habitually rear up on their hindquarters to browse vegetation in the treetops, an idea put forward by Hallett and Wedel in The Sauropod Dinosaurs. Or the view that most suspected gastroliths (stones that are swallowed by animals to help in mechanical digestion of food in the stomach) that have been found in the Morrison Formation are more likely pebbles that were deposited by currents.

Another aspect I understood better after reading this book is that of taxonomy and nomenclature. The way we name living biological species differs from the nomenclatural rules for fossils. Given how fragmentary the fossilised bones are that palaeontologists sometimes have to work with, it is not uncommon to apply a tentative name, a nomen dubium, only to later collapse it as more material becomes available. Foster shows the relevance of such seemingly rarefied discussions by examining the validity of Amphicoelias altus which he thinks is a large Diplodocus. If he is right, nomenclatural priority rules mean “we’d be faced with switching all of our museum Diplodocus labels to Amphicoelias” (p. 258).

“The most exciting aspect of Jurassic West is that it is more than a large catalogue of specimens and localities [and] digs into the palaeoecology,”

The most exciting aspect of Jurassic West is that it is more than a large catalogue of specimens and localities. After 140 years of collecting we have so much information that compiling it all—a laborious job, as Foster explains—can bring fascinating insights. Chapter 7 thus digs into the palaeoecology, looking at species diversity, the distribution over different dietary guilds (herbivores, carnivores etc.), the distribution of weight and size, the geographic spread of species, and the shape of food webs. And he does so while being mindful of how these conclusions can be distorted by gaps in the rock record and the unevenness with which certain time periods have been explored in quarries. The 48-page appendix with localities of all vertebrate fossils used in the book will in itself be a goldmine for scientists.

A few final words of praise. Foster infuses his writing with the occasional touch of well-placed humour, such as when taking Tyrannosaurus rex down a notch: “in truth it has only one appeal: that it’s a big walking head with huge teeth […] I’ve always found the unusual ornamentation of a stegosaur skeleton far more interesting” (p. 280). He even engages in a bit of speculative fiction with the final chapter, which imagines what it would be like to trek through the area of the Morrison Formation during the Jurassic. Also noteworthy are the book’s production values: Jurassic West is a chunky book with a case-printed hardcover that is chock-a-block with illustrations, photos, and diagrams. I liked the drawings by Thomas Adams, although I did think his reconstructions suffered a bit from what palaeoartists call shrink-wrapping: drawing the skin to fit tightly around the bones. I also was particularly taken by the illustrations by Brian Engh in the last chapter.

If you bought the first edition of Jurassic West I would strongly advise you to check out this new edition and consider the upgrade: new finds, new taxa, new or reworked figures, updated taxonomy, reanalyses of existing data, reassessment of old conclusions—this is a significant reworking of the original. If you did not buy the first edition, then you have no excuse. Jurassic West is a fantastic addition to this long-running series and really brings to life both the animals of this time and the science behind it. Will he update his previous book Cambrian Ocean World for a second edition next? We can but hope, but I would be first in line to read it.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Jurassic West (2nd edition)

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

The deep past harbours many events, epochs, and places that are still a mystery to me. Case in point: once upon a time, North America was cut in half by an enormous ocean. Something I was only dimly aware of. Luckily, Indiana University Press’s flagship palaeontology series Life of the Past has just the book to remedy that. I may be three years late to the party, but this 2017 book provides all the details one could ask for, and then some.

Oceans of Kansas: A Natural History of the Western Interior Sea, written by Michael J. Everhart, published by Indiana University Press in July 2017 (hardback, 427 pages)

The title of this book is possibly why I initially overlooked it. The Western Interior Sea bisected North America from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic, covering far more than the state of Kansas. But since the author Michael J. Everhart (the Adjunct Curator of Paleontology at the Sternberg Museum of Natural History in Hays, Kansas) has spent his professional career in Kansas, and the pickings here are particularly good, Oceans of Kansas it is. It was one of many ancient oceans: bodies of water that no longer exist due to plate tectonics, changes in sea-level, or both (see my review of Earth History and Palaeogeography). Where, for instance, the Tethys Ocean closed over time, land uplift and retreating water left the Western Interior Sea high and dry but very much in place. This is why you can find fossils of ancient fish, turtles, and marine reptiles in what are now the Great Plains of North America.

The first two chapters introduce the location and the history of the discovery of this inland sea. Although the book takes regular excursions, the focus is squarely on the Cretaceous rock record in Kansas, spanning about 30 million years, and within that specifically on the Smoky Hill Chalk. This was deposited when microscopic shelled creatures lived and died over some 5 million years, blanketing the bottom of the Western Interior Sea with marine sediment that turned into chalk. It is this particular layer that offers a unique window into life between 87 to 82 million years ago.

“[…] land uplift and retreating water left the Western Interior Sea high and dry but very much in place. This is why you can find fossils of ancient fish, turtles, and marine reptiles in what are now the Great Plains of North America.”

The bulk of the book systematically details all the relevant taxonomic groups. It was a world where the sea bottom was blanketed with inoceramid clams while overhead the large marine fauna took centre stage. There were sharks in many sizes, including terrifyingly large Ginsu sharks (genus Cretoxyrhina) that left scratches and bite marks on, and sometimes even teeth embedded in, the bones of numerous other animals. But also unusual shell-crushing sharks (genus Ptychodus) with knobbly, dome-shaped teeth. There were numerous fish, including the enormous 5.5 m Xiphactinus, fanged fish (genus Enchodus), and Saurodontid fish with a sword-shaped lower jaw. Turtles shared the waters with a riot of other large marine reptiles: the plesiosaurs, divided into the long-necked elasmosaurids and the short-necked pliosaurids, and the massive mosasaurs, the top predators of this realm. Especially that last group is well portrayed here, providing a welcome update to the now fairly dated 1997 book Ancient Marine Reptiles and the 2005 book Sea Dragons. There is enough fossil material here for Everhart to include a well-informed natural history section, while the colour plates by the late Dan Varner provide some welcome eye candy.

For other groups, the information is scanter. Ammonites and related cephalopods must have populated these waters, but fossilised remains are few as their aragonite shells readily dissolved. There are the occasional remains of pteranodons, although these flying reptiles probably did not fly hundreds of miles to the middle of the Western Interior Sea to forage here. Everhart conjectures these were the victims during long-distance migrations. There were toothed seabirds of the genera Hesperornis and Ichthyornis, two branches of the bird family tree that are now extinct. And there are rare dinosaur remains. How they got there? The clue is in the title of a wonderful 2012 paper: Float, explode or sink: postmortem fate of lung-breathing marine vertebrates – these are the remains of carcasses washed out to sea.

“terrifyingly large Ginsu sharks […] left scratches and bite marks on, and sometimes even teeth embedded in, the bones of numerous other animals”

This brief natural history sketch is gleaned from fossils, and they are the focus of this book. Everhart provides museum accession numbers and exacting details on what animal parts were found when and where, who dug them up, who described them, and how taxonomic redescriptions means fossil specimens have sometimes been known by three or four different names since their discovery.

Take for example the mosasaur species currently known as Tylosaurus kansaensis. The type specimen (FHSM VP-2295) was originally collected in 1968 and identified as “Clidastes or Tylosaurus” when it was exhibited at the Sternberg Museum of Natural History in Kansas. Over the ensuing decades it was renamed Platecarpus, then T. nepaeolicus, then downgraded to the generic Tylosaurus n. sp. (short for new species). When the author and his colleagues examined the specimen in 1990, they agreed it was something else after all and named it T. kansaensis in 2005. This paper was criticised, claiming that T. kansaensis could not be separated from T. nepaeolicus and was a juvenile form of it. Everhart disagrees and that is where this particular matter rests for now. It makes me wonder: is there a central database to keep track of all these name changes?

Thus, Oceans of Kansas is not a very difficult or overtly technical book, but it is highly detailed. These kinds of minutiae are probably of limited interest to the general reader, but they are the hard currency of aspiring and practising palaeontologists. I always like to clarify that this remark is not intended as a criticism but as an observation of the level a book is pitched at – good to know going in. That said, it is not a dry read and Everhart livens it up by opening each chapter with a fictionalised account of “a day in the life of…”, and tells of curious historical incidents, backstories to remarkable fossils, and his personal experiences collecting in the field.

“Oceans of Kansas is […] highly detailed. These kinds of minutiae are probably of limited interest to the general reader, but they are the hard currency of aspiring and practising palaeontologists. “

Two things, in particular, emerged while reading Oceans of Kansas. First is a revealing look into the history of palaeontology. Not surprisingly, the infamous rivalry between O.C. Marsh and E.D. Cope features here. But others are equally important to the story of the Western Interior Sea: Joseph Leidy, Benjamin F. Mudge, Samuel W. Williston, and the Sternberg family. One thing that bedevils research to this day is the lack of stratigraphical data for older specimens, something that was not considered particularly important at the time! It was not until 1982 that E.D. Hattin produced an accurate chronostratigraphy based on numerous thin layers of residual volcanic ash deposits found in the Smoky Hill Chalk. This has allowed more precise dating of fossils.

Second is what this book reveals about palaeontology as a discipline. I already mentioned the confusing tangle of taxonomic name changes. Then there is the large amount of undescribed material lingering in museum collections. Everhart repeatedly writes, rather casually, how specimens collected sometimes a century ago are only now studied and described (I called this the dirty secret of natural history museums in my review of The Lost Species). The book also made me appreciate again just how fragmentary and haphazard the material is with which palaeontologists work. Much of the seafloor of the Western Interior Sea was exposed to erosion millions of years ago already, and thus no longer exists. So much information has been lost to time that it is a miracle that Everhart and his many colleagues have been able to reveal this much through their diligent work.

“The book made me appreciate again just how fragmentary and haphazard the material is with which palaeontologists work. […] it is a miracle that Everhart and his many colleagues have been able to reveal this much.”

Two final observations. The first thing you will notice when picking up this book is its sheer weight: the large trim size and thick paper stock make this book a lot heavier than you would expect for 400 pages. But this has been put to good use as the book is liberally illustrated with about 220 photos and drawings. Some weight could have been saved at the end of the book as references are given separately for each chapter, duplicating many of them. The second thing to note is that the first edition of Oceans of Kansas was published in 2005. I have not read it, but in the current preface, Everhart explains with some satisfaction how this second edition allowed him to finish what he started. Next to the obvious updates and new findings in the intervening twelve years, the first edition left out material that he wanted to include, but could not due to deadlines and publication schedules. This is a valuable update.

Like other site-specific books in the Life of the Past series (e.g. Mesozoic Sea Dragons, Dinosaurs of Darkness, and Jurassic West) Oceans of Kansas synthesizes a huge amount of information and is the definitive reference work to this time and place. It is thanks to scientists such as Everhart who dedicate their career to the exacting study of localised fossil-rich sites that we can a get glimpse into deep history.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Oceans of Kansas (2nd edition) hardback or ebook

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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What is better than a good dinosaur story? How about 25 of them? Geologist and palaeontologist Donald R. Prothero returns to Columbia University Press for the third book in this format. Having covered fossils and rocks, he now serves up 25 fascinating vignettes of famous dinosaurs and the people who discovered them.

The Story of the Dinosaurs in 25 Discoveries: Amazing Fossils and the People Who Found Them, written by Donald R. Prothero, published by Columbia University Press in July 2019 (hardback, 488 pages)

Prothero here has both chronology and dinosaur taxonomy by which to organise his chapters, starting in Britain with the very first dinosaur discoveries. He tells of Gideon Mantell and Iguanodon, Richard Owen (who founded what is now the London Natural History Museum) and Cetiosaurus, as well as the first dinosaurs in America. And no book taking the historical perspective would be complete without the infamous “Scrotum humanum“.

The remainder of the book is carved up in sections dealing with the long-necked sauropods, the carnivorous theropods, and the horned, spiked, armoured, and beaked ornithischians. This includes everyone’s favourites (Stegosaurus, Diplodocus, Tyrannosaurus, Triceratops) and other lesser-known species that have been very influential scientifically.

“[…] you get far more than just 25 dinosaurs here. Many vignettes are mini-reviews of whole dinosaur families, bringing you up to speed on recent developments in palaeontology.”

But you get far more than just 25 dinosaurs here. Many vignettes are mini-reviews of whole dinosaur families, bringing you up to speed on recent developments in palaeontology. So, the chapter on Patagotitan from Argentina reviews the family tree of the sauropods, while the chapter on Giganotosaurus does the same for the theropods. The one on Deinocheirus explains more about the bizarre herbivorous(!) theropod therizinosaurs, and the chapter on Sinosauropteryx digs into feather evolution. Of course, with a field so vast, you cannot cover everything – the size of encyclopedic reference works such as The Dinosauria or The Complete Dinosaur should give anyone cause for a double-take. Even so, I was secretly mildly disappointed that the chapter on ankylosaurs did not profile the wonderful work of Canadian palaeontologist Victoria Arbour on tail club evolution (see also episode 53 of the Palaeocast podcast).

What did enthuse me as soon as I read the book’s flap text was the promise of a “clear and rigorous look at what palaeontologists consider sound interpretation of evidence”. Would I like to know more about how we know what we know? Yes please! A substantial part of that consists of nomenclatural issues. Early scholars often named species and genera based on scrappy and fragmentary fossils, something that reached a fever pitch during the so-called Bone Wars (more on that below). With time and more discoveries, many such names are now considered invalid or synonymous when material described as several species actually belonged to one species. This covers the famous case of Apatosaurus / Brontosaurus – the latter technically not valid – but also cases probably only know to palaeontologists. Is Torosaurus is a species proper, or a just a mature specimen of Triceratops? The consensus leans towards the former.

“Early scholars often named species and genera based on scrappy and fragmentary fossils, something that reached a fever pitch during the so-called Bone Wars […] many such names are now considered invalid or synonymous “

It is not all nomenclature though, there is plenty of attention for the biology. Why sauropods were not aquatic, and how we can estimate their size and mass. What evidence led to the realisation that dinosaurs were not sluggish, tail-dragging reptiles and how we figured out their posture. How we became convinced that birds descended from theropod dinosaurs and how amazing fossils revealed (proto)feathers on many. Or how we know more about metabolism, reproduction, growth and maturation, and even skin colour! There is an awful lot of very educational material woven into this book, with a balanced overview of ongoing discussions and different schools of thought. And Prothero deals out some healthy correctives where popular media and movies have been getting the science all wrong.

A starring role is reserved for the colourful cast of characters who dug up and described all these dinosaurs, both fossil hunters and palaeontologists. This includes, of course, O.C. Marsh and E.D. Cope and their fierce rivalry known as the Bone Wars. Museum staff whose names I encountered while reviewing Assembling the Dinosaur and American Dinosaur Abroad. Fossil hunters such as workaholic John Bell Hatcher, the eccentric Austro-Hungarian Baron Franz Nopcsa, the flamboyant Roy Chapman Andrews who led a series of ambitious expeditions into the heartland of Mongolia in the 1920s, or Barnum Brown. But also researchers who have yet to be the subject of a biography and are therefore less well known to the general public, such as José Bonaparte, who through exceedingly hard work has single-handedly put Argentina on the palaeontological map. Their stories and adventures are worth the price of admission alone.

“A starring role is reserved for the colourful cast of characters, both fossil hunters and palaeontologists, […] Their stories and adventures are worth the price of admission alone.”

The book is liberally illustrated with black-and-white photos and drawings, both historical and contemporary. As with his previous book, this works for most illustrations, but some are either too dark or too drab (the reconstructions by Nobu Tamura would have been better off reproduced in colour). There are photos of amazing museum displays that I would love to see myself one day (the wall of not-yet-excavated dinosaur bones in Utah’s Dinosaur National Monument Quarry Visitors Center, or the wall of skulls showing the ceratopsian family tree at the Utah Museum of Natural History). Not to mention the photos of exceptionally preserved fossils (the nodosaur mummy retrieved from Alberta’s tar sands beggars belief!)

The Story of Dinosaurs in 25 Discoveries bubbles over with the same love for the field that characterised Brusatte’s The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs and Benton’s The Dinosaurs Rediscovered, making it a must-read for dinosaur enthusiasts. You might think that with three books Prothero’s approach is becoming formulaic (indeed, a fourth book, The Story of Evolution in 25 Discoveries, has already been announced for later this year), but when a formula is this well-executed, I, for one, am hungrily eyeing up the next book.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

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The Story of the Dinosaurs in 25 Discoveries hardback or ebook

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Having just reviewed Nieuwland’s American Dinosaur Abroad, historian Lukas Rieppel’s book Assembling the Dinosaur seemed like a logical choice to read next. Whereas the former focused on the plaster casts of a Diplodocus skeleton that American business tycoon Andrew Carnegie donated to museums, Rieppel takes in a far wider sweep of history, studying the role of dinosaurs in America’s Long Gilded Age – the period from roughly 1880 to the Great Depression in 1929. This scholarly work charts the entanglement of economic transformation, notably the rise of large corporations, with the rise of palaeontology and changes in size, scope, and management of museums. Readers with an interest in the history of palaeontology will be particularly well-served by this book.

Assembling the Dinosaur: Fossil Hunters, Tycoons, and the Making of a Spectacle, written by Lukas Rieppel, published by Harvard University Press in June 2019 (hardback, 325 pages)

Rieppel takes the summer of 1877 as the starting point of his book. Three separate quarries in the American West yielded some of the largest and most complete dinosaur fossils so far. This was a very interesting and short-lived period in which independent frontiersmen were swarming across the country during the mining boom, with railway construction following in their wake. Fossils were treated like other mining commodities, to be traded for cash with interested naturalists. This led to protracted negotiations and the risk of fraud and embellishment of fossils finds to boost their value. It was also a period that would not last long.

The reason for this was the rise of a new breed of large natural history museums that mounted their own fossil-collecting expeditions. Where did these suddenly come from? This is where Rieppel clarifies what he means by the entanglement of science and capitalism. A wave of mergers and acquisitions irrevocably altered the American business landscape at the beginning of the twentieth century, with many small, family-owned businesses being consolidated into far fewer, far larger corporations. Business magnates running these corporations funnelled some of their new wealth into philanthropic activities, including museums. And vertebrate palaeontology was a topic that was both a crowd-pleaser and one that, when done right, had an air of sophistication.

Rieppel first turns to the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH). Backed by American banker J.P. Morgan, it made a huge publicity splash in 1905 with the mounted skeleton of a Brontosaurus. This event is Rieppel’s starting point for a history of this museum, from the ideas leading to its founding in 1869 up to this exhibition. But rather than the particulars, what makes this story so interesting is the wider context that Rieppel provides. At the time, the AMNH was competing against so-called dime museums whose exhibitions were far more lurid, including freaks of nature, pickled medical specimens with anatomical deformities, or outright fakes such as mermaids. Furthermore, they pioneered the idea of a museum being both a public venue and an institute of learning and scientific research. The 1905 exhibition was the stimulus for Andrew Carnegie to ask the director of his Pittsburgh museum to find a similar sauropod skeleton. This is the subject of chapter 3 of this book and my review of Nieuwland’s book American Dinosaur Abroad.

“Business magnates […] funnelled some of their new wealth into philanthropic activities, including museums. And vertebrate palaeontology was a topic that was both a crowd-pleaser and one that, when done right, had an air of sophistication.”

This theme of tension between what a museum could be and the reality in the face of competition is further explored in the last chapter. Dinosaurs were also hugely popular in movies, print publications, and amusement parks, all of which took liberties with their portrayal. Museums tried to set themselves apart by stressing how their ideas were informed by the latest science. Yet the desire to attract audiences with spectacular displays led to tensions with the scientific community, who struggled with the authenticity of displays (often cobbled together from different fossil skeletons) and the difficulties of deducing real-life posture from fragmentary fossil material.

Another case of corporate and scientific entanglement is the chapter where Rieppel examines the day-to-day operations in these new large museums, showing how they mimicked corporate management practices. He examines how dig sites were more carefully documented on grid maps, how material in transit was labelled and databased in ledgers and filing systems (computers were still far in the future), and how curators tried to conserve as much information as possible about the context in which fossils were found. With well-funded expeditions bringing in huge quantities of material, some sort of oversight was vital to make sense of the data pouring into museums.

Although most of the book is careful historical documentation, chapter 5 sees Rieppel do his own share of reinterpretation. While various authors have argued that museum exhibitions of this era (showing fearsome dinosaurs engaged in epic struggle) were symbolic for the rise of capitalism and economic survival of the fittest, Rieppel argues the opposite: their extinction was a symbol of a bygone era. In the same way that the extinction of the dinosaurs had allowed the rise of mammals (which according to the zeitgeist were obviously superior), so the economic elite was forging a narrative justifying their rise to power, using vertebrate palaeontology exhibits as part of this. Or so, in short, goes his argument here.

“Another case of corporate and scientific entanglement is the […] day-to-day operations in these new large museums [which] mimicked corporate management practices.”

A short concluding chapter examines what happened to the interest in dinosaurs after the Great Depression almost brought these philanthropic museums to their knees. Although it mentions the dinosaur heresies kicked off by Robert Bakker and others, it focuses foremost on the spectacular feathered fossil finds from China and the insight that birds descended from dinosaurs.

I concluded my review of American Dinosaur Abroad by writing that, together with King of the Dinosaur Hunters, these books form a recent triptych of palaeontology at the turn of the 19th century. Of these three, Rieppel’s book is by far the most scholarly, though the conclusions at each chapter’s end are very helpful. It is also a book that is not exclusively about dinosaurs as Rieppel brings a broad perspective to the topic – his thorough and useful notes often read like mini-literature reviews. I have only touched upon a handful of the many fascinating observations and ideas in this book. Readers with an interest in science history, museology, and the history of palaeontology are well-served by this book.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

Assembling the Dinosaur hardback, ebook, audiobook or audio CD

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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If you visited the London Natural History Museum sometime before 2015 you will have been greeted by the skeleton of a sauropod dinosaur: a plaster cast of Diplodocus affectionately nicknamed Dippy. Dippy has left the building but is not the only such cast in existence. Historian Ilja Nieuwland here traces the little-known history of the philanthropic campaign that saw Scottish-born business magnate Andrew Carnegie donate plaster casts to museums around the world. Drawing on a wealth of archival material, he examines Carnegie’s reasons and the response of the recipients and the general audience, adding a valuable and surprisingly interesting chapter to the history of palaeontology as a discipline.

American Dinosaur Abroad: A Cultural History of Carnegie’s Plaster Diplodocus, written by Ilja Nieuwland, published by the University of Pittsburgh Press in April 2019 (hardback, 318 pages)

This book slots in beautifully with several recent books on the history of American palaeontology around the turn of the 19th century. Carnegie’s campaign is part of a larger story of business tycoons using dinosaur fossils to impress and I am reviewing this book back-to-back with Lukas Rieppel’s Assembling the Dinosaur. Furthermore, this book starts off pretty much where the biography of American fossil collector John Bell Hatcher ended. One of the last things Hatcher did before his death was to contribute to making the first plaster cast that Carnegie would donate.

But let us back up a little. Who was Andrew Carnegie, and why was he handing out plaster casts of dinosaurs as if they were going out of fashion? There are several biographies, but Nieuwland draws heavily on Nasaw’s monstrously large 900-page book, simply called Andrew Carnegie. In very short, Carnegie was born in Scotland in 1835, after which his family emigrated to Pennsylvania when he was 12. His career is the classic rags-to-riches story: making his fortunes first in oil and then in steel production, he rapidly became one of the world’s wealthiest people. Not content to just swim in the money, he retired early and set off on a programme of philanthropy, funding museums, the arts, and especially libraries (some 2,500 of them, apparently!) He was particularly keen to resolve global conflict through the creation of an international tribunal. To that end, he mingled, and loved to be seen mingling, with politicians and royalty. Carnegie’s philanthropic activities thus served an ulterior motive.

“Who was Andrew Carnegie, and why was he handing out plaster casts of dinosaurs as if they were going out of fashion?”

In 1886, Carnegie funded the building of a library in his hometown of Pittsburgh, which brought him in contact with William Jacob Holland, the chancellor of the local university. Holland urged Carnegie to think bigger and the library turned into a number of scientific institutes, including ultimately The Carnegie Museum of Natural History, headed by Holland. And this is where Diplodocus enters the story.

The infamous Bone Wars between Edward Drinker Cope and Othniel Charles Marsh had at this point died down somewhat and had yielded large sauropod fossils. A shift in power was taking place in palaeontology from individual scientists to large institutes financed by wealthy patrons such as Carnegie who used palaeontology as a public relations exercise. And Carnegie was keen to get himself one of those newfangled sauropods for his museum, to compete with displays in other museums. It was Hatcher who found and described Diplodocus carnegii while employed by Holland and Carnegie.

A chance visit by the English king Edward VII to the Carnegie household in Skibo, Scotland, resulted in what Nieuwland dryly describes as “His Majesty notices a drawing”. Yes, the King would very much like one of these skeletons for the British Museum. Carnegie wasted no time and after deliberation with Holland, the latter suggested that making a cast might be more feasible than trying to find another complete specimen in the field. And while we are at it, Holland suggested, we could make multiple casts and give them to other heads of state. And so it came to pass.

“A chance visit by the English King Edward VII to the Carnegie household […] resulted in what Nieuwland dryly describes as “His Majesty notices a drawing”. Yes, the King would very much like one of these skeletons for the British Museum.”

From here on Nieuwland’s book proceeds largely chronologically. While the original went on display in Pittsburgh, the first cast was unveiled very successfully in London in 1903, followed over the next decade by Germany, France, an attempt in Brazil that never materialised, Austria, Italy, Russia, Argentina, Spain, and, two decades later, Mexico. Nieuwland goes into great detail here, mining historical archives, correspondence, and newspaper articles to reveal how these gifts were received, what the media had to say about them, and how they played into the contemporary imagination in satire, art, and journalism.

I admit I was initially a bit sceptical about the book’s pitch: how interesting can it be to read about the history of a plaster cast? As it turns out, really interesting. Nieuwland has a knack for presenting a lively and atmospheric picture of the 19th century. His introduction sets the tone when he ruefully remarks that: “This was perhaps the last time in human history in which unfettered trust in scientific method and advances could be considered commonplace, and one in which the pursuit of scientific knowledge carried a prestige it never regained.” Rare period photographs liven up Nieuwland’s narrative further.

“Once [Carnegie’s] requirement – that the request for a cast was publicly communicated by a head of state – was met, the actual gifting and unveiling of the cast was a formality left to Holland and his team to sort out. “

The Diplodocus casts, however, are but a token in this story. It was interesting to see how subsequent unveilings went mostly little reported and hardly noticed. The Parisians, who absolutely adored “their” Diplodocus, are the exception and stand in stark contrast to the Austrians who felt the cast was almost foisted upon them. But this did not bother Carnegie in the least, they were just a means to an end. Once his requirement – that the request for a cast was publicly communicated by a head of state – was met, the actual gifting and unveiling of the cast was a formality left to Holland and his team to sort out. And even receiving heads of state were usually not present here. Partially the novelty of these donations quickly wore off, partially newer and larger fossils demanded attention (Germany, for example, unearthed large fossils in East Africa).

Similarly, the biology of Diplodocus is not the focus of this story (readers can refer to Biology of the Sauropod Dinosaurs and The Sauropod Dinosaurs instead), nor was it something that particularly interested Carnegie. Nieuwland describes his book as an “object biography”. The one episode where the science intersects with these casts was when American palaeontologist Oliver Perry Hay started questioning its life reconstruction, arguing for a more reptilian, sprawling posture. This argument was enthusiastically embraced in Germany and nearly resulted in a diplomatic spat between the US and Germany over whose approach to palaeontology was superior, combining scientific with political and ideological arguments. The period Nieuwland describes here is also of interest to palaeontologists as this is where the idea of sauropods living an aquatic lifestyle was seriously, though not universally, considered. Despite what some seem to think, that idea has now been thoroughly discredited.

American Dinosaur Abroad offers a fascinating and well-researched look into palaeontology at the turn of the 19th century, and how interest in dinosaurs reverberated, and was used, outside of scientific circles. If you have any interest in the history of palaeontology as a discipline this book shines a light on a little-known episode. And while you are it, I highly recommend you pick up King of the Dinosaur Hunters and Assembling the Dinosaur. The three form a perfect triptych.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

American Dinosaur Abroad hardback or ebook

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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“The Dinosaurs Rediscovered: How a Scientific Revolution is Rewriting History”, written by Michael J. Benton, published by Thames & Hudson in April 2019 (hardback, 320 pages)

If this sounds familiar, indeed, when I reviewed Steve Brusatte’s book The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs: The Untold Story of a Lost World, I praised the enviable ease with which he explained modern methodologies. Now, with all due respect to Brusatte (and I really, really enjoyed his book), Benton has almost 30 years on him. Next to having authored standard textbooks such as Vertebrate Palaeontology (currently in its fourth edition) and co-authored Introduction to Paleobiology and the Fossil Record (currently in its second edition), he is also the series editor for Wiley-Blackwell’s textbook series Topics in Paleobiology, and he has previously authored When Life Nearly Died: The Greatest Mass Extinction of All Time with Thames & Hudson, dealing with the end-Permian mass extinction. With a career spanning some four decades, if anyone can comment first-hand on the evolution of the field, it is Benton.

After a brief introduction on how scientific discoveries are made, and a short foray into the philosophy of science, the bulk of the book consists of nine chapters documenting areas where palaeontology has been revolutionised. Partially by new fossil finds, but, much more importantly, by new tools, new technologies, more powerful computers, lateral thinking, and interdisciplinary approaches.

Benton’s opening of the book is perhaps slightly risky, as he has put the most technical chapters first. There is the question of when the dinosaurs first evolved. After the giants of the Paleozoic went extinct (see my last review of Carboniferous Giants and Mass Extinction: The Late Paleozoic Ice Age World), did the dinosaurs opportunistically explode onto the scene, or did other reptile groups slowly fade with dinosaurs taking over the proverbial relay race? New computational tools have pushed the origin story further back in time, but have also shown that both explanations have something going for it.

“Ancient DNA may have revolutionised archaeology […], but Benton explains why we shouldn’t expect Jurassic Park to become reality anytime soon.”

Similarly, the picture of the dinosaur family tree benefited first from the cladistic revolution, which saw a different way of thinking about classifying species, collecting and analysing as many informative characters as possible to determine relationships. Then, with access to supercomputers, Benton and his team have been involved in producing an all-encompassing family tree, a so-called supertree (which you can explore in all its glory here), revealing how the dinosaur lineage diversified rapidly early on, but the rate of speciation slowed down after that. That things never stay still was shown only recently with Baron et al.‘s 2017 Nature paper that proposed some radical changes to the family tree (for an accessible take on it, see Darren Naish’s blog post at Scientific American).

If this is all a bit technical, despair not, the remainder of the book deals with more “mundane” questions your typical six-year-old might ask. Excavation techniques might have changed little since the dawn of the discipline, but imaging tools such as photogrammetry have revolutionised what palaeontologists can document at a dig site, while CT scanning offers a non-destructive technique afterwards to image what you have dug up. And new microscopy techniques, together with some fantastically preserved fossils, have revealed much about the colour of dinosaurs (and hey, feathers!).

“What really helps this book shine are the illustrations. Thames & Hudson […] has redrawn many of them specifically for this book.”

Ancient DNA may have revolutionised archaeology (see my review of Who We Are and How We Got Here: Ancient DNA and the New Science of the Human Past), but Benton explains why we shouldn’t expect Jurassic Park to become reality anytime soon. Nevertheless, even without dinosaurs stomping around here and now, we have learned so much about how they lived. Bone histology and X-ray imaging have revealed growth rates, while finite element analysis (a method borrowed from structural engineers who use it to stress-test designs of bridges and buildings on computers) has allowed calculations of bite forces and how dinosaurs ate, while analyses of microwear on tooth surfaces (see my reviews of The Tales Teeth Tell: Development, Evolution, Behavior and Evolution’s Bite: A Story of Teeth, Diet, and Human Origins) has shed light on their diet. Biomechanical computations and careful analyses of trackways tell us more about their posture, how they moved, whether they could run, and what the deal is with them flying, or at least flapping about.

And there is, of course, the always fascinating topic of their extinction. Benton has first-hand seen the rise and rise of the Alvarez asteroid impact hypothesis (see T. rex and the Crater of Doom and my review of The Ends of the World: Volcanic Apocalypses, Lethal Oceans and Our Quest to Understand Earth’s Past Mass Extinctions), despite the initial pushback from the uniformitarian crowd (see my review of Cataclysms: A New Geology for the Twenty-First Century), and he provides a great overview of why this idea has become so widely accepted. Even here, facts move quicker than book publishing can keep up, and the reveal (not two weeks ago!) of a site potentially recording the direct aftermath of the impact has raised eyebrows around the world (see DePalma et al.‘s PNAS paper and the accompanying article in The New Yorker). And it probably has more than one palaeontologist fervently hoping this is not an elaborate hoax. I am cautiously optimistic so far – this could be mindblowing, but let’s see more hard proof first.

“[Benton] convinces that now is a very exciting time, indeed, to be a palaeontologist. I can’t wait to see what surprises lie in store in the near future.”

In addition to Benton’s accessible writing, what helps this book shine are the illustrations. I regularly bemoan how few publishers get this right; complex figures are reproduced directly from their source in greyscale so you can’t tell apart the different lines and symbols in graphs, they are often too small, or the source material is so poor that resolution suffers or compression artefacts are visible. Not this book. Thames & Hudson is obviously known for their illustrated books, and checking the illustration credits suggests that their in-house art studio (?) has redrawn many of them specifically for this book. This in addition to two colour plate sections and some really nice species profiles. A job well done, and I wish more publishers went to this effort.

The Dinosaurs Rediscovered is easy to recommend. Benton’s enthusiasm is infectious, and his skill at packing so many exciting developments in this book speaks of his deep involvement in this field. He provides a fantastic overview of the revolutions in palaeontology over the last few decades and convinces that now is a very exciting time, indeed, to be a palaeontologist. I can’t wait to see what surprises lie in store in the near future.

Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.

The Dinosaurs Rediscovered paperback or hardback or ebook

Other recommended books mentioned in this review:

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The wonderfully informative Topics in Paleobiology series:

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