Sunday, January 13, 2008

SCOTT OF THE ANTARCTIC By David Crane | Vintage. 578 pp. $16.95

The British explorer Robert Falcon Scott is one of those historical figures better known for his failures than his accomplishments. His ill-fated expedition to the South Pole -- in which he was beaten to the goal by Roald Amundsen and then died on his return journey -- has been chronicled in numerous books and on film. Along the way, his reputation has taken a beating. In Scott of the Antarctic, David Crane takes issue with the "historical process that has shrunk the rich, complex and deeply human set of associations that once clustered round his story into an allegory of arrogance, selfishness and moral stupidity." Crane turns a fresh eye on Scott's background and the cultural landscape that shaped him and his legacy, but in the end his portrayal, though comprehensive and thoroughly researched, is more adulatory than critical. He draws heavily on Scott's writings, particularly those during his harrowing final days, to argue that Scott's "greatest gift to posterity" was "his profound ability to make real the experience of human nature at the limits of endurance."

In June of 1699, Maria Sibylla Merian boarded a ship from Amsterdam to Surinam, South America, her 21-year-old daughter and a lifelong dream in tow. Her mission -- to study insect metamorphosis in an environment rich in specimens -- was a bold one. Science was in its infancy, and its pursuit, especially by a woman, was suspect. "It was a dangerous time to have muddy fingers," Kim Todd writes in Chrysalis, her laudatory biography of Merian. Nonetheless, in 1705, Merian published one of the first books to explain the life cycles of butterflies and moths. Merian's work was so valuable, Todd explains, that Linnaeus relied on it for his influential taxonomy of natural life.

Today, Merian is remembered more for her art than her science. Her hand-colored engravings of insects and botanical subjects have been displayed in museums around the world and are familiar images on note cards and prints. But a lack of documentation makes her an elusive biographical subject. Todd fills in the blanks with informed speculation and stylistic flourishes. ("Pacing the undergrowth, unable to fly, unable to climb, a woman could only deduce what went on through fallen clues.") As a result, much of Chrysalis reads less like an authoritative biography than an atmospheric novel.

In 1982, the Argentine novelist Julio Cortazar and his wife, writer-photographer Carol Dunlop, set out on an expedition that was grand only in its banality: to explore the nearly 500-mile stretch of freeway between Paris and Marseille. They spent more than a month on the road, leaving the highway only to visit rest stops, where they set up lawn chairs and typewriters outside their Volkswagen van, compiling their observations for this book.

Published in Spanish in 1983, this mock-travelogue is a brainy romp. Cortazar composes the bulk of the rest-stop missives, recording his thoughts on, for example, the "archipelago of parking lots," where "a racing car called Porsche or a zigzagging Renault 5, approach us now with the slow and friendly wiggling of a dog in search of petting or a cat who suspects leftover sardines." As the journey unfolds, what began as a satirical study of the highway slowly evolves into an irreverent ode to its rest areas and a genuine love story with a bittersweet ending: Cortazar completed the book alone, shortly after Dunlop's death and shortly before his own.

FROM OUR PREVIOUS REVIEWS:

* "Anyone interested in the history of Australia, or in the remarkable adventures of men and women struggling to survive in extreme circumstances, will find much to enjoy" in A Commonwealth of Thieves (Anchor, $15.95), novelist Thomas Keneally's account of the country's early years, Wendy Smith wrote.

* Alice Munro's latest story collection, The View from Castle Rock (Vintage, $14.95), "is, in some important ways, a departure for this masterful Canadian writer," Geraldine Brooks wrote, though Munro's ability "to summon the spirits and the emotions that animate our lives" is on full display.

Nora Krug is a writer living in Washington, D.C.