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deanjean_reads's review against another edition
3.0
When we think about data, we might think about boring rows of spreadsheets, Excel, fancy pie charts - or the unwelcome invasion of computer algorithms that infringe on our privacy; greedily sucking up our behaviour, routines and familiar patterns that we fall back on, in order to figure out what we would really buy. What if we could use data to tell us something about the behaviour and patterns of the natural world?
In seeking and analysing raw data, the usual conclusion is that we can come up with logical, orderly conclusions - and perhaps, a solution. Or so we laughably think, when Akiko Busch follows a couple of scientists as a volunteer on various citizen science programmes in her local Hudson Valley area. She proceeds to discover that Nature herself is often not a willing participant in our data collection frenzy. Moments of joy at acheiving their objectives are often interspersed with frustration when their data collection is impeded by unexpected events, or Nature being an impudent mistress through denial of her presence. This doesn't stop Busch from wandering into the spaces of uncertainty where logic and linearity fail, and here is where her writing really shines, linking these mundane and often incomprehensible threads into meaningful ruminations.
From the extraordinary and mysterious journey of eels that turn into transparent elvers in their youth - then eventually turning silver in their later years and returning to the Sargasso Sea to spawn and perish - to the spectral presence of the coyotes that Busch likens to the edgelands in between the urban and the wild, she contemplates on the roller-coaster of discovery, loss and life, and the desire that feeds our need to know, uncover and experience what we can't see with our eyes.
Every sentence written here is a delightful, contemplative rabbit-hole. A water chestnut weeding turns into a reflection on dualism, the Sisyphean task of countering its overenthusiastic growth with 2 mere humans a brutal reminder of keeping things going despite the going getting tough. While searching for the elusive Indiana bats via radio transmitters, Busch likens the maze-like process to the desire paths that people often create, ignoring the concrete walkways for a more instinctual approach towards their destination. Variability and significance in data is dependent on strict percentages and probabilities, and she muses on the subjective unreliability of personal significance in an incredibly funny anecdote. I am also reminded of the border-making paradox mentioned in [b:An Anthropology of Nothing in Particular|36963931|An Anthropology of Nothing in Particular|Martin Demant Frederiksen|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1551391542l/36963931._SY75_.jpg|58762657] by Martin Demant Frederiksen, where the more demarcated an area is, the more unreliable these borders start to become.
As with her previous book, I've taken nearly 2 months to savour every passage - and I might need to come back to this book again for a second sitting. If you like taking the straight path, this may not be your book.
In seeking and analysing raw data, the usual conclusion is that we can come up with logical, orderly conclusions - and perhaps, a solution. Or so we laughably think, when Akiko Busch follows a couple of scientists as a volunteer on various citizen science programmes in her local Hudson Valley area. She proceeds to discover that Nature herself is often not a willing participant in our data collection frenzy. Moments of joy at acheiving their objectives are often interspersed with frustration when their data collection is impeded by unexpected events, or Nature being an impudent mistress through denial of her presence. This doesn't stop Busch from wandering into the spaces of uncertainty where logic and linearity fail, and here is where her writing really shines, linking these mundane and often incomprehensible threads into meaningful ruminations.
From the extraordinary and mysterious journey of eels that turn into transparent elvers in their youth - then eventually turning silver in their later years and returning to the Sargasso Sea to spawn and perish - to the spectral presence of the coyotes that Busch likens to the edgelands in between the urban and the wild, she contemplates on the roller-coaster of discovery, loss and life, and the desire that feeds our need to know, uncover and experience what we can't see with our eyes.
Every sentence written here is a delightful, contemplative rabbit-hole. A water chestnut weeding turns into a reflection on dualism, the Sisyphean task of countering its overenthusiastic growth with 2 mere humans a brutal reminder of keeping things going despite the going getting tough. While searching for the elusive Indiana bats via radio transmitters, Busch likens the maze-like process to the desire paths that people often create, ignoring the concrete walkways for a more instinctual approach towards their destination. Variability and significance in data is dependent on strict percentages and probabilities, and she muses on the subjective unreliability of personal significance in an incredibly funny anecdote. I am also reminded of the border-making paradox mentioned in [b:An Anthropology of Nothing in Particular|36963931|An Anthropology of Nothing in Particular|Martin Demant Frederiksen|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1551391542l/36963931._SY75_.jpg|58762657] by Martin Demant Frederiksen, where the more demarcated an area is, the more unreliable these borders start to become.
As with her previous book, I've taken nearly 2 months to savour every passage - and I might need to come back to this book again for a second sitting. If you like taking the straight path, this may not be your book.
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