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bobkat 's review for:
Pop science memoirs, like Lab Girl and H is for Hawk, are a mixed bag. I often start them and then find myself bored despite being a fan of both genres. This eARC was more like my experience reading Eric Larsen's Devil in the White City, where I felt the HH Holmes storyline was an unnecessary piece -- I was much more interested in the history of the World's Fair than with that of the serial killer who happened to be active at the same time in the same city. They didn't need each other.
Similarly, I had trouble jumping away from the fascinating history of the scientific study of eels into the alternating chapters about the author and his father's eel-trapping. I certainly don't mean to disparage his experiences. Those stories just didn't do as good a job, for me, of illustrating the almost metaphysical mysteries of the eel that Svensson neatly parallels with the greater unknowables of life and relationships. His father's eel-fishing fascination is an inheritance that he clings to despite its limited utility. Perhaps because Svensson drifts away from the hobby as he ages into college, and never really seems to connect with it, it doesn't feel like his passion; yet there's not enough emotional content about the relationship between father and son to explain what exactly the son is trying to get at about his dad and the two of them together, via the grand exposition on eels. I feel like maybe Svensson wasn't quite ready to tell his whole tale, and has just thrown us some simplistic shreds as the basis for making this a memoir, perhaps to capitalize on the trend or on the advice of an editor. The metaphors around our inability to actually witness or control eels (other than wiping them out, as we are in the process of doing with them and so many other genii) might actually be stronger without the oddly impersonal personal touch.
Similarly, I had trouble jumping away from the fascinating history of the scientific study of eels into the alternating chapters about the author and his father's eel-trapping. I certainly don't mean to disparage his experiences. Those stories just didn't do as good a job, for me, of illustrating the almost metaphysical mysteries of the eel that Svensson neatly parallels with the greater unknowables of life and relationships. His father's eel-fishing fascination is an inheritance that he clings to despite its limited utility. Perhaps because Svensson drifts away from the hobby as he ages into college, and never really seems to connect with it, it doesn't feel like his passion; yet there's not enough emotional content about the relationship between father and son to explain what exactly the son is trying to get at about his dad and the two of them together, via the grand exposition on eels. I feel like maybe Svensson wasn't quite ready to tell his whole tale, and has just thrown us some simplistic shreds as the basis for making this a memoir, perhaps to capitalize on the trend or on the advice of an editor. The metaphors around our inability to actually witness or control eels (other than wiping them out, as we are in the process of doing with them and so many other genii) might actually be stronger without the oddly impersonal personal touch.