One of my absolute favorite things about this book is how seamlessly Halliday switches between three approximate 'modes' of writing: 1) a more narrative, description-heavy mode, focused on imagery and building atmosphere, "setting the scene" and bringing the reader into the landscape he is writing about, 2) a more scientific, technical mode, meant to convey factual information in a manner that is still easily comprehensible, and 3) a mode that slides somewhere in between the two, used to evoke an emotional response from the reader by emphasizing certain facets of the science using appropriately poetic language, relating and connecting all of this back to something of the human experience as modern readers will understand it. I would argue that all three of these modes are equally important for a science writer hoping to write a book that's enjoyable for general audiences, but #3 is especially difficult to master, being that it cannot exist without both a decent grasp of #1 and #2 and skill in that nebulous magical quality that can transform science from facts to poetry. and so, it is truly a mark of a great writer to be able to fluidly shift between all 3 as the ebb and flow and rhythm of a chapter demands.

I'm not all that far in so far, but i went back to pull out one of my favorite examples of Halliday writing in 'mode #1' (the full paragraph is transcribed uninterrupted at the end of this post) because there's so much great stuff to analyze!

Down the river echoes the whiplash sound of cracking wood,

good sensory details - whiplash evokes a sharp abrupt staccato sound, 'crack' embodies that sound not only in its definition, but also in the way it's pronounced, that hard k as a full stop of air when we say it out loud and therefore emphasizing the suddenness of the entire situation described here

and then arrives a dancing wave, 3 metres high. Alertness turns to flight, as the sloth moans and rolls onto all fours, and the typotheres startle and scatter.

The paragraph before this talked about the animals sensing that Something Was Changing, so 'alertness turns to flight' is both 1) a seamless natural progression of the action, 2) a good natural progression of tension. alertness is where one begins; escape is a higher and more heightened state of panic or fright, and this wording here builds upon the rising alarm that is meant to be conveyed. also, 'startle and scatter' is a nice touch of alliteration

The spate surges forward and, striking the curve by the tree, rises into the air in a black bulge over the bank, collapsing to the ground, followed by another, as if dense, damp, velvet cloths are being thrown over the grass.

The real start of the "action" - surge is a nice, forceful word, good sense of momentum. we go from the zoomed in view of the tree to a more zoomed out view of the mudslide overall, which provides a the reader with a holistic sense of the action, getting a complete picture of what's happening and keeping the reader engaged with the slight shift in focus. 'dense, damp, velvet cloths' is a great evocative descriptor, utilizing the texture and feeling of being smothered in wet velvet to convey how heavy and smothering and thick the mudslide is.

The rhythmic slopping of the mudslide, folding in on itself like boiling porridge, turns into pouring, the smooth force of the water spreading across the landscape and filling in the valleys at tens of metres per second.

More good sensory details - 'boiling porridge' is so tactile! it all feels so tangible! - and fun alliteration. 'slopping' is GENIUS as a verb here, the quality of a motion and a sticky, viscous description rolled into one, so gooey and dragging in both its connotation and its pronunciation. 'pouring' evokes pouring rain in the most common/stereotypical usage; paired with 'porridge' brings such a vivid image to mind. and then we zoom out even more, providing more movement in the focus of the paragraph as a strategy for ensuring a reader's attention doesn't stray

The delicate squares of riverbed clay are shattered into pieces, boulders bob as if weightless, and tree trunks are carried as if no heavier than twigs, catching, submerging or breaking everything in its paths, carving new paths in the underlying soil, and turning the valley floor into a rough, grey turbulence.

The entire paragraph is constantly in motion, from the mudslide being described to the actual rhythm and construction of the sentences. Halliday writes in long, quasi-run on sentences, descriptors piling atop of each other and compounding, always moving, fragments separated by commas but never coming to a full stop. This is real cool because it seems to mimic the rise and surge of the mudslide itself, creating a feeling that something is constantly in motion while reading the actual text.

That effect comes to a head in the sentence right before this (The rhythmic slopping of the mudslide...), and here we actually see it slowing down a bit, a signal that Halliday is transitioning to an even more zoomed-out view of the landscape even as this very line also zooms back in a little bit - to the riverbed, to the detrius floating down the river. but by the end of the sentence, we are once again viewing the landscape from overhead, the entire valley floor characterized by its chaos and turbulence.

Full paragraph:

Down the river echoes the whiplash sound of cracking wood, and then arrives a dancing wave, 3 metres high. Alertness turns to flight, as the sloth moans and rolls onto all fours, and the typotheres startle and scatter. The spate surges forward and, striking the curve by the tree, rises into the air in a black bulge over the bank, collapsing to the ground, followed by another, as if dense, damp, velvet cloths are being thrown over the grass. The rhythmic slopping of the mudslide, folding in on itself like boiling porridge, turns into pouring, the smooth force of the water spreading across the landscape and filling in the valleys at tens of metres per second. The delicate squares of riverbed clay are shattered into pieces, boulders bob as if weightless, and tree trunks are carried as if no heavier than twigs, catching, submerging or breaking everything in its paths, carving new paths in the underlying soil, and turning the valley floor into a rough, grey turbulence.

Many of the [sourdough] starters had histories that were known to go back hundreds of years. Most starters had names. People talked about the starters like they were pets, buts the attachment was even deeper. A mother could push her hands into the same starter her mother had cared for, which might be the same one her grandfather had cared for, or even her great-great-grandfather. And when people told stories about the starters, they did so as if describing a near-immortal participant in their family's history. One starter, for example, was called Herman...

This is adorable and makes me think of all the starters I've had the honor of encountering. I think this book saved the best chapter for last, looking at how the microbes in a person's home and on their skin affects the taste of their homemade food, especially fermented foods like kimchi and sourdough bread. 🍞❤️

"This process of pawning our overconsumption off on historically oppressed areas is just another form of colonialism." Pg. 156

There are so many things out there telling people to declutter, but I don't see many of them really discussing what happens when we just pack things up and take them to a random donation site without further thought. So I am very happy that this book starts off any notion of decluttering by first acknowledging what happens to the things we take to the closest Value Village, Goodwill, etc., and forget about.

"The Epa estimates that only 16 percent of donated items actually get resold, so you can probably guess where the remaining 84 percent goes" Pg. 155

"Most of our old clothes, for instance, are sent to countries in South America, Africa, and Asia to be resold, but an estimated 40 percent arrives in such poor condition that it must be trashed. In Ghana's capital of Accra, fifteen million pieces of our unwanted clothing arrive EVERY WEEK." Pg. 156

I also appreciate their solution to be more mindful and responsible for our stuff, by making a point to find recipients of these items when we can. Sorting out what we are donating and taking it to organizations that are asking for specific items, looking into specialized recycling programs, selling things, using free groups, and looking within our communities to see who may be able to make use of the things we don't need/want. We can't fix everything, but taking the time to find more appropriate places for the things we are decluttering is important.