Old nature books: The Nature Book (1913), on frogs
This post is part of a series where I explore the language of old nature books. The way we wrote about nature a hundred years ago is drastically different to how we write about it today.
The Nature Book (1913) is an encyclopaedia-style book in three volumes, and has just over seven pages on "how to know the amphibians".
Let's look at the title, even:
"HOW TO KNOW THE AMPHIBIANS By DOUGLAS ENGLISH, B.A, F.R.P.S. Author of "Wee Tim'rous Beasties", "Beasties Courageous", etc.
THE FROGS AND TOADS. The Grass Frog. The Water Frog. The Common Toad. The Natterjack Toad. With Photographs by the Author".
How to know the amphibians. Not how to identify them, how to know them.
To know is an intimate thing. When we say we know another human, or when we talking of getting to know someone, we think of learning what it is that makes them tick. Of spending time seeking to understand how they think, how they live, what matters to them and why.
Identifying a species is detached and scientific, an exercise in putting them in a box and moving on. Getting to know a species is something that requires patience, compassion and personal connection.
What these old nature books do is help us to know species. Through personal anecdotes, stories of individuals, biology, science, and sheer love, the authors help us to get to know their subjects.
Here's what the book has to say on frogs' colour-changing skin:
The Grass Frog adapts himself with great nicety to his natural surroundings. The fact, however, that when one wishes him to adapt himself to artificial surroundings he usually does not (and vice versa), shows either that we do not properly understand the conditions which stimulate his pigment cells, or that the frog knows his own business, and prefers to manage it his own way.
Notice capitalisation of species' common name, use of he or she pronouns, admitting that we don't understand everything about the natural world, endearing language, individualism and agency given to the species.
The passage is funny, endearing and humble. It communicates something incredible about these frogs, but without putting them below us.
Also:
The frog being common and easily captured, has had the misfortune to supply in himself the corpus vile for innumerable experiments. Frogs have been blinded to determine the reflex or voluntary character of their colour-change...Let us hope that human curiosity is for once and all satisfied.
and
The eyes of frog and toads are singularly beautiful. The metallic lustre of the iris (emerald speckled with black in the Natterjack) contrasts boldly with the liquid depth of the pupil.
This is not nature writing in the self-indulgent, human-centred way that we now know it. The writing is densely packed with scientific information about amphibians: their biology, lifestyle, behaviour, habitats, preferences, scientific findings. It's just delivered with reverence.
An acknowledgement of the harms that scientific experiments have caused and the barbarity of them is conspicuously missing from many nature books from the last sixty years or so, although thankfully I have seen it addressed in a few more recent books.
The eyeballs can be, and frequently are, retracted into the mouth cavity. With this muscular movement a wink of the eyelid is inseparably connected, and, as the retraction always takes place when frog or toad is endeavouring to cram a bonne bouche, the expression of the amphibian under such circumstances is highly diverting, and may be defined as "repletion tempered by remorse."
Some modern science writers might dismiss the above as too descriptive, but really there is nothing unscientific about it. The author describes the movement of the frogs' eyeballs, confirms that such movement is frequently observed and not a freak event, explains other movements of the face that go along with it, the circumstances when it happens (eating food), and the expression to look out for.
We can imagine a later book saying something like 'frogs' eyeballs are often retracted into the mouth cavity when eating, which causes the eyelid to move'. It conveys more or less the same information, yet without the description of expression.
I can't imagine any modern book noting an expression to look for, and yet it's a great way for us to understand: "what do they look like when they do that?" is what we need to know to spot the behaviour ourselves. The imagined sentence also lacks wonder or reverence.
The author goes on to describe what we'd probably now call the "mating call" of the Water Frog (or something equally drab)
'his special love song is the "Brek-ek-ek-ek-ex--ko-ax, ko-ax" of Aristophanesm which is familiar to every schoolboy. The first few notes of this are a preliminary sigh, the finale a paean of satisfaction.'
References to schoolboy knowledge are common in old nature books. It demonstrates two things: how connected boys were to the natural world, which is something we have sadly lost, and how girls were often excluded from nature-related pastimes, which thankfully is something that we're working on.
The entry includes fascinating firsthand insights:
Mr Latter has observed that the laugh of the woodpecker will start the Natterjack croaking, and that the note of a number in chorus can be heard across half a mile of country.
Most recent books tend to only deal in characteristics observed in labs or documented in a host of field experiments. The problem with this is that those studies are limited in many ways: the type of people in a position to carry them out, the focus of them, and the reasons for their funding. There seems to be an idea that to deal in anecdotes is to risk spreading misconceptions or generalising from singular observations, but this is really only a risk if the observation is improperly presented.
Here, the author isn't saying that a laugh of the woodpecker will always start the Natterjack croaking and neither are they encouraging their reader to think so. They are simply relaying an interesting observation, clearly attributable to one individual and therefore not to be taken as a generalisation. Mr Latter's observation is true, given it happened, whether it's repeated in the lab or someone else is lucky enough to observe it after him, or not.
We could say 'Natterjacks aren't as good at swimming as frogs' but why would we, when we could say
'The Natterjack, all nip and bounce and sparkle ashore, is mightily humbled by a swim. He presses his hands palm outward to his cheeks, as though to hide his shame, swells out his stomach so that he is barely awash, and makes slow-measured but emphatic strokes with his hind legs. He reminds one of a portly old gentlemen, who is conscientiously striving to improve.'
The above conveys far more information, as well as putting a smile on the reader's face.
The extra details serve to paint a more vivid and endearing picture of the Natterjack swimming. Another writer might interpret the Natterjack's stroke differently, which is perfectly fine: the underlying information about the movements is still there, whether the Natterjack reminds the reader, too, of a portly old gentleman, or not.
Or how about talking about walking on land - instead of blithely explaining which species is best at walking or running, how about
'Feeble though his swimming is, the Natterjack can give his relatives a lesson in running. The frog's gait ashore is clumsy - or explosive. In walking or climbing the want of balance between his fore and hind limbs is all against him; he seldom, therefore, invokes these actions, but prefers either a prodigious bound, raising himself forward to begin with, so that his trajectory shall be high enough to clear immediate obstacles, or a protective mimicry attitude with his body flattened, his head tucked down, and his hands, palms outward, covering his eyes. Toads adopt a similar position, which reminds one of a child shielding its head from a blow.
The inclusion of resemblances seen by the author serves not only to provide a useful extra description of the sort of sight the reader might see, but also to make the narrative more intimate and engaging. It feels not like a public information receptacle but like a conversation with a close friend relaying a day's adventure or with a wise relative relaying years of experience.
The use of pronouns for other species is something I feel is very important. Calling other species 'it' is disrespectful, distances them from us, and makes no more grammatical sense than using pronouns.
The section ends on a curious note:
One can scarcely conclude an article on frogs and toads without a passing reference to toads entombed in solid rock. To discuss this question at length would be to insult the reader's intelligence. It may perhaps be pointed out, however, that ninety per cent. of the recorded instances could be effectually disposed of by anyone with a smattering of palaeontology, and that the remaining ten per cent. could be disposed of by anyone with a smattering of common sense.
Needless to say, I had to find out what could have prompted such a scornful dismissal and, after much Googling of "fake frog fossils" came across the old stories of living entombed animals found in rocks, thought to have been alive for a very long time. Lots of them were eventually debunked or explained away, but not until scientists had tested the idea on some unfortunate frogs.
For more in this series, see The Observer's Book of Wild Animals (1958), intro and Moles.
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