Pheromone Communication in Moths: Evolution, Behavior, and Application

I wish everyone were as excited about entomology as David MacNeal is. Well, maybe I wish everyone were almost as excited about it. In MacNeal’s book, Bugged: The Insects Who Rule the World and the People Obsessed with Th em, he takes us on an enthusiastic tour of entomological topics, from bed bug treatments to preparing cricket cuisine for your supper. It’s a whirlwind exploration as much of entomologists as it is of arthropods themselves. MacNeal, most notably a contributor for WIRED, presents his case for appreciating our exoskeletoned allies through a series of “wow” facts (“for every one of us there are 1.4 billion insects,”) gross-out stories (there’s a whole chapter on body farms), and interviews with researchers and entomological everymen. His commitment to his investigation is considerable: he interviews folks from Japan to Georgia, New York to Greece, and at times delves into the historical roots of common bug themes. As professional entomologists, you will not be surprised by the information in this book. You will probably get a headache rolling your eyes over the author’s fervor and often irreverent word choice. You might even get your back up a little over the anecdotes he chooses to share. (I, as a myrmecologist, nearly put the book down for good after a stretch in the introduction in which MacNeal recounts a “humorous” imagining of an “insect Armageddon,” in which ants could “burrow through our nostrils and suff ocate us.”) But MacNeal is no entomologist, and it’s interesting to explore the perspective of someone on the outside trying to connect with those of us in here. It’s a commendable and formidable task. Besides, it’s nice to read what our colleagues are up to outside their peer-reviewed publications. MacNeal gets the essence of entomology’s fun engine, like a child smashing logs and pulling out bess beetles and giant millipedes to poke with sticks. But he misses entomology’s actual power, its intricate connectedness, the beauty and the quiet importance of these innumerable (wait—he does number them: 10 quintillion) creatures toiling with exquisite and unceasing precision. When he notes that “we tend to overlook the economic positives bugs provide,” he goes on to detail the museum and zoo industry, overlooking insects’ gargantuan positive economic impact on fields from agriculture to human health. He also falls into the overused and wholly unnecessary “bugs-are-important-because-theymight-be-the-next-cure-for-cancer” trap. (Th ere’s actually a chapter called “You Just Squashed the Cure for Cancer.”) We can forgive him these indiscretions, sort of. It’s good that he’s interested, and the book has its uses. Th is volume is perfect for a middle or high schooler who shows an interest in bugs (though the expletives peppered throughout the text might off end some parents). I imagine MacNeal’s storytelling, sense of humor, and subject choices would be appealing to this group, and just might steer them in the direction of entomology as an adventurous vocation. It would also make an appropriate gift for the friend who insists you’re an “etymologist” or the relative who repeatedly asks what it is exactly that you do for a living (although it misses the whole “stand in the fi eld and count aphids on hot summer days” or, in my case, “watch ants trailing offi ce park tree trunks for hours on end” aspects of the business). It’s an easy enough read that one could take it on an airplane and get through it halfway across the country, and it covers enough ground that readers get a taste for entomology’s breadth. In short, Bugged could make a good gift for a general reader—and, to be fair, this is MacNeal’s target audience—but entomologists may consider skipping it. Eleanor Spicer Rice Verdant Word Raleigh, NC 27607 eleanor.spicer@gmail.com DOI: 10.1093/ae/tmx062