Not long after finishing this book, it occurred to me walking to the train one morning that perhaps a better title could have been stolen from President Obama’s The Audacity of Hope, which is not to say that John McPhee mistitled the book. It is, in fact, about humans controlling nature. McPhee devotes the book’s three lengthy chapters to, respectively, a flood and river control project at the junction of the Atchafalaya and Mississippi Rivers in Louisiana, the effort to save an Icelandic town from an encroaching lava flow, and the tumbling down of the San Gabriel Mountains into Los Angeles and its many suburbs jammed up against the range. This subject could be incredibly boring, but McPhee’s avuncular prose (if your uncle was a witty and smart storyteller rather than the casual racist who seems to live for embarrassing the whole family at Thanksgiving) kept me engaged and wanting to know how each of these projects panned out. It’s no real spoiler to say that we humans were successful in diverting the Mississippi and cooling the lava and managing the crumbling mountains. The book is called The Control of Nature, after all. But what makes our works to direct nature against what it naturally will do so hopefully audacious is the underlying theme that McPhee and the people he writes about come back to over and over: we won this time, but nature always wins in the end. The Mississippi will someday break its manmade bounds; the lava will one day flow too high and too fast to stop; the rains will fall too hard one winter to keep the mountains from falling down on the city.

I originally assumed the title implied human’s control of nature, but he chose the title to be intentionally ambiguous. In some cases it certainly seems to mean the control that nature has over our environment, no matter what we try to do to influence it.

He explores that ambiguity in three examples: 1) The Mississippi River and its intention to change course to the Atchafalaya, one of its downstream branches; 2) Human influence of lava flows in Iceland following a volcanic eruption that threatened a harbor and a city; 3) the rising and falling of the San Gabriel Mountains toward Los Angeles.

The book is beautifully written. McPhee obviously did detailed research, but the technical information is presented in clear and simple language. In each of the three examples he focuses the stories on people, with nature providing the conflict that leads to the drama.

My one quibble is that McPhee provides virtually no analysis of what he sees; he acts much more as a detailed reporter than an editorial writer. Maybe he thought the conclusions were obvious: nature is always in control in the long-term.

The book was written in 1989, well before the general awareness of the full impact of man-made climate change. That is a powerful example of our unintended influence on nature, and our lack of ability to control the consequences. It would be interesting to hear his thoughts about that now.

I had to read excerpts for a college class, but never read the full book. I didn't care too much for the writing style. Regardless, this book has a lot of lessons that are just as relevant to consider today.

I'm especially interested in the story about the Mississippi. Controlling the river; altering its natural movements and progressions; levees and other structures contributing to flooding; and so much more. I think issues at the intersection of politics and the environment, especially water, will become more intense throughout the century.

McPhee is a master at bringing science and geology down to earth. In this book of three essays, he talks about man's effort to contain water or lava when it wreaks havoc. He is factual but entertaining, lightening explanations with fitting anecdotes. McPhee is one of my favorite New Yorker writers.

What do the unruly Mississippi River, the raging Icelandic volcano, or the terrifying San Gabriel debris flows have in common? They all share the unwavering belief (by some) that human ingenuity could defeat nature, yet nature laughs back.
McPhee must have the best life. He and Sir. David Attenborough, are two lucky men alive.

John McPhee is one of the greatest writers in America today, and this is a wonderful introduction to his work. The premise - humans constantly challenge nature, and may hold the upper hand for a while. But nature never gets tired, and can beat our best in the end. Moral - trying to control nature is risky business, and sometimes a very bad idea.

I must say, I expected this book to be a bore. Was I wrong! It was really very fascinating as it told the stories of three battles with nature. First of McPhee's books that I have read, certainly will look at more now.

Incredible book that walks the reader through three major human attempts to control inevitable, and infinitely powerful geologic forces. Begin with the Mississippi River and its desire to switch its lower channel to the Atchafalaya River. The Army Corps of Engineers has spent billions to try to prevent nature redirecting its course, but this cannot go on forever, and there have already been some close calls. The second part tells the tale of Iceland's battle against volcanic forces as a lava flow threatened to close off an essential harbor on one of Iceland's islands. Seawater was pumped up and shot at the advancing lava flow with some degree of success, although the actual effect of people's actions versus natural changes is debated. The final story tells the ever important story of Los Angeles versus the mountains that surround them. Fire suppression has led to bigger, hotter fires than ever occurred naturally. In the wake of these fires, debris flows race down the mountain slopes and in some cases, right through people's homes. This book is an incredible glimpse into the power of Nature and the lessons we learn from trying to live in places where these forces dominate.

Though now dated, it provides an interesting story to three instances of man trying to control nature; 1) the control structure on the Mississippi River, 2) controlling the direction of lava flow on an inhabited Icelandic island and 3) controlling the effects of debris flows in the hills of Los Angeles. The Mississippi and LA stories are especially interesting since they describe on going efforts that are largely unknown and unappreciated by the general public.

Wow! I’m an outlier. Even one of my well read friends loved this book. Not me. It describes 3 cases of humans attempting to tame and control nature, i.e. flow of the Mississippi River through its delta, lava flows in Iceland and Hawaii, and pdebris flows out of the San Gabriel Mountains of Southern California during floods. I grew up in Altadena, which borders those mountains, and I spent my youth hiking in them. Those occurrences McPhee describes were rare and very localized, and the flood and debris control dams are very effective. The book has no index, no bibliography, no footnotes, no verification. I prefer StephenJ. Gould, Edward O. Wilson, and Jared Diamond for my science.

Second and last book I will read by this author. The subjects are interesting to me but his execution is frustrating: it's basically sensational journalism, all doom and gloom. The interviewees all somehow talk in the same sarcastic, hyperbolic voice as the author. And tack on yearning for the good old days, anti-government sentiment, and a probably anti-Semitic analogy relating orange trees to Jewish people. No thanks.

Although these three extended essays all ran in the NEW YORKER magazine nearly 30 years ago, they retain the power to educate, amuse, and shock, and all show John McPhee, master of nonfiction, at his best. "Atchafalaya" details the growth of the still little-known waterway that runs roughly parallel to the Mississippi and -- here's the real shock -- might someday "seize" the mainstream of the mighty Mississip', leaving towns like Baton Rouge and New Orleans high and dry, without outlet. To mitigate against this, the Army Corps of Engineers has built several huge water exchangers that connect the two rivers under the theory that regulating the flow of Mississippi water into the Atchafalaya may forestall grand theft by the latter. As always, McPhee interviews just the right officials and employees at just the right time, and his descriptive similes are jewels: the spillway that transmits Mississippi water into the Atchafalaya goes "sideways, like grain squirting out of a burlap bag."

What do you do when red-hot lava from new or recent volcanoes threatens the nearest towns and cities? In Iceland, you pump literally millions of gallons of cold seawater on the magma, hoping it will stall into solid basalt and (eventually) stop the flow. In Hawaii, you try channelling, playing a dangerous game of curling to make the killer lava go somewhere slightly different than it had intended. This section is called "Cooling the Lava" and it is absolutely enthralling, as are the rugged academics, military folk and plain old citizens McPhee encounters in both places.

The third section shows the full power of civilization, bureaucracy and high technology against the San Gabriel Mountains -- in other words "Los Angeles Against the Mountains" -- and in spite of millions upon millions spent for retaining walls, dry reservoirs to catch rain-loosed mud and dislodged bolders, it remains to be seen who will eventually win. Why, oh why, do people insist on nesting just below these flaky mountains? One reason is to get above the smog zone, making it something that can be seen but not breathed: Recalling that Southern California smog has its origin in natural sea fog:

As you watch it from above through the morning and into the afternoon,
it turns yellow, then ochre, then brown, and sometimes nearly black --
like butter darkening in a skillet.

Verbally, McPhee is also no stranger to humor; lest I introduce spoilers I won't detail the jibes he gets off at one suburban Arby's, but watch out for them!

All three segments, and therefore all of The Control of Nature, come highly recommended. The actual circumstances may have changed since McPhee first wrote his articles that became this can't-put-down book; the author's richly compelling way with words hasn't.