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Ladataan... Beneath My Feet: The Memoirs of George Mercer DawsonTekijä: Phil Jenkins
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George Mercer Dawson is a towering figure in Canadian history -- and science -- as the man who led the Geological Survey during its exploration of the Canadian West, mostly from horseback or from a canoe. A tough job for anyone, it was an extraordinary achievement for Dawson. Born in 1849, Dawson was crippled by a childhood illness that left him hunchbacked and in constant pain. He never grew taller than a young boy, and he never let his disabilities stop him. An avid photographer, amateur painter, professional geologist and botanist, and by necessity an ethnographer, Dawson wrote constantly: poetry, journals, reports, notes, and more than five thousand letters, his first at the age of six and his last just two days before he died in 1901. But Dawson never wrote his memoirs. So, a century after his death, Phil Jenkins has lent him a hand. Using Dawson's own words, and filling in the gaps in Dawson's voice, Jenkins presents the man who left his heart in western Canada. Their countless stories -- from witnessing the last great buffalo stampede to encountering the timeless customs of the Haida -- evoke the real excitement of the age of exploration. Dawson knew the pain of unrequited love, suffered the bite of a million mosquitoes, and yet he travelled on, over mountainous physical odds, to become one of the most respected and enjoyed of Victorian Canadians, in the thought-provoking times of Dickens and Darwin. Kirjastojen kuvailuja ei löytynyt. |
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Google Books — Ladataan... LajityypitMelvil Decimal System (DDC)551.092Natural sciences and mathematics Earth sciences & geology Geology, Hydrology Meteorology Biography; History By Place BiographyKongressin kirjaston luokitusArvio (tähdet)Keskiarvo:
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The sheer amount of detail in these books is impressive, and it's not all geology (although there's plenty of that, naturally). Dawson was extremely interested in Native culture and the book features a section about a dance he attends in BC, and his attempts to learn the Chinook language. His poetry also provides a more emotional description of the scenes he witnesses. It's a pity there aren't a few more photos, though, because while the written descriptions sound beautiful, a picture would really sell how utterly spectacular the scenery is, especially because at that time it was mostly untouched by white men and untainted by large settlements.
History marches on as the book progresses. Dawson makes note of the invention of the telephone, the Empress ships that would eventually provide fast steamship services across the Atlantic, Confederation, and the death of Queen Victoria. McGill University was also a new institution in Dawson's lifetime, with his father eventually serving as its principal. But even in history we find things that have not changed, such as not enough government funding for the sciences -- Dawson mentions that they don't have enough money to keep the best staff, and they desperately need a bigger museum to store all their artifacts. And of course the accounts of government bureaucracy would definitely ring true to public servants with the Government of Canada today.
One thing I would like to mention is that it is important to keep a map of Canada handy, if you are a visual person and/or are not familiar with the Canadian West. At times I found it difficult to figure out where they were, even with the one or two maps that were provided at various points. So the lesson is, bookmark those maps and look at them carefully! And while there were several major breaks in the book, a few smaller breaks within each section would have been appreciated, just to make the text more manageable.
But overall, this was a very good book and I enjoyed reading about how Canada was mapped and surveyed. Dawson's voice was engaging and filled with enthusiasm for his subject matter. He even makes a geology pun! (It involves the word "gneiss".) But he also had very poignant turns of phrase toward the end, with his father's death and his own impending demise. Especially the poem he (presumably) wrote about his father, which would definitely put a lump in anyone's throat:
Throughout the land the maples flame
The time has come, the leaf must fall
Though still the day is blue, serene
No storm nor wintry blast at all
The time is ripe, and leaf by leaf
The garb of life is shed away
Not by the tempest's stress, but in
The dreaming azure eye of day
So, ripe in knowledge, ripe in years,
The pulse beats low, the eye grows dim,
And we, though blinded still with tears,
We know the time has come for him.
If you have an interest in the Canadian West, memoirs or geology, pick up this book. It's an expedition worth making. ( )