They Are So  Beastly, These Ticks and Plagues
    'Spillover,'  by David Quammen, on How Animals Infect Humans
    By DWIGHT  GARNER
        Linguists  have a good eye for where language has been, but it's rarely easy to see into  its future. In his powerful and discomfiting new book, "Spillover: Animal  Infections and the Next Human Pandemic," the science writer David Quammen cites  a dismal word we'll be getting used to in the coming decades, whether we like  it or not: zoonosis.
        A zoonosis  is an animal infection that, through a simple twist of fate, becomes  transmissible to humans. Maybe that twist is a needle prick, or contact with an  exotic animal or hiking downwind of the wrong farm.
        "It's a  mildly technical term," he admits, but probably not for long. "It's a word of  the future, destined for heavy use in the 21st century."
        Ebola and  bubonic plague are zoonoses. So are, he writes, in a list that peals off the  tongue like a distraught Allen Ginsberg poem or an outstanding list of death  metal band names, "monkeypox, bovine tuberculosis, Lyme disease, West Nile  fever, Marburg virus disease, rabies, hantavirus pulmonary syndrome, anthrax,  Lassa fever, Rift Valley fever, ocular larva migrans, scrub typhus, Bolivian  hemorrhagic fever, Kyasanur forest disease, and a strange new affliction called  Nipah encephalitis, which has killed pigs and pig farmers in Malaysia."
        AIDS, he  adds, that destroyer of 30 million people, is of zoonotic origin.
        In  "Spillover" Mr. Quammen investigates many of these diseases, some more than  others. He describes the baffled horror of initial outbreaks and then tracks  calmly backward. He talks to virologists, doctors, field biologists and  survivors about how the animal-to-human infection came to pass. He hopscotches  the globe like a journalistic Jason Bourne. Often there aren't doctors left to  be interviewed. The medical personnel who first came into contact with sick  patients are frequently dead.
        Among these  diseases, the devils we know are bad enough. Mr. Quammen also thinks  determinedly about what he calls the NBO's — the Next Big Ones. "Will the Next  Big One come out of a rain forest or a market in southern China?" he asks.  "Will the Next Big One kill" 30 million or 40 million people? He makes you  dread that sneeze at the back of the bus.
        Mr. Quammen,  whose previous books include "The Song of the Dodo" (1996) and "Monster of God"  (2003), is not just among our best science writers but among our best writers,  period. (Check out his much anthologized short story "Walking Out," about a  father and son gone hunting, if you want a taste of his fiction.) That he  hasn't won a nonfiction National Book Award or Pulitzer Prize is an embarrassment.
        "Spillover"  is a work of synthesis, not original science, and Mr. Quammen is generous about  crediting his sources. But he doesn't shy from serious science, to the extent  that he sometimes apologizes for going overboard:
        "If you  followed all that, at a quick reading," he writes on Page 136, "you have a  future in biology." (I suffered flashbacks to my least favorite college  courses.) His zest for honest science leads him into one of his book's most  interesting detours, a polite but rigorous takedown of Richard Preston's 1994  best seller "The Hot Zone," about an outbreak of the Ebola filovirus.
        Mr.  Preston's book filled our heads with "wildly gruesome notions" about how Ebola  patients die, Mr. Quammen suggests, and he shoots down many of what he and  others feel were Mr. Preston's theatrical exaggerations.
        "They don't  explode, and they don't melt," one expert from the Centers for Disease Control  and Prevention tells the author about Ebola patients, in exasperation with "The  Hot Zone." Mr. Quammen declares that the Ebola virus generally kills "with a  whimper, not with a bang or a splash."
        For those of  us who don't have a future in biology, Mr. Quammen is a patient explainer and a  winning observer. His gallows humor is superb. "Advisory: If your husband  catches an ebolavirus," he says, "give him food and water and love and maybe  prayers but keep your distance, wait patiently, hope for the best — and, if he  dies, don't clean out his bowels by hand. Better to step back, blow a kiss and  burn the hut."
        He has a  novelistic flair for describing his fellow humans. A Swiss microbiologist has  "a shovel-wide jaw, a cagey smile" and "a great domed head like Niels Bohr." A  British theoretician of viral evolution wears "wiry glasses with a thick metal  brow, as in old pictures of Yuri Andropov." He's not bad on animals either. A  type of monkey called a sooty mangabey resembles "an elderly chimney sweep of  dapper tonsorial habits."
        His section  on Lyme disease may change what you think you know about the illness. Deer are  almost irrelevant to the spread of Lyme disease, Mr. Quammen contends. Smaller  mammals — their natural predators like foxes, owls and hawks less prevalent —  are what put us at risk. Having said that, I cannot shake his disquieting  observation that "One poor doe might be carrying a thousand mature black-legged  ticks." Fie on that mental image.
        Reviewing  the film "Get Rich or Die Tryin' " in The Sunday Telegraph in 2006, the  novelist Zadie Smith said about the performance of its lead actor, the rapper  50 Cent: "My brain is giving you one star, but my heart wants to give you  five." My feelings about "Spillover" are the inverse. My brain declares five  stars. My heart, however, awards it 3.5. The book feels haphazardly organized.  It drifts into eddies. Its Tolstoyan length includes padding. It is a very long  river to float.
        It is worth  persevering. Mr. Quammen, combining physical and intellectual adventure, wraps  his canny explorations into powerful moral witness. Our disruption of the  natural world, "Spillover" declares, is largely to blame for unloosing terrible  microbes.
        "When the  trees fall, and the native animals are slaughtered," he writes, "the native  germs fly like dust from a demolished warehouse."
        Or, as he  puts it more simply elsewhere, "Shake a tree, and things fall out." 
    New York Times
  
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