Much Ado About Mothing. A year intoxicated by Britain’s rare and remarkable moths
James Lowen
Bloomsbury | 2021
384 pp. | 14.3 x 22.2 cm
Hardback | £18.99 | ISBN: 9781472966995
Much Ado about Mothing is an action-packed, whistle-stop tour of Britain and its moth inhabitants that conveys all of the drive and excitement but doubtless only a fraction of the hectic schedule of James Lowen’s year-long quest. The reader will be taken by the hand—often gently, but just as frequently whisked along with the author—on his 500 mile days out, up hills and mountains, into dozens of the UK’s remaining wildlife havens, including some of the quirkiest spots in the country: from Sychnant Pass to Orlestone Woods, Muir of Dinnet to Dungeness. If nothing else, this is an enlightening nature-oriented tour of the British Isles.
But it is more than a travelogue. There can be no grounds for feeling short-changed on information. The 380+ pages are stuffed to overflowing with moth names, descriptions, potted life histories, folklore, science, all woven into the fabric provided by James’s entertaining personal adventures with the moths and other like-minded souls who study, love and protect them. The list of amateur enthusiasts and experts that James meets along the way seemingly includes all of the nation’s best known moth experts, enthusiasts and eccentrics. There are constant references to the past giants of moth lore from the 19th century’s J. W. Tutt and P. B. M. Allan, to the 20th’s E. B. Ford, Bernard Kettlewell and Mike Majerus (initials eventually giving way to admission of actual names). Along the way, the principles of Müllerian mimicry and controversy over industrial melanism are succinctly explained, along with the pervasive issue of conservation. Indeed, much of the year is spent seeking out unusual, scarce and geographically restricted species, precisely those whose conservation status is likely to be in jeopardy.
James’s raw enthusiasm and energy is contagious. The Victorian naturalists might be his historical forbears, but this modern-day moth-man comes across as the frenetic millennial—not he the man of leisure idly twiddling a butterfly net after the Sunday service, but rather (ever conscious of other hands on his time) a determined and disciplined aurelian loaded with state-of-the-art professional photographic gear or moth trapping paraphernalia to the point of physical discomfort and potential bodily injury, eyes darting anxiously after his current quarry, fingers of the hands in his pocket jangling the keys of his ‘Quattro’ in anticipation of the next moth rendezvous on the frighteningly long list of appointments. No-one I know would have been able to execute such a punishing schedule that clearly often combined visits to several widely separated sites in one day or required serial all-night vigils followed by days of processing the spoils. The results are apparent, between the covers of this book.
For those who are no stranger to Merveille du Jour and even Clifden Nonpareil, this will make a rollicking good read, and should provide the stimulus to go out and do more, explore new areas, experiment with pheremone lures, or simply overcome the end of week fatigue to put out the Robinson trap on that dull Friday evening. But if you have been wondering what this mothing business is about and are waiting to be nudged into taking the plunge, this book could well be for you. Be warned: mothing is an addictive pastime, and you are unlikely to be able to resist James’s siren call to spend a year or two ‘intoxicated by Britain’s rare and remarkable moths’.
