The Book of Eels: Our Enduring Fascination with the Most Mysterious Creature in the Natural World

The Book of Eels: Our Enduring Fascination with the Most Mysterious Creature in the Natural World
By Patrik Svensson
Ecco, 2020

There are very few mysteries left in the world. Essentially every inch of the Earth has been charted and decades of scientific research have revealed many of the secrets of our planet and the creatures that live upon it. Given that this vast wealth of human knowledge is now virtually at the fingertips of a large percentage of the world’s population, mysteries have been made even more enticing. The eel, a long, wriggly, ray-finned fish that's about as well-loved as the snake it resembles, has remained admirably committed to maintaining its air of mystery; much about the eel remains unknown to this day.

As detailed in Patrik Svensson’s nonfiction work, The Book of Eels: Our Enduring Fascination with the Most Mysterious Creature in the Natural World, a hit in Sweden and newly translated into English by Agnes Broomé, this has not discouraged scientists from trying to solve the riddle of the eel. Quite the opposite, in fact. A number of scientists - all detailed in the book - fell under the creature’s spell; Danish biologist Johannes Schmidt first discovered the eel’s spawning ground in the Atlantic Ocean’s Sargasso Sea, father of psychoanalysis Sigmund Freud became predictably fascinated with the truth behind the eel’s sex organs, and Silent Spring author Rachel Carson studied the life cycle of eels during her graduate studies in marine biology. Svensson presents a brief history of the research into the odd fish and the life and work of these scientists, but noticeably puts his focus on what he considers to be the outstanding questions.

Such a fascinating concept and publisher copy that is eager to draw comparisons to Sy Montgomery’s charming The Soul of an Octopus and Helen Macdonald’s runaway hit H is for Hawk seem to promise readers another fascinating memoir-nature writing hybrid, only with a mystery angle, to boot. The book’s publisher, Ecco Press, an imprint of HarperCollins, was even confident enough in the book’s potential to come out on top of a bidding war for the title after it drummed up lots of interest at the 2019 London Book Fair. While the riddle of the eel may prove a draw to readers of this genre, the grander mystery that will endure is the appeal of this book.

Rife with admitted anthropomorphizing, The Book of Eels tries to layer meaning within the mysteries of the eel, but profundity wriggles out of Svensson’s grasp with every attempt. Pairings of practically rhetorical questions and uninteresting blanket observations are frustratingly littered throughout the scientific portions:

This is why we now know - at least with some degree of certainty - where the eel reproduces. All our knowledge on this matter rests on Johannes Schmidt’s work. What we don’t know is why. Why there? What’s the point of the long, hopeless journey and all the trials and metamorphoses? What is there for the eel in the Sargasso Sea? Johannes Schmidt might have replied that it’s irrelevant. Existence comes first. The world is an absurd place full of contradictions and existential confusion; only those who have a goal are ultimately able to find meaning. One must imagine the eels happy.

With so many questions being thrown around, the reader may as well be getting deposed.

One is liable to forget that this is a nature book and not a freshman philosophy paper with adjusted margins to meet the required length. Or perhaps the author has simply seen the film “The Breakfast Club” one too many times and found particular inspiration in the so-called “criminal” character John Bender when he explains away mischief to the group’s Saturday detention monitor in an iconic scene: “Screws fall out all the time, the world is an imperfect place.”

The memoir portions provide a much-needed reprieve from the false insights, largely providing snapshots of the author’s relationship with his father throughout his childhood; the father-son pair spend quality time together as they trap, prepare, and eat the eels they catch. The quiet atmosphere of these sections makes them touchingly genuine. The book would have likely profited from an approach similar to Elisabeth Tova Bailey’s The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, in which the author’s life story of a prolonged illness that left her bedridden takes the center stage, and the natural history of the snail is in a supporting role.

Instead, Svensson decides on an even split between his personal stories and the science peppered with off-into-the-distance questioning. At times, he brushes against meaningful depth, but his devil’s advocacy often muddles the message. In a chapter dedicated to the tradition of eel fishing, he presents the stance of the fishing advocates: “If people can no longer fish for eel - catch it, kill it, eat it, - they will lose interest in it. And if people have no interest in the eel, it’s lost anyway.” A counterargument is not presented behind this statement, potentially leading readers to believe this is Svensson’s opinion until eight chapters later when he hesitantly admits that fishing may indeed be a reason why eel numbers seem to be dropping. It must be that fishermen are heading to the seas en masse because they’re just so terribly interested.

Here’s the thing about mysteries, whether they be cozy, hard-boiled, or even nestled within a work of natural history: the reader expects some semblance of a resolution by the end. The Book of Eels not only fails to deliver one, but sadly proves itself to be a pseudo-philosophical work that poses more questions than it answers. If the eel is still keen to leave something to the imagination, then perhaps this was an exposé best left for another day.

—Olive Fellows is a young professional and Booktuber (at http://youtube.com/c/abookolive) living in Pittsburgh. Her work has appeared in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.