Between massive environmental protests and looming worries of climate change, it is easy to forget how a multitude of communities have found their own ways to sustain themselves, preserving their residents and affirming their rights to proper living conditions. 

In Noxious New York: The Racial Politics of Urban Health and Environmental Justice, Julie Sze, a professor of American Studies at UC Davis, documents how systemic racial segregation in New York City drove waste dumping, high pollution, and elevated asthma rates among Black and Brown communities. 

Sze demonstrates how urban planning and environmental health activism in minority and low income communities differs from other neighborhoods. A separation from these communities and their White counterparts are created as attributes like political and social histories, racial demographics, and the economic circumstances of these residents are considered when creating zoned (or redlined) neighborhoods.

She emphasizes “…the ability of those with the least access to resources to shape the struggle for environmental justice” while expressing how New York is “ideal” for observations on disadvantaged communities as a place where social power and the balance between local and global processes infiltrate all institutions of the City. 

Readers follow along the concept of “environmental pollution as-commodity” as Sze describes the growing number of factories moving into marginalized neighborhoods. Rights to clean air, freedom from congestion, and less negative health impacts, like asthma, become commodities– or luxuries– to residents. In turn, the loss of these rights from increasing pollution from businesses becomes a reality for those living in these neighborhoods. Sze, however, challenges how pollution pervades the lives of marginalized communities in New York city as the factories of conglomerates are given priority over residential areas. 

The first wide-scale sanitation movements began in the early 1900s because of trash overflowing into streets and unavoidable smells motivated residents of NYC streets to tackle issues regarding public health. An emphasis on fresh air, pure water, and general cleanliness was considered to be essential in getting rid of diseases spread from unsanitary living conditions. Though this theory was disproved as more cities built sewers, and water filtration helped drop typhoid, cholera, and other water-borne diseases mortality rates. 

Sze addresses the spread of tuberculosis and how assumptions about those who contracted diseases intertwined with racial politics in urban spaces, specifically public housing. She describes how the stigmatization surrounding Black American neighborhoods led to poor environmental conditions. Death rates from tuberculosis were seven times higher in predominantly Black  compared to white neighborhoods. This drove moral apathy towards “lower classes” heightened through these wrongful descriptions of Black neighborhoods. 

Later on in Noxious New York, she describes zoning and segregation of land based on pollution. Sze reveals that zoning has been linked to the term “congestion” – a reference to congestion of population but also buildings– and its effects on property values. Zoning was also linked to de facto discrimination practices through land use policies. She brings in studies from other geographers, such as Juliana Maantay, who outlined the relationship between neighborhoods and industrial zoning areas between 1960-1990. Sze utilizes Maantay’s findings to reveal that zoning concentrates manufacturing in neighborhoods with less financial and social resources. These communities, which had less political and social influence made them easier targets for companies to intrude upon. 

Another aspect of Noxious New York is how this history leads to the disproportionate rates of asthma amongst Black and Brown communities, specifically children. With five times greater hospitalization rates for Black and Latino Americans and children in these communities having 3.5 times greater chances of contracting asthma, Sze stressed the importance of reflecting upon New York’s troubled environmental health history. 

The hope in Sze’s book comes from New York movements such as WE ACT and El Puente that have tackled both health and discrimination issues. With asthma rates as their catalysts, these movements have worked with a variety of institutions to resist the encroachment of new industries and tackle research directly involving their communities. 

El Puente’s research in Williamsburg, Brooklyn works to “join local insights with professional scientific techniques”, says Jason Corburn (featured in Noxious New York). Additionally, WE ACT has worked with the Columbia School of Public Health Research Project on Asthma in order to provide collections of data impacting children of marginalized communities. In partnering with Columbia, WE ACT receives support that helps advance their goal of reducing pollution exposure and documenting and reducing the issue of pollution causing asthma in their neighborhoods. 

Sze highlights the important work of these current movements through community-based research. Noxious New York portrays how community-based research rejects the notion of being too “emotional” or “irrational” and instead provides readers with an explanation as to how environmental health assessments can be done without forgetting how risk can increase in marginalized communities.

When I got a rash from wearing shorts, I didn’t know what to make of it. Where was this coming from? I had been swimming earlier that day. Did the water mix with something in the shorts?.. Soon I noticed rashes from wearing my socks for a long period of time. My family has a long history of autoimmune disorders, so I went to the doctor. After telling my story and showing some pictures, my doctor concluded I was experiencing topical allergic reactions to something on — or in — my clothing. She suggested I see a chemical allergist. Even then, I thought to myself:

“How complicated can a pair of shorts be?” 

That’s also the question investigative fashion journalist Alden Wicker asked herself in To Dye For, her award winning book about how the chemical dyes in our clothing are harming us.

Through a series of historical and individual stories Wicker uncovers the underreported problem of clothing chemicals. Wicker masterfully weaves together the stories of  different peoples’ lives, painting personal pictures of people from across the globe — telling bits and pieces until the realization hits. The common thread the whole time has been something so essential to their everyday lives: clothing.

Her journey starts in 2019, when Wicker got a tip that flight attendants from Alaska, American, Delta, and more were experiencing rashes.  Some even experienced hives, breathing difficulties, sore throats, cough, blurred vision, and fatigue. The suspected cause? Their uniforms. 

Airline executives dismissed the possibility. Studies showed no chemicals exceeding “safe” limits.  The companies insisted  it was “individual sensitivities”. 

This led Wicker down a rabbit hole, as she tried to figure out why the uniforms were causing the issues they were. Little did she know that the issues of chemical dyes extended far beyond just flight attendants. 

There was Jaclyn, a fashion production manager from New York, who would inhale chemical fumes from overseas shipments of clothes that eventually triggered severe Crohn’s. Then Karly, whose son’s terrible eczema soothed once she gave him clothes from organic fabric. And finally Debbie, a healthcare worker from Upstate New York, whose hometown tanneries exposed her to harmful levels of chromium that caused issues from endometriosis and cervical cancer. 

It turns out that the problem was more complex than anyone previously thought. While consumers may see a clothing tag that says “100% cotton” or “50% nylon, 50% wool”, those tiny labels obscure the complex chemical processes needed to make clothing fabric. 

While individually, the chemical treatments each material undergoes might be below the permitted limit, no one knows if there really are any “safe” limits. Chemical sensitivity is an under researched subject and little is known about the chemical effects in relation to one another.

Unlike food or beauty products, which are regulated by the federal government, there are few limits on the chemicals used to manufacture and treat clothing in the United States. Only lead, cadmium, and phthalates are regulated and tested for in the US. Wicker described the US as the “wild west” of the clothing industry — it is way behind the rest of the world in regulating clothing chemicals. 

And there should be other regulations. The European Union has many more regulations than the US, including — for example — on azo dyes. Azo dyes are common dyes used in the fashion industry to color polyester fabric. The problem emerges when these dyes come in contact with human skin bacteria and they release a “building block” chemical animes, which are known to cause cancer in humans. Even then, industry experts claim that little animes would not get into the human body from dyed clothing.

But those claims overlook two things: the ability for particles to shed from the clothing and a segment of the population that is notorious for crawling everywhere and putting grubby little hands in mouths… Children. One group of researchers Wicker interviewed found a correlation between azo dyes in children’s clothing and house dust. Not only did they find azo dyes in every single household, but one child’s shirt tested for dye levels a hundred times that of the EU limits. Conclusion? Children were probably ingesting known carcinogens.

If children are ingesting carcinogens and people are getting major rashes, why are there no regulations?

In the eyes of the US government, they no longer manufactures most of its own clothing. That’s a problem for China, India, and other manufacturing countries (which also happen to be countries where regulations are lax). But if the people wearing the clothes are suffering, what about the makers?

To find out, Wicker goes to India to visit garment and dyehouse workers. Not only do they suffer from lack of sleep, long working hours, and malnutrition, they too suffer from painful skin ailments and blisters and respiratory problems from harmful dyes. One worker said that his uncle’s hand had become shiny and brittle from working in the dyehouse. A garment sewer said her blisters improved after she quit a few months earlier, but her legs were still covered in painful sores.

And while azo dyes are a modern example of the risks of making clothes, this is nothing new  Wicker goes back in time to track how clothing —  specifically the materials that create them — has always been an issue. From the arsenic dyes of Victorian England to the mad hatters of France, how clothing has been made has caused problems.

Why bring this up? Well history has shown that regulation can protect both workers and consumers! Wicker is hopeful that — like in the past — Americans can band together and pressure our government to do something about the chemicals we’re being exposed to on a daily basis. In some states, they already have. California, Maine, and Washington have already passed legislation to detoxify consumer products.

While hopeful, Wicker leaves us on a bittersweet note. Wicker talks about what happened with the flight attendants. The Alaska flight attendant’s case against the clothing was thrown out.  American flight attendants had more success.  They  proved their uniforms contained  harmful chemicals, including a pesticide so potent it was banned by EPA in the 60’s. That  small victory is a reminder of how much more work there is to do to protect us from our own clothing. 

When I go to my allergist appointment in January, I will be keeping these stories in mind. But Wicker’s point it’s not just to relay that there’s a problem, but that the problem is one that all of us must confront. 

Will ecotourism remain the less traveled road? That’s what Martha Honey, Director of the Emeritus of the Center for Responsible Travel (CREST) believes. Her book, which highlights case studies of ecotourism around the world, explains why. To Honey, ecotourism is in its adolescence. 

She believes it will require a multitude of factors, such as the construction of a public that is both informed and critical to what is deemed ecotourism, for it to survive through the 21st century. 

The book Ecotourism and Sustainable Development: Who Owns Paradise? by Martha Honey, addresses the broad conceptions of the ecotourism industry, and its potential for taking over the very competitive and powerful tourism industry. Martha Honey has a diverse educational and career background that directly contributes to her expertise on ecotourism. On top of her 20 years of experience based in East Africa and Central America as a journalist, Honey spent ten years of her life in Tanzania, where she watched Tanzania shift from a socialist country to a capitalistic one, during which time its tourism industry flourished. 

To her, ecotourism is “travel to fragile, pristine, and usually protected areas that strive[s] to be low impact and (often) small scale. It helps educate the traveler, provide[s] funds for conservation, directly benefits the economic development and political empowerment of local communities, and fosters respect for different cultures and for human rights.”  

But at the time of the book’s conception, she noticed ecotourism was on the rise globally. Honey spent ten years in Costa Rica between the 1980s and the early 1990s. Costa Rica is the “poster child” of ecotourism. With flora and fauna, remarkable landscapes, good government policies and good advertising, Costa Rica’s biggest foreign contributor to their economy was their ecotourism sector by 1993. After her extensive stay, she realized the term was being used very loosely, blurring the lines between real ecotourism, and greenwashing scams. The lack of clarity on what constitutes ecotourism inspired her to begin researching internationally and compiling her findings into a book that was accessible to the public.  

The problem is that few ecotourist operations meet that standard. A lot of tourism in the market is mislabeled as ecotourism, but in reality are greenwashing scams. In 1995, an Iranian firm wanted to invest $50 million into building a hotel eco resort in Playa Grande, Costa Rica, a nesting beach for the leatherback turtles. They promised to be a green luxury resort, and take environmental considerations into account. However, those claims were fraudulent. As a result, the public pushed back through protest, preventing the project from continuing.

In her book, Honey provides a set of standards to distinguish ecotourism from ‘greenwashing.’ Does the industry financially benefit and contribute to the local people, minimize its environmental impact, and respect local culture? These are some of the criteria she uses in her scorecard across her case studies.

Honey takes on case studies from around the world, from the Galapagos, Costa Rica, Kenya, Zanzibar and South Africa and the United States, taking deep dives into the history of ecotourism in each region. However,  the most compelling case study is the East African nation of Tanzania. Honey expertly discusses the complicated history of tourism in two locations in Tanzania: the Serengeti National Park and Sinya village, both of which became hotspots for ecotourism because of their diverse range of wildlife, including elephants, zebras and gazelles. 

Post World War I & II, former European colonial rulers and the United States lobbied to disregard the original colonial law that granted and acknowledged the indigenous people of Serengeti, the Maasai’s right to live and conduct their cultural and hunting practices in TK place.These rights were stolen from the Masaai through when Maasai representatives were manipulated into signing their rights away. In the contract agreement, the Maasai had no knowledge of its contents. Honey expertly highlights a powerful quote by Parkipuny, a Maasai leader stating,  “This is our land, from which we were illegally evicted to create these parks.”

The safari tourism had not been explored in Tanzania prior to the 1950s, leading to rapid growth. But tourism  growth costs money. Tourism in Tanzania became so expensive through the excessive amount of mass imports needed to make tourism in the region attractive. This meant the locals could not enjoy any of the new tourism infrastructure in the 1970’s. 

In her scorecard, she requires that to be ecotourism, it needs to involve travel to natural destinations. Tanzania’s safari wildlife hotels and activities meet the description. There are some positives in her evaluation of Tanzania, such as ecotourism, building environmental awareness of the region and creating financial benefit for conservation of the Serengeti National Park. Overall, Tanzania is either partially successful or unsuccessful at meeting Honey’s criteria. One example is how Honey rated Tanzania’s respect for local culture. She rated it poorly because of the prejudice and treatment of not only the Maasai but other pastoralists in Tanzania.

Her spots of humor kept me reading. When Tanzania’s expensive tourist infrastructure began to fall apart in the late 1970s, Honey narrates the story of an American tourist who found himself in a bathroom with no toilet paper.  The clerk reassured him that toilet paper would arrive from China in as little as two weeks. 

If the book were written today or revised for a third edition, it is likely that Honey would give new attention to Tanzania especially, as their tourism sector’s impact on the Maasai has only escalated and ecotourism’s impact on all indigenous populations. Many locations of ecotourism initiatives directly interfere and negatively impact indigenous populations to this day, displacing indigenous people from the land and erasing their rights to the land. This much needed conversation is lacking in the nonfiction literature market, very reminiscent of Martha Honey retaliation of the lack of information on ecotourism, prior to when she first published the book in 1999.

Ecotourism is bigger than ever in 2024, at a staggering 248.17 billion (USD) global market size in 2024. As the ecotourism industry continues to grow in popularity through the next few decades, being able to differentiate ecotourism from greenwashing is vital to the consumer and ecotourism survival. Honey has established a framework that both tourists and even governments can utilize to prevent being deceived by greenwashing tactics. Despite its age, the book still offers a great introduction to ecotourism. If you are in need of a tutorial of everything ecotourism, this is the best book on the market for it.

Ocean exploitation has exploded. Massive abandoned nets drift with the currents, entangling and strangling over half a million marine mammals each year. Factory ships stay out at sea for weeks, devastating fisheries. Much like the controversial fishing method of bottom trawling, deep sea mining technology being developed will obliterate seabed ecosystems. With the growing scale of destruction, why do scientific pursuits seem to have stood still? According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, even today only 5% of the oceans have been explored. But based on current trends that 5% and more is ripe for exploitation and ecological damage. 

Sea Change: A Message of the Oceans by Sylvia Earle shows how, despite knowledge that the ocean hosts incredible diversity, progress on studying and cataloging our seas has been outstripped by the race to exploit them.  The troubling bit? It was written three decades ago, and is more relevant than ever.

Sylvia Earle’s resume is impressive. Her background is biological, with her receiving her Master’s and PhD degrees in Botany, with a focus in ocean plant life, at Duke University. Earle co-founded Deep Ocean Engineering (a submersible development company) and was Chief Scientist at NOAA. As a major player in the world of deep sea scientific exploration, she holds the record for the deepest untethered dive completed by a woman. 

Sea Change is part memoir, part crash course in ocean science. It weaves together Earle’s personal experiences, scientific insights, and a call to recognize the ocean’s vital role in sustaining life on Earth. The book begins with her journey into the deep through scientific dives, and underwater living experiments. Despite Earle’s passion for preserving the ocean, she has led numerous ocean submersible engineering projects commissioned by big oil companies for offshore oil platform maintenance. She then details human threats to the ocean, including overfishing and oil spills. Finally, Earle attempts to bring hope to an otherwise dark tale with whispers of restoration and progress. 

Throughout the book, Sylvia Earle’s style is gorgeous and heart wrenching. She tackles her own philosophy of life, writing: “Today is different from yesterday and all the tomorrows of the future, in part because of the presence of every living thing, large and small”. Earle makes clear, at times through poetic language, that she is concerned with more than human’s relationship with the watery world. She is focused on the drivers behind our actions and that humans are not all knowing or all powerful. We, like the dinosaurs, are but a blip in the history of this planet.

This book’s message is identical to the current state of our oceans: humans are damaging it with ruthless efficiency, threatening not only marine ecosystems but our future as well. Earle considers the Horseshoe crab; a 445 million year old living fossil used in the biomedical industry and as bait for eels. She tracks the threats to these not-so-crabby arthropods and identifies coastal water pollution as the biggest threat to their survival. Nowadays, the Horseshoe crab is even worse off. This year, the Center for Biological Diversity published a press release calling for the American Horseshoe crab to be added to the Endangered Species Act. Currently, much of their population is being “bled” for their blue blood, used to make vaccines, which often goes unregulated and has become increasingly industrialized. Both environmental degradation and overharvesting can have unknown impacts on individual species and ecosystems years down the road. And their effect on humankind is only now starting to be realized.

Atlantic Horseshoe Crab

The Horseshoe crab is not alone. Earle highlights the consequences of human driven mass extinctions that are destabilizing ecosystems and decreasing diversity worldwide — what is now termed the  “The Anthropocene Extinction”. Animals are adapted to their specific niche and while they can tolerate slight changes, the speed and intensity of human expansion and innovation is proving to be too much to handle. Living fossils like the Horseshoe Crab are unable to cope with drastic environmental changes driven by chemical pollution, overharvesting, and development. The Chinese Paddlefish, a 200 million year old behemoth of a fish, was declared extinct in 2020 due to dams blocking their spawning migrations. The problem clearly has not disappeared, in fact, it’s become much worse.

A photo of the Chinese Paddlefish from 1993, the year they were though to have become “functionally extinct”. Photograph by Qiwei Wei.

Earle highlights the importance of people who interact with the ocean and steward it. One such example is a group of Japanese women freedivers called the Ama. The Ama have a centuries old tradition of free diving to collect seafood, shells, and algae for sustenance. In South Korea, a group of women similar to the Ama, called Haenyeo, also freedive for a living. But, a 2024 documentary reveals that less young women are willing to take up the diving culture, preferring more relaxed careers and that the threats of overfishing and nuclear waste have changed the types of sea life that Haenyeo encounter under the waves. The divers have dwindled to a tenth of their numbers from only 80 years ago. Unsustainable fishing and toxic waste aren’t just wiping out fish–they are destroying cultures.

Haenyeo with octopus.

The biggest shortcoming of this book is Earle’s ideas about how to solve these problems. While her discussions of rewilding and creating protected areas are in line with modern practices, she suggests that the individual is most impactful, writing: “Not only do the actions of individuals matter; only what individuals do matter.” This is a beautiful sentiment, but it doesn’t grapple with the reality of making systemic change. Creating a marine protected area requires countless collaborators across governments, scientific institutions, and impacted communities. Reducing pollution requires both a systemic shift in a company’s production practices and changes in consumer behavior towards multi-use containers and products that are certified sustainable.   

In addition to conservation being collaborative by nature, pollution and overfishing are primarily caused by companies and conglomerates. Currently, only 100 companies are the source of 71% of emissions since human driven climate change was recognized. Individuals’ choices to ride a bike to work or take public transportation are steps in the right direction on the marathon to human sustainability, but factories becoming emission-free would move the world miles closer to the finish line. An individual’s choice to pluck a piece of plastic from the beach is, quite literally, a drop in the ocean by comparison. Without major change, this mindset will allow Sea Change to still be relevant in another thirty years.

Farmland turned into muddy lakes. Baby calves swept into rivers. Fields scarred with gullies. Roads washed away by rivers. In Iowa, hundred-year rain events are now occuring every 25 years. As climate change drives more intense rain events, soil — weakened by a century of intensive farming and monocropping — is giving way. In this flooded landscape, farmers scramble to stay afloat. 

Tom Philpott’s book, Perilous Bounty, investigates the agriculture industry in two locations, California and the American Midwest. He examines how agriculture and the environment are locked in a vicious cycle. Agriculture in these two regions is dependent on specific regional environments. Almond and pistachio trees require the dry Mediterranean-esque heat of California, while corn and soybeans rely on the fertile topsoil in the Midwest.

Farming these crops depletes the very environment they depend on. Fruit trees in California pull water from underground aquifers faster than they can be replenished. Corn and soybean fields in the Midwest are tilled intensively, eroding valuable topsoil. These farming enterprises suffer, as the natural resources they depend on to successfully grow their crops break down. Climate change is only making it worse.

Farmers are often blamed for environmental degradation – after all, they are the ones cultivating the land. Why don’t they change their ways?  ? Philpott explains that they’re locked into a system that discourages it. 

In the Midwest, Big Agriculture is dominated by conglomerates like Bayer, Syngenta, and Corteva. They squeeze farmers out of most of their profits. Corporate lobbyists encourage the government to provide subsidies to farmers for continued production of corn and soybean. As climate change worsens erosion and flooding, Big Agriculture companies profit by selling “solutions.” True solutions which limit erosion, such as regenerative farming, are subsidized at much lower rates. Whether financially or environmentally, Midwest farmers are always on the losing side. 

In most developed countries, “dirty” jobs like manufacturing and refineries are shipped overseas to avoid negative effects, like worsening air or water pollution. Philpott asks why has farming not been outsourced despite its disastrous effects? 

These companies have no reason to move their industries abroad. Instead, they keep profiting  off the hard work of farmers and the largesse of American taxpayers.  Huge land area and diverse climates means most crops can be grown in the United States. Huge agricultural lobbies ensure that these companies can hold onto their control through limited regulation. The agricultural industry continues to make a few companies very rich, while local communities pay the price. 

The future for business-as-usual farming is precarious. But, it doesn’t have to be. By seamlessly blending quantitative facts with narrative stories collected through countless interviews and field studies, Philpott paints a picture of farmer resilience in the face of corporate greed. 

In a changing climate and on the verge of environmental collapse, farmers are changing too. In California, some farmers are turning to drought resistant plant species and experimenting with dry farming, where crops are grown with almost no irrigation. In the Midwest, farmers are experimenting with cover crops and crop rotations to improve soil health and reduce reliance on pesticides. While their neighbors’ fields are covered with dusty, dry soil, theirs is a rich black, teeming with nutrients. 

Though presenting many stories of adaptation from farmers, Philpott offers few of his own solutions. According to Philpott, change in the agricultural industry needs to come from the ground up, through individual mobilization. Policies like the Green New Deal offer potential. One part of the Green New Deal leaves specific legislation up for the public to decide, by calling for the elimination of pollution and greenhouse gas emissions from the agricultural industry, while supplying no concrete policies on how to achieve this goal. Philpott is aware that policy change is unlikely during a republican-dominated administration (he wrote this book during the Trump presidency). He believes that the Green New deal inspires grassroot support. While politicians are influenced by lobbies and feasibility studies, people can mobilize and advocate for changes they want to see.

But, to the reader, who has followed him through his own alarmist investigation into American agriculture, this conclusion seems far fetched. While Philpott urges the reader to “Vote with your fork, yes. But also, vote with your feet,” one is left wondering what difference this would make. Without political support to make sustainable policies possible, how can anything be achieved at all? In an otherwise interesting book, this key question remains unanswered.

In Perilous Bounty, Philpott shows that environmental issues are often not as simple as they appear. Big Agriculture has continually put profits before people and the environment. The food we rely on has an environmental price tag. The cost will continue to climb until we can no longer afford it. It’s time to reshape the agricultural industry before it is too late – the very future of food depends on it. 

“Tourism is that rare industry whose ‘product’ is a country.” Everything from the historical architecture to hikes through the natural landscape are important in ensuring a country’s appeal to tourists. But the industry did not start this way. To best understand how the tourism industry became the holistic experience it is today, it would require a trip around the world. 

My trip around the world came in the form of a book. Elizabeth Becker’s Overbooked: The Exploding Business of Travel and Tourism traces the historical roots of international travel, with side trips to France, Cambodia, the United Arab Emirates, Zambia, Costa Rica, China and the United States. 

Why Elizabeth Becker and not Marco Polo? Becker boasts an award-winning journalistic background with four decades of experience covering international affairs. Her connections compare well to those of a globe-trotting government official, all of which she uses to weave the informative, yet deeply personal, narrative of her travels. 

Whether the person is a local guide or a country’s minister of tourism, she expertly introduces them to the reader and gives us a seat at the table. While on a cruise ship to Belize, Becker meets Hagar, an Indian college graduate who was working as a server. She is only paid $50 per month, but “sees her job on the ship as an adventure.” 

Becker personalizes each country and their major tourist experiences in the same way. A Zambian safari tour introduces readers to ecotourism. Becker explains the importance of such trips in local wildlife conservation efforts. While a (window) shopping trip in the UAE introduces consumer tourism. Becker reminds readers that migrant labor was required to build the city-like malls. 

Overbooked is not meant to be an encyclopedic text on tourism. It is a collection of case studies that interweaves history and its impact in modern practices (early 2010s) within respective countries.

Still, none of Becker’s case studies would be complete without history. No matter if it involves the horrors of the Khmer Rouge (the Communist Party that took control of Cambodia between 1975-1979) or the initial popularization of pandas in Europe for their cuteness, she is sure to inform readers of their impacts on the development of the industry in each country. 

But Becker is not always prepared. Before she undertook her safari adventures, Becker admits to having avoided the African continent. Her reluctance only changed when she started writing her book and had a realization. “[O]ne of the pillars of the global tourism industry is the African safari, with cameras or rifles, in search of those animals I saw in the zoo.” 

While safaris play a major role in tourism, Becker’s framing is misleading. Zambia is about more than safaris. It is also about cultural richness. According to the Zambian Tourism board, over 70 different tribes call the country home and more than 20 festivals are hosted annually, each representing different cultural traditions and practices. But Becker seems to think only the wildlife is worth exploring.

Tourism is a lucrative industry with far-reaching impacts. Through Overbooked, Becker hopes to help travelers better understand the impacts of their actions, and how tourism also impacts their own country of residence. Her book is certainly a good starting point, but with how tourism has expanded since, readers will have to be even more proactive in their choice of travel.

Pawpaw, poor man’s banana, bandango, custard apple, prairie banana, and the Indiana banana. A fruit so widespread that it has half a dozen names, but most people don’t know what the fruit is. I didn’t know what pawpaws were before I stumbled across Pawpaw: In Search Of America’s Forgotten Fruit by Andrew Moore. 

Photo of where pawpaws naturally grow in the southeast of the U.S. 

Source: Pawpaw: In Search Of America’s Forgotten Fruit By Andrew Moore

The pawpaw, or Asimina triloba, is the largest fruit native to North America. Pawpaws grow on a tree and can be harvested in the fall by gently shaking the trunk. Pawpaws have a green outside with a sweet, yellow inside when ripe. They are incredibly versatile and common in the Pawpaw Belt. Avoid the emetic black seeds mixed in with the pulp and it’s a custardy treat that can be used in beer, ice cream, smoothies, and pie. 

But despite their delicious taste, pawpaws won’t be found in almost any grocery store. 

Growing pawpaws on farms is incredibly difficult, so they are usually foraged from wild pawpaw trees. Pawpaws rot within days of ripening, and only ripen while on the tree – unlike apples. One pawpaw farmer, Jim Davis, lost the majority of his crop when a hurricane hit because he could not pick them early and let them ripen later. Nevertheless, he has continued to grow pawpaws but is one of the only ones and it’s not hard to see why. 

Pawpaws are incredibly finicky. Trees take six years to produce fruit, which causes an extreme lag between costs and profits that is unsustainable for most farmers. Additionally, it requires a lot of manpower as they must be picked by hand to avoid bruising their sensitive skin. Getting the pulp out is also best done by hand or as much as 50% is wasted. Needless to say, Davis is one of the few farmers willing to take on this crop. 

Despite this, Moore still wants to spread the pawpaw and bring them to grocery stores all over the country. He believes the pulp can be vacuum sealed like guacamole to avoid browning, allowing everyone to try this fruit. While this is an admirable goal, it is unlikely many farmers would be willing to take on these burdens. Foraging will likely remain the most common way to enjoy pawpaws, as they have been for centuries. 

Moore follows the history of pawpaws from before human contact all the way to modernity. Pawpaws have been in America since giant sloths ate them while roaming the continent. Indigenous groups used them for food, with the Iroquois using it in sauces and corn cakes. The Caddo and Creek tribes also ate this fruit, though they all had different names for it. Spanish conquistador Hernando de Soto relied on them for sustenance on his exploration near what is now Tennessee. Jamestown residents were introduced to it by the Paspahegh tribe. Kids in Appalachia grew up on this throughout the 1900s.

Moore uses anecdotes mixed with this historical context to keep the reader engaged. Between history lessons on who ate pawpaws, he shares his adventures – like how a park ranger was waiting for him at his car while he was pawpaw picking. When he realized, Moore called out “Just picking up pawpaws!” He described himself as looking “like a feverish madman, shaggy-haired, way too wide-eyed and excited, holding a bag of mushy green orbs” but was allowed to continue on his way by the ranger.

The reader follows him as he floats down the Mississippi, attends a pawpaw fair, interviews professors, and works in an orchard. 

This book is an attempt to bring pawpaw back to America. He is passionate, calling himself and others ‘pawpaw nuts.’ His adventures to bring the pawpaw back are funny and sweet by turn. This makes the book engaging, as the reader falls into the same level of care as he illustrates his love of pawpaws. 

Moore interviews everyone he meets about pawpaws, including people selling fruit on the side of the road and waitresses at the diners he eats at. One stand out is Neal Peterson. Also known as Johnny Pawpawseed, Peterson is a retired man who has been trying to spread the pawpaw throughout the United States for the past thirty years. He has bred multiple varieties of it, much like apples can be,  and sells seeds and trees to farmers. Peterson has been doing this for over 30 years. Moore tries those varieties in his hunt for the best pawpaw, but also wild ones he found from North Carolina to Louisiana. They were all unique, much like the state’s pawpaw culture. 

Different states’ knowledge of pawpaws varies as widely as the location they grow. Appalachia has plenty of knowledge and many people grew up eating the fruit. Appalachians were self-reliant during the Great Depression, and foraged for food – including pawpaws. This tradition was passed down and remains popular within Appalachia. Inversely, pawpaws are basically unknown in North Carolina despite growing in both places. Moore explores why and how this is possible, delving deep into possible explanations. 

However, it can get too bogged down in history. Long passages on Lewis and Clark, 1900s pawpaw competitions, and more make for an overwhelming amount of history. Cutting back would allow the pawpaw to shine more and let the reader get attached to individual pawpaw enthusiasts. 

This book is a wonderful entryway into foraging, providing knowledge and history of this delicious fruit. It also answers questions about how to harvest, how to eat it, and what to look out for. It is a comprehensive look at this ancient fruit, and is perfect for those wondering about the nature around them.