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178 pages

English

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It is the year 1852, and the origin of species remains a mystery. In a primitive hut in the remote Amazonian jungle, Alfred Wallace, a brilliant young collector of scientific specimens, lies wasted by tropical illness. He does not expect to survive. Healed by a village shaman, Wallace continues his pioneering fieldwork in the Malay archipelago, crystalising his ideas about evolutionary theory, which Charles Darwin had also secretly formulated but was reluctant to publish.In this new novel based on the scientist's extraordinary life, what unfolds is a dramatic tale of money, class, faith and discrimination.Reviews:"Wallace never attained Darwin's level of fame, perhaps because Wallace's radical ideas (including his belief in spiritualism) ran contrary to those of the scientific establishment. The Evolutionist brings to life a saga of passion for research, and the sharp divides of money, class, and discrimination. A strongly impressionistic portrait of an undeservedly little-known scientist, The Evolutionist is a raptly compelling read."Midwest Book Review"Brimful of factual details This novel will appeal to any reader interested in the lives of the intrepid Victorian specimen hunters."Historical Novel Society"A wide audience beyond the scientifically curious will find this an easy read and come away with a richer understanding of the rigours of early scientific research both in the field and in the halls of established theory."Professor Gene J. Parola, author The Devil to Pay"An exciting adventure story well told."Peter Hobson, Shiny New Books"Avi Sirlin has produced an enjoyable and thought-provoking work which should thankfully introduce a remarkable (yet remarkably unknown) scientific giant to a wider audience."Rodney Munday, sculptor of the Alfred Russel Wallace wall relief in Hertford"A triumph of biographical fiction, an utterly convincing character study of one of the most poignant figures in the history of science. Wallace's status as social outsider, beside the more established standing of Darwin and his connections with Lyell and Hooker (the latter represented by the fictitious composite character Newcastle), conspired to deprive him of fuller credit for his accomplished work in advancing the controversial new theory, especially as the younger Wallace chose to go through Darwin himself to present his paper first explicating it.The genius of the novel is its convincing immersion in the language of its time, the mid-nineteenth century. Neither dense nor affected, however, the period piece reads as naturally as if its prose were our own. Particularly seamless is the blending of speech by the characters in Wallace's circle, and the narrative voice portraying the protagonist in third person (Bates and he had a devil of a time squeezing through the narrow channel Along the way, the pacing of action, thought and dialogue keeps us engaged in the journey, whether in the muck of the Amazon and jungles of Borneo, or the salons, courtrooms and pubs of London. Sirlin has a deft touch with visual description to complement an unerring taste (A pill of memory stuck in his throat) and ear for authentic languageSirlin uses his lawyer's skills to chart the mystery of the origins of Darwin's famous Origin of Species. While some of the blame for Wallace's obscurity lies with his self-effacing humility, and some for an accident at sea, and still more for the constricting mindset of established science, the machinations of Darwin and his associates clearly contrived to bring Darwin's long-simmering theory to the fore. In this drama, however, even these competitors show compassion and respect for Wallace's acquiescence; and Darwin himself admits: Your essay inspired a clarity of vision that had altogether been precluded by my own cowardice.The Evolutionist works as an entertaining read, as a polished literary gem, and as an authoritative expose of science's most celebrated coincidence. The thorough research appears as it should in the best historical fiction, to make the world and its characters come truly and convincingly alive."Howick Gray, author of Hunter's Daughter [review: Goodreads]About the author:Avi Sirlingrew up in Toronto, Canada. After graduating university with a degree in Biology, he worked in a variety of occupations, including pastry baker, forklift operator and landscaper. He'd already enjoyed fulfilling stints as house painter, taxi driver, hot dog vendor, laboratory technician, grain handler, parking lot attendant and telephone solicitor (for which he deeply apologizes, no matter how desperately he needed his tuition money). Each was interesting work, in its own way, but nonetheless he elected to seek a new career path. When Avi next graduated, he had a law degree. As a new lawyer, he first worked with a large Toronto law firm where, from his 35th floor office window, he could see the silos of Victory Soya Mills and reflect fondly on those days when he'd slugged ninety-pound bags of soybean meal all day. After a couple of years practising labour and employment law, Avi left the firm and founded his own law practice in downtown Toronto, eventually focusing upon immigration and criminal law. Fifteen years went by in a blur. Then Avi decided it was time for a change.Avi now lives in Victoria, British Columbia. Although he still does some legal consulting work, for the past several years he has focused on writing. He has written two screenplays and a novel. He is currently at work on his next novel.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	Distributed By PublishDrive
Date de parution	04 novembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781906582135
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

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Extrait

AVI SIRLIN

Avi Sirlin is a Canadian writer and lawyer who grew up in Toronto. After oPtaining a university degree in Piology, he attended law school in Kingston, Ontario, then returned to Toronto where he estaPlished a practice in immigration and criminal law. Avi now lives on Vancouver Island in British ColumPia and is currently at work on a new novel.

www.avisirlin.com

In memory of my father, Harvey Sirlin

THE EVOLUTIONIST

by Avi Sirlin

Published in the DK by Aurora Metro Books in 2014. 67 Grove Avenue, Twickenham TW1 4HX www.aurorametro.cominfo@aurorametro.com

Aurora Metro Books would like to thank Neil Gregory, Richard Turk, Suzanne Mooney, Emma Lee Fitzgerald, Hinesh Pravin, Chantelle Jagannath and Russell Manning.

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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the ublisher’s rior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is ublished and without a similar condition being imosed on the subsequent urchaser.

Printed in the DK by Berforts Information Press. ISBN: 978-1-906582-53-1

eBook conversion by Swift ProSys. ISBN: 978-1-906582-13-5

THE EVOLUTIONIST

by Avi Sirlin

AURORA METRO BOOKS

CHAPTER ONE Pará (Belém), Brazil July 12, 1852

It was plain to Alfred Wallace that the crew, many of them old salts who’d surely made numerous and sundry South American ports befor e, had never seen anything quite like it. This despite the opportunit ies afforded immediately outside the town, where boundless forest stretched to the h orizon. Wallace assumed that the men’s explorations had been more limited, likel y confined to the wharf’s nearest taverns, brothels, markets, and perhaps, fo r some, its churches. So while their captain sorted out another delay – the last-minute arrival of more balsam – several deckhands now gathered for what, t o them, was a zoological revelation: Wallace’s caged menagerie, arrayed atop the main deck like a shop display. “Excuse me ignorance, sir,” said the sailor with gr ey side whiskers. He crouched at a distance from the largest cage. “What is it?” “Its scientific name isSpeothos venaticus.” The sailor’s scarlet nose crinkled and with one kno bby thumb he tilted back the brim of his cap, his confusion apparent to all. “A jungle dog,” Wallace explained. “Ah, right,” said the old sailor, nodding as if his supposition had just been confirmed. He then stood aside, allowing others a b etter glimpse. “Look at them short legs,” said a spindly boy of no t more than fifteen, clear blue eyes stark against sun-darkened skin. “And with them little ears and snout, I reckoned him more for a small brown bear.” “Oh, I can assure you that Ollie is most certainly a member of the Canid family.” “Ollie?” said the boy. “That’s how you call him, Mr. Wallace?” “I named him after Oliver Twist.” “Sir?” “This dog was but a pitiable orphan when I first en countered him. Though wild of nature, he is quite docile and not at all advers e to a gentle hand.” Wallace slipped his fingers through the wood slats. The dog raised its muzzle, snuffled, and promptly laid its head back down. The boy crept closer and cautiously reached into th e enclosure. Straining to touch the dense russet fur, he abruptly pulled back . “Them feet is webbed!” Another deckhand peered in. “Isaac’s right.” The rest of the men, semi-circled behind, began murmuring. “Precisely what makes him of scientific interest,” Wallace said. “Ollie’s natural forest habitat typically consists of marsh, bogs an d streams. In other words, he lives a semi-aquatic existence. The feet are a fine adaptation, wouldn’t you say?” The boy nodded uncertainly. Ollie allowed a drawn-out yawn. Wallace reached int o the cage and rubbed him above the ear. The dog represented the final addition to what was once a considerable inventory, numbering over one hundred specimens. Th rough attrition and misfortune, however, his collection was now reduced to five monkeys (one

mottle-faced tamarin, a red howler, two capuchins a nd a collared titi), along with a dozen parrots and parakeets, a macaw, and one imp erturbable river tortoise. “If you don’t mind me saying it,” said the grey-whi skered sailor, “the way he just lies there, curled up and all, he looks sickly .” “I should think he’s in reasonable health,” Wallace said. “The first fortnight of captivity he wouldn’t remain still – pacing, clawin g and chewing at the wood. However, after two months, he has succumbed to bore dom.” “I’ll wager he takes a shine to England,” said the boy. “Then he’ll perk up!” “If you’re fixing to bring him home with you,” the old sailor said, “then you’d best hope Mr. Roland don’t slip up here with his cl eaver while the mongrel’s unattended. Our good cook ain’t so fussed about whe re he gets his meat.” The men hooted and roared. Then from the quarterdec k the first mate issued orders and it was all business, everyone scattering to their duties. While the crew made their final preparations, Walla ce leaned against the portside rail with its commanding view of Pará’s st reets. The Brazilian town had undergone significant change in the four years sinc e he and Henry Bates first came ashore in 1848, hardly a missing or broken til e now among the red roofs of the houses. Indeed, fresh white plaster adorned man y a wall, and window boxes flourished with brightly-coloured gloxinia, freesia s and magnolia. Public areas had also seen extensive maintenance. White-blossome d almond trees and scarlet-flowered silk cottons now canopied newly pa ved streets serviced by a modern fleet of cabriolets. Squares exuded orderlin ess, their habitués attending to gossip and dominoes, no longer posing menace to decent citizenry. And at its farthest reaches, residences and roads sprouted whe re four years ago there had been only jungle; Pará now chafed against its seaml ess collar of greenery. Progress? Undoubtedly. Yet having wandered its stre ets this past week while awaiting his departure, Wallace knew that more than a trace of old Pará lingered. The large shambling market with its sweaty denizens , treacherous peelings under foot and the vultures circling high overhead. The rotting stench that infiltrated surrounding streets, where a legion of plodding bullock carts laden with dubious carcasses clattered beneath clouds of blowf lies. And notwithstanding improvements to many local edifices, pockets of neg lected properties abounded, weedy pestilent gardens demarcated by rotted or bro ken wood palings, houses festooned with creepers and filigreed by cracks, en tire armies of lizards sunning themselves, ants laying siege to every surface, eve ry unsealed entry-point. For all that, however, Pará’s signature characteristic remained the legions of men who, without apparent gainful employment, roamed th e town, drunk even at midday, consorting with other morally pliable men a nd, sad to say, women. All of it needless. For there was no lack of work, at leas t not for those prepared to bear a little exertion. How he was sick of it, all of it. How he longed for England. The additional balsam was finally loaded into the h old, then his animals, too, were stowed. And at last they were underway, theHelennosing into the slowly bay. On the wharf, among the barefoot Indian and Ne gro children hawking oranges, mangoes and sarsaparilla roots, a young bo y of indeterminate heritage waved energetically, wood cross swaying upon his ba re chest. Wallace returned the gesture, though unable to muster the same fervo ur. Beneath a wide pristine summer sky, the brig steere d into the current. They passed a Portuguese schooner at anchor, customs boa t fastened alongside. Sandbars and islets slipped past, transmitting thei r rich alluvial scent, and Pará quickly receded, reduced to a distant corsage of re d and white against a profusion of green. The last thing he saw, the fina l memory he would hold, was on the town’s outskirts where he’d wandered the pre vious day; the plot of land teemed with white crosses.

A mile or so downriver they passed two Indians padd ling a canoe filled with oranges destined for town. But there was little els e of interest and when the afternoon heat built as usual, his strength drained . He trudged to the cabin and lay down. Late afternoon he rose refreshed for the rest, enth usiastic even. Despite his usual trepidation for ocean travel, he might relish this voyage. For the first time in months, there would be no foraging through jungl e, eyes and ears straining for signs of insect or bird life. No navigation or mapm aking. No supervision of manpower. No equipment repair or specimens waiting to be catalogued. No more perils or physical demands or logistics whatso ever beyond the care of his animals until they reached England in late August, some six weeks hence. Wishing to savour the occasion he went on deck for a final view of the tropics before they commenced the open sea crossing. The vista, it turned out, was negligible. The neare st shore lay seven or eight miles distant across the yellowish water, the other invisible. At least, he thought in consolation as the mainsails snapped overhead, t hey were making good speed. “Good evening, sir.” Wallace was surprised to find Captain Turner at his side. He considered the captain an agreeable sort, but noticed an air of di stractedness, as though the man routinely left off amid one task to pursue anot her, then broke off that activity for a new one, not to return to the original matter except through some random catalyst. Odd someone of his demeanour, let alone a mple girth, had come up so silently. Then Wallace caught sight of the wrigglin g bare toes, and a rather more unsettling vision – the pale skin was sullied with blood-red welts. The captain followed Wallace’s stare. “A ghastly sp ectacle, I imagine. I purchased new boots from a well-recommended boot-ma ker in Pará and all day I’ve suffered. When I went to the cabin to remove t he boots, I saw you’d gotten up and thought you might be here. I worried the cab in was not to your satisfaction.” “Very kind of you, Captain, but I find it quite com fortable. I only hope my intrusion into your living quarters isn’t too troub lesome.” “Not at all. It is a rare pleasure to have on board a gentleman such as yourself for intelligent company. However I do regret we are n’t equipped for passengers, or at least able to offer some arrangement that mig ht allow you greater space and privacy.” “Of little concern to me, I can assure you. Expedie ncy is my priority.” “Yes,” said Turner, “I imagine in your line of work you’ve endured far more objectionable conditions than the shared confines o f my small cabin.” “Others have known worse than I.” “Be that as it may, we are honoured to have you, sir.” “Captain, in terms of your feet, I have a useful oi ntment obtained from the Indians on the Rio Negro. I suspect it will furnish greater relief than any chemist’s compound.” “Thank you sir, but that is entirely unnecessary. I n any event, I must presently attend to the whereabouts of my first mate. I’m afr aid my officers sometimes carry on as though I don’t exist. However, I needn’ t bother you with my troubles. You’ve certainly earned your right to a restful voy age after all your hard work in those savage lands, so I shall leave you in peace.” Turner waddled away one heel to the next like a pen guin and Wallace remained at the rail. He intended to make note of t he moonrise for his journal. When the crescent finally made its appearance, so t oo did the young deckhand. He intro-duced himself as Isaac Plum and, after wis hing him a pleasant evening, he enquired as to whether Ollie needed exercise.

Wallace placed his watch in his pocket. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Captain Turner by depriving him of an able seaman s uch as yourself.” “Oh, you needn’t have no worry, Mr. Wallace. When I ’ve no duties, Captain Turner allows me full liberty. A kinder captain I c ouldn’t ask for.” Wallace took account of those bright eyes and the s lender hands worrying the seams of his trousers. A short time later, Ollie wa s tugging the lead of rope clutched by the boy. Strolling alongside, Wallace t oo, was well occupied. A white-breasted parrot restlessly shuttled back and forth upon his forearm. “She’s a lively bird, ain’t she?” Isaac said. “Yes, Lily seldom remains still. If I hadn’t clippe d her flight feathers – something I do with all the birds – I can assure yo u she’d be performing acrobatics atop the main mast. And she’s bolder tha n any of the monkeys. When I take my meals, I never turn my back for fear that I shall soon find smaller portions, coffee included.” Isaac’s laughter was interrupted by a barrage of sq uawks and Wallace lifted Lily onto his shoulder. From that vantage she dippe d her beak to tease out strands of his beard while his forefinger riffled t he back of her neck. Their evening ritual. The boy tenderly rubbed one of Oliver’s ears. The b ush dog didn’t respond, straining forward, finding exotic scents in the wea thered oak planks. “Sir, what will become of Ollie and the other anima ls when we get to England?” “With the exception of Lily, of whom I’ve grown rather fond, I shall sell them.” “Sell?” “There’s considerable interest in specimens of the Amazon. Through an agent I’ve engaged in London, some of my insects and bird skins have already been purchased by the British Museum, the Zoological Soc iety and other public institutions, as well as various private individual s, gentlemen naturalists.” Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Why would gents pay for the m dead things?” “For some, it is a hobby. But for most, it’s a seri ous matter. At present, I dare say there exists no collection of species that may be called truly comprehensive. The full diversity of the living world – animals, i nsects, birds, fish, plants – is something we have only started to understand. Its d etailed study is likely to yield answers to some of the natural world’s most perplex ing questions.” “What sort of questions?” “Well, for instance, why would two different but si milar butterfly species be found in neighbouring habitats? And why should such closely allied species exist in the first place? And by what mechanism? These ar e issues in which I am profoundly interested.” Ollie’s paws scrabbled upon the wood as he caught t he scent of something ahead. “Regrettably, I haven’t been able to ship anything abroad in three years. Most of the collection I brought aboard was to have prec eded me to England, but the Brazilian customs officials had other ideas – Well, now! It appears Ollie has had some luck.” The dog had plunged into a well of coiled rope and when his snout re-materialized it was gnashing at a piece of salted b eef. “That’d be the first time Mr. Roland’s grub ever me t with such enthusiasm,” said Isaac. Wallace heard himself laughing. How long since he’d last done that? Perhaps the voyage would ease his mind of some of its burde ns after all. The next morning, after feeding and watering his an imals, Wallace joined the captain and first mate for breakfast in the captain ’s dining room. Over coffee and biscuits, he sought to agreeably uphold his end of Captain Turner’s discourse –