Holy goodness, what a year—and what a stretch of eight months since I last had breathing space to update here. I should be writing this in the blog column, "The Latest," to the right, but what's the point of having a website Home page that ignores the elephants in the room.  You and I and the world have been through a lot lately—Year One of the pandemic, and the election, and the delusional denial of the election's results, and the insurrection of January 6, and more. I hope you haven't lost close friends and loved ones to Covid-19, but odds are good that you have, alas. I hope you haven't lost sanity or . . . hope.

     As for me: safe and healthy and sane, so far, with my wife Betsy and our family menagerie, in Montana. Having returned from Tasmania on March 2, I haven't boarded an airplane since, and I got through 2020 on one tank of gas. I was at work on a book last spring (hence the Tasmania trip), but at the urging of Simon & Schuster that one is now on hold, and I'm at work on another: on Covid-19. Of course there will be a stampede of Covid-19 books, that gallop has already begun, and the challenge to me (to any writer) is to produce one that will be uniquely valuable. I have an approach, a plan, but I won't discuss that here, yet.

     Meanwhile, while becalmed in Bozeman, MT, I have undergone double knee replacement, served as an election observer, begun skiing again (but only cross-country, so far, on these new knees), and also written several short pieces related to Covid, as here linked, from most recent to least:

     A cover story in the Ferbruary 2021 issue of National Geographic on the evolutionary origins of viruses and how they have helped shape the history of life, not just made humans occasionally sick: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2021/02/viruses-can-cause-great-harm-but-we-could-not-live-without-them-feature/ 

     An extended OpEd essay in the New York Times , from December, on bats and their relations with both viruses and us, with emphasis on the fact that we have done bats more harm than they have done us: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/11/opinion/covid-bats.html

     Another OpEd for the Times, back in September, on the pandemic from the point of view of the Covid-19 virus (SARS-CoV-2), for which it has been a Darwinian success story, not a catastrophe (as for us): https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/19/opinion/sunday/coronavirus-covid-evolution.html 

     A feature story for The New Yorker, from August, on the possibility that pangolins (those beautiful, innocent, endangered anteater-like creatures) as well as bats might have somehow been involved as a host of the coronavirus before it spilled into humans: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/08/31/did-pangolins-start-the-coronavirus-pandemic 

     Another feature in The New Yorker, May 2020, on the warnings that should have alerted us, but didn't, to the coming of an event like this coronavirus pandemic: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/05/11/why-werent-we-ready-for-the-coronavirus

     And finally, another OpEd in The New York Times, January 28, 2020, beginning the year with a dour warning that this "novel coronavirus" (as it was called back then) could prove to be the Next Big One that I had predicted (not from prescience, but by listening to the right scientists) in Spillover back in 2012:  https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/28/opinion/coronavirus-china.html 

     Oh, and if that's not enough to overdose you with my writing, or you want something on the light side, there was a piece in Outside, April issue, on the redeeming challenges (for the aging outdoor athlete) of golf. Yeah, golf. Sorry: https://www.outsideonline.com/2409884/david-quammen-golfs

     More soon. No rest for the freelancer.



franzJosephLand2Quammen makes his way across a basaltic scree field in Franz Joseph Land in the Russian Arctic. Read his blog post about the 2013 Pristine Seas Expedition sponsored by National Geographic. Photograph by Andy Mann.

David Quammen is an author and journalist whose books include The Song of the Dodo (1996), The Reluctant Mr. Darwin (2006), and  Spillover (2014), a work on the science, history, and human impacts of emerging diseases (especially viral diseases), which was short-listed for eight national and international awards and won three.  His shorter books Ebola  (2014) and  The Chimp and the River(2015) were drawn from Spillover, each with a new introduction. His forthcoming book (August 2018) is The Tangled Tree: A Radical New History of Life, which explores the drastic revisions in understanding of life’s history on Earth forced by recent discoveries from genome sequencing, and the story of a scientist named Carl Woese. In the past thirty years Quammen has also published a few hundred pieces of short nonfiction—feature articles, essays, columns—in magazines such as Harper’s, National Geographic, Outside, Esquire, The Atlantic, Powder, and Rolling Stone.  He writes occasional Op Eds for The New York Times and reviews for The New York Times Book Review.  Quammen has been honored with an Academy Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and is a three-time recipient of the National Magazine Award.  He is a Contributing Writer for National Geographic, in whose service he travels often, usually to wild and remote places.  Home is Bozeman, Montana.

Throughout the rest of this website, he will not refer to himself in the third person.






On November 3, 1977, the front page of the New York Times carried an article announcing the discovery of a “third kingdom” of living creatures, entirely distinct from the two kingdoms (bacteria and everything else) thought to exist until that time. Above the article was a photo of a man, seated before a blackboard in a lab at the University of Illinois, with his feet up on a cluttered desk. He was wearing Adidas. His name was Carl R. Woese. He had just triggered a revolution that would change how science understands the history of evolution on Earth.

Woese redrew the tree of life, and it has never been the same.

The “tree of life” was an old phrase, an old idea, going back to the Bible and other sources, but Charles Darwin in The Origin of Species (1859) turned it into the iconic image of evolutionary history. Life arose from a single source, like the trunk of a great oak, and diverged into limbs, branches, smaller branches, and twigs, representing the divergence of lineages through time and the origin of species. Modern genetics later affirmed that image, with the canonical assumption that heredity passes downward from ancestors to offspring (or upward, in the tree image) and never sideways from one limb to another. It turns out that assumption was wrong. Genetic sequencing and comparison of genomes, of the sort pioneered by Woese, has revealed the unimagined phenomenon of sideways inheritance.

Scientists have given this phenomenon some fancy names. One is horizontal gene transfer. Another, slightly more suggestive, is infective heredity. In some cases, these genes travel sideways—from creature to creature, even from species to species—by viral infection. That’s supposed to be impossible. Woese’s successors have shown that it’s not just possible—it’s widespread and vastly consequential.

Carl Woese died in December 2012, just before I picked up this thread about horizontal gene transfer and the radically revised history of life. So I never met him. It’s probably just as well: He was famously gruff and unfriendly to journalists and other nosy writers. But for the past five years I’ve studied him and his work and the revolution he triggered—studied them through the evidence of his publications, his archives at the University of Illinois, and the testimony of his students, his colleagues, his assistants, his friends, many of whom I’ve interviewed. He became my Citizen Kane, and I functioned like the faceless newsreel reporter in the movie, visiting everyone to ask: “Who was Charles Foster Kane, and why did he say ‘Rosebud’ with his dying breath?” (If that reference rings no bells, do yourself a favor and watch Orson Welles’s great film.) What I found was a tangled story, a tangled man, and a new tree of life that is not a tree.

The implications of this Woesean revolution involve more than our understanding of life’s history for the past four billion years. They also challenge some of our most immediate and personal assumptions: What is a species, what is an individual, what is a human? What am I?

The Tangled Tree was published by Simon & Schuster on August 14.  Order now:

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Yellowstone: A Journey Through
America's Wild Heart

The Chimp and the River



The Reluctant Mr. Darwin

Monster of God

The Song of the Dodo


Natural Acts

The Boilerplate Rhino

Wild Thoughts from Wild Places

The Flight of the Iguana


Blood Line

The Soul of Viktor Tronko

The Zolta Configuration

To Walk the Line


On the Origin of Species

by Charles Darwin

The Illustrated Edition

The Best American Science

and Nature Writing 2000

Edited with Burkhard Bilger



    Douglas, Wyoming

    April 23, 2022

         It seemed like a good idea at the time: I would drive to Cincinnati, for an unmissable event at my old high school, making it a leisurely road trip, taking along a bag of golf clubs, stopping to golf with my friend Whisperin' Jack (the famous medical researcher and bon vivant) in Aurora, Coloeado, then across Kansas etc. to Cincinnati, and see more of my oldest pals while I'm in town. Lunches at Skyline Chili. Departing on April 22. Should I take a warm coat? Aw, sure, just in case.

         And then the vagaries of Western springtime asserted themselves. Now I'm holed up at a Holiday Inn Express in Douglas, Wyoming, which was as far as I could get in the blzzard, after spending last night in Casper. Insterstate 25 became impassable. Semis in the ditch. Low visibility, temperates at 32-33 F., horizontal snow, gusts of the force and sweep that are familiar to people who know Wyoming. Still, I've never seen quite such a hilariously (but dangerously, for travelers) nasty April morning. Who knew it was even possible: wind-driven slush.

         So I won't make it to Aurora tonight, and I won't play golf tomorrow with Whisperin' Jack. Maybe I'll be there in time for dinner. But I'm not restless or frustrated, I'm lucky: warm and dry, in this very decent motel room, and I've got plenty to do: I'm still reading and correcting the page proofs of this new book on the coronavirus and the pandemic. Finally, we have a settled title. It will appear in October, from Simon & Schuster, as BREATHLESS: The Scientific Race to Defeat a Deadly Virus. My account, informed by extended Zoom interviews with 95 experts, including some of the world's most brilliant and respected evolutionary virologists, of the origins, evolution, and fierce journey of the virus technically known as SARS-CoV-2. Reviewing the page proofs with great care, tweaking a word here and a phrase there, trying hard to make it both accurate and graceful: this is what we do when we make a book. Breathless will be my 17th, and I very much hope that you give it a look and find it interesting. There are many, many angles and facts and personalities and considerations to this story that haven't yet been put together in one place.


         January 2, 2022

         WHOOSH: And so a year has passed since I last updated this blog. I have an excuse for the neglect: book deadline. The pandemic began, I set aside one book in progress, and in March 2020 committed to Simon & Schuster for another and more urgent project: a book for them on COVID-19. Problem was: How to write a unique and useful book on a subject about which there would be, I knew, they knew, a hundred books. Ugh. And I usually make it a principle: Write a book on something nobody else is writing a book about. This was different. The situation was unique, and it felt like a responsibility, not an opportunity. So I committed: deliver a Covid book by December 31, 2021. Yike.

         I spent the rest of 2020: 1) thinking about how to do that, while 2) unable to travel to the field, as I usually would for a book, to relelvant locales such as, oh, Wuhan, China, and 3) having double knee-replacement surgery, since why not now, and 4) doing some Covid journalism for The New Yorker and The New York Times. That done, around Christmas last year (late December 2020), I settled on an approach: I would write a book about the virus itself, SARS-CoV-2, this novel bug, and its origins, evolution, and fierce journey through the human population, leaving the medical crisis and the political issues largely to other books; and I would write too about the scientists who study that virus. I would interview, by Zoom, sixty or seventy of the best virologists in the world, if I could get to them, and make them the Greek Chorus of this book I imagined. Their voices, plus the scientific literature, would be my material. I began with an email to Kristian Andersen, a brilliant molecular evolutionary virologist at the Scripps Research Institute, on December 28, 2020: Can we talk? He said yes. Others did too.

         So I interviewed, and in total it came to 94 experts, almost all of them world-class virologists and infectious-disease experts, a few of them public health officials. I asked each for 90 minutes via Zoom and permission to record and quote. Most of the 94 gave me that window of time, a few of them more, and multiple interviews, but some of them, by press of their own work, somewhat less. They ranged from Tony Fauci and George Gao (diretor-general of the China CDC) and Sharon Peacock (head of the COG-UK Consortium, the collaboration of SARS-CoV-2 genome-sequencing bodies in the United Kingdom) and Eddie Holmes (one of the world's leading evolutionary virologists) and Zhengli Shi (famous and much-maligned lead coronavirus researcher at the Wuhan Institute of Virology) to brilliant young grad students (Verity Hill and Ainé O'Toole in Edinburgh, Spyros Lytras in Glasgow, and others) that you haven't heard of. They gave me their time, their thoughts, and their trust. In late June, I started writing, and on December 17, 2021, I hit SEND and the book went to my wonderful editor at Simon & Schuster, Bob Bender. Now we are in the edit-pipeline phase. S&S plan to publish the book, I think, sometime in autumn. The title is BREATHLESS: The Scientific Race to Defeat a Deadly Virus. I'll add some detail when we know more. For now, I merely wanted to break through the ice layer that has frizzed over this ice-fishing hole and come up for air. As you're quite aware, this is an ever-enfolding story. SARS-CoV-2 is not going away, and it will continue to evolve. Our challenge, as its currently preferred host (though mink and tigers and white-tailed deer and gorillas and other creatures are also susceptible), is to evolve with it, or slightly ahead of it, in order to cope. It's a formidable bug . . . or, as Tony Fauci said to me, a "nefarious and insidious" virus. The principles can be found in Darwin, the details in Science and Nature and Virus Evolution.

         If you have lost loved ones or suffered badly otherwise in this pandemic, you have my deep sympathy. It's not over. It's not an accident. It's not a simple story. We can only hope to cope with it if we have good scientific information, and heed it. Be well, and think critically.


    JANUARY 16, 2021

         Did I say holy goodness? Holy crap. What a year. I've got scant appetite for describing what it's been like for me, because chances are it was worse for you, and I honor that. Difficult for everybody, but my family and most of my friends have been lucky and blessed so far, and for that I'm grateful. Also, for any of those of us who make our living in part from explaining viruses, it 23354 330has been very busy. So busy, I've neglected this blog, saying what I've been able to say in other contexts, journalistic (see the links to the left) and Twitteroid. Now I'm starting to get caught up and perhaps I can resume making the occasional post here, on what I've been learning—by sedulous reading of scientific articles, interviewing scientists, and on the wind—about Covid-19 and the nefariously complex, agile virus that causes it, SARS-CoV-2.

         There are other things that bear commenting on also. My friends Bill Kittredge, Brian Persha, and Barry Lopez all died within recent months, and those losses leave gaps. I will comment on them, as I have opportunity, elsewhere. Barry was like a brother to me, an elder brother—and if that were the case, I guess Peter Matthiessen, gone also these few years, felt like my uncle. I should be so lucky. But when I think of it: If Barry had been my elder brother, I probably could never have become a writer—it would have been too daunting, following in his steps. I would have had to turn aside into one of the only other plausible careers for which I was suited: a circus clown or a herpetologist.

         I miss them, all three.  You should read Bill, read Barry. And if you ever have a chance to lay hold of some of Brian's artistic pottery, do. You'll know it by his profund appreciation of the shades of blue.




    MAY 1, 2020

    So here we are, amid a global pandemic of a disease called COVID-19, caused by a virus known as SARS-CoV-2. It’s terrible, and many people are suffering—suffering the disease, and suffering economic and social hardships related to the shutdowns necessitated by the disease. I’m relatively lucky: self-isolated with my wife, our two dogs, our cat, and our python, and all six of us are accustomed to working from home.

    coronavirus 330B
    Many journalists, and some of my friends, have been asking me: “Were you surprised when this began?” I wasn’t surprised. Others have asked: “How does it feel to be prescient?” (My first thought: I'd rather be wrong.") Anyway, I wasn’t prescient; I merely listened carefully to a select group of disease scientists, ten years ago, while I was researching my book Spillover (W.W. Norton, 2012), and I reported their well-informed predictions about the prospects of a “Next Big One,” a punishing global pandemic. What they told me back then, if you assemble their bits of wisdom and foresight into a single consensual summary (as I tried to do, over the course of the book), was this: Yes, there will be a Next Big One. It will be caused by a virus. That virus will be new to humans, coming out of a wild animal. What kind of animal? Very possibly a bat. What kind of virus? Very possibly an influenza virus or a coronavirus. Under what circumstances would the virus get into humans? Some situation of close, disruptive contact between humans and wild animals—such as in or around a wet market in, oh, for instance, China.

    In early January of this year I was making plans to depart for Tasmania, Australia’s island state, for three weeks of research on Tasmanian devils and a strange form of contagious cancer that has been killing them wholesale in recent decades. This research was for a book that I’m writing about cancer as an evolutionary phenomenon. As I readied for the trip, I must have missed the earliest emails from ProMED, an infectious-disease reporting system to which I subscribe, about “an unidentified outbreak of viral pneumonia” in the city of Wuhan, China.

    The first of the ProMED messages that did catch my attention, I think, came on January 13, quoting a World Health Organization statement about a “novel coronavirus” linked to the peculiar pneumonia and confirmed in a female Chinese tourist who had traveled from Wuhan to Thailand. The woman was hospitalized in an isolation ward and recovering well. Detecting and treating her, according to the Minister of Public Health, showed “the efficiency and effectiveness” of health care in Thailand. It was not a dramatic story. The word “coronavirus” caught my attention enough to prevent me from deleting that email. But I didn’t realize then that a very consequential new virus, later be called SARS-CoV-2, had made what seems to have been its first international move.

    Reports continued and attention grew. I was busy revising an unrelated magazine story until, on January 21, an email arrived from an editor at The New York Times, asking whether I might care to write an Op-Ed about “the Wuhan virus.” I agreed, wrote the piece quickly, and it was published on January 28. (You’ll find a link to it on the left of this.) A week later, I departed for Tasmania. By then the virus story had spread just enough concern that I put two surgical masks in my briefcase, on the off chance—which I considered remote—that I might be required to wear one, three weeks later, on the planes coming home. I didn’t. Flying home on March 2, I saw only a few people in the airports wearing masks.

    But by then the virus had spread, the story was getting bigger, and the disease toll more severe, not just in China, not just in Italy and Iran, but in the U.S. too, of course. This is where you all have your own stories to tell. As for me, my last day of going to the gym was March 10; since then it’s been home workouts and dog-walks. I haven’t been inside a building other than our own house in six weeks. Almost every day, for me, has been a day of being an interviewee for media around the world, because of Spillover, while trying to steal some time to continue being a writer as well. My book publisher, Simon & Schuster, has asked me to set aside, for now, the book on cancer and evolution, and write one about this pandemic. I’m quite aware that there will be a gaggle of COVID-19 books, and in ordinary times I do my best to stay distant from literary gaggles . . . but this seems like a responsibility, not an opportunity. So I’m now at work on a book about COVID-19.

    In the stolen evening hours of some busy days, I’ve also been doing something else— online events, virtual bookstore discussions, with my wife Betsy Gaines Quammen, whose own book, American Zion: Cliven Bundy, God, and Public Lands in the West, was published on March 24 by Torrey House Press. We talk about both of our books, and the overlap between them, in the zone of public alarm and conspiratorial paranoia. If you care to see a rerun of any of those sessions (we call them the Betsy & Dave Show, but we don’t claim to be Ready for Prime Time), you can find them on Facebook, at the David Quammen and Betsy Gaines Quammen events page:

    Meanwhile, stay safe, people. Stay sane, be well, keep smiling, listen to the music. Ask for evidence when someone tells you the latest hot rumor about SARS-CoV-2. Shake hands with friends using your feet, toast your neighbors from across the street on Fridays, and eventually we will reach the other side of this river of ecological challenge.



EBOLA: The Natural and Human History of a Deadly Virus



SPILLOVER: Animal Infections and the Next Human Pandemic



THE CHIMP AND THE RIVER: How AIDS Emerged from an African Forest