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3 von 3 Kunden fanden die folgende Rezension hilfreich:
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The Genes’ Odyssey, 4. Februar 2006
In this enjoyable incursion into human nature via literature, Barash&Barash gracefully rise above the somewhat obscure practice of literary criticism (on an academic level). In the tradition of Dawkins, Pinker, Buss and other evolutionary theorists who have managed to transmit the latest scientific “findings” to the lay-but-interested reader, the authors of this book propose to (begin to) answer a lingering question: what makes works of literature universally appealing to generations of readers? Sure, there is the individual writer’s style, originality, social conscience (none of this will be denied by this book) – but the main thing that makes Homer, Shakespeare, Flaubert or Faulkner so successful, Barash&Barash propose, might have more to do with nature than with art (for art’s sake). In that sense, even the title of the book is most fortunate, since it already indicates how much the latter is linked to the first. Throughout the book, the reader is urged to look at a great number of renowned works of literature from the “gene’s eye-view”, with Barash&Barash providing the essential tools by explaining the ABC of evolution through natural selection (often enough quoting or referring to the pioneering work of scientists who contributed to the understanding of the gene as the single unit of selection – and the implications of this on organisms’ behaviour and tactics). Since maximizing one’s chances of passing one’s genes on to the next generation is just about all ANY organism on this planet can (or should) “think of”, it should come as no surprise that the main topics in literature have mostly revolved around a handful of questions: - Who should I reproduce with, in order to make sure that my genes get “properly” copied (i.e., combine with another set of genes that secures future reproductive success)? - (for males) How can I inseminate as many females as possible, thereby sending oodles of copies of my genes to the next generation – without having to pay the heavy price of wife&child support? - (for males again) How can I be sure that my reproductive partner isn’t actually trying to get protection and support from me – and sperm from that nicer-looking guy next door? - (for females) How can I be sure that my reproductive partner won’t take off as soon as I allow him to mix his sperm with my valuable egg – thereby leaving me alone with the heavy task of rearing the offspring? - (for females again) How can I “fool” a “generous” providing male to rear the child I have produced with another, more promising (but less resourceful) set of genes? - How can I make sure that my genetic legacy gets passed on – via my own children or at least nephews/nieces, cousins and the whole kin? - How kind should I be to anybody who is not genetically related to me – i.e., how will my genes benefit from my alliances with strangers? This doesn’t mean that our brains (or those of literary characters) are openly concerned with these questions – rather, one could say that there is a type of unconscious “gene-thinking” permanently going on, which then gets translated into feelings, expectations, satisfaction or frustration. Literature, just like real life, abounds with these “symbolic” expressions of our genes’ reproductive “aims”. As it turns out, humans share these nagging anxieties with countless other organisms on the planet, and so, through entertaining and enlightening examples of other creatures’ trials and tribulations, Barash&Barash prove how truly universal good literature can be. Which is to say that even Mrs. Blackbird would enjoy Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”, and Mr. Gorilla would feel empathy towards Shakespeare’s “Othello” – if only they could be bothered to make something out of human language. (I suspect, however, that rare creatures such as the bdelloid rotifers, who are exclusively female and therefore do not recur to sexual reproduction to get their genes copied, might find most of our literature – with its emphasis on love, jealousy and competition – invariably boring…) The authors thereby manage to instruct their readers on two fronts: on the one hand, we are presented with a variety of plots and characters that exemplify the workings of natural selection over human minds and societies; on the other hand, we are confronted with “real stories” of many other species that confirm the value of literature as a “mirror” to nature. If you are NOT particularly offended about the fact that human nature is fundamentally similar to that of elephant seals or blood-sucking bats, this book may turn out to be a helpful and enjoyable form of reflecting about everyday dilemmas and conflicts. And it certainly adds to the understanding of literature not as something otherworldly and complex (which would require the “interpretation” of literary “experts”) but as a form of expression, entertainment and instruction that has been useful to humans in their attempts to understand the surrounding world – and find ways of getting their genes through.
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