Children of the Sun: A History of Humanity's Unappeasable Appetite for Energy (review)

In Children of the Sun, Alfred Crosby plows old ground, but with the skill of an expert farmer who, although using the same seeds as everybody else, is able to coax bigger and better plants to take root and flourish. In fewer than 200 pages, he retells the magnetic story of humanity's progression from energy slave to energy king—starting with the simplest use of direct sunlight to the control of fire, from the domestication of plants and animals to the dominance of fossil fuels and the taming of the atom. Along the way, he offers morsels that stimulate the appetite for more and more helpings. While others might plant the same seeds, they have never ripened so attractively for the general consumer.

Crosby calls himself a cultural historian who focuses on ideas—especially those of technology—that change and influence the track of humanity. Tracing energy use over millennia, he deftly illustrates the relationships between new resources and each upward leap in civilization and population. In the process, he explains our evolving command of energy as the most important chain of events ever assembled for human benefit, and he is enthralled with the progress fashioned at each step. His words reveal a sense of personal astonishment and a tone of disbelief that humans have actually managed to be as clever as they have. He sees humanity's adoption of the forms and latitudes of energy as a series of miraculous achievements that assisted the exploration of the world and the development of lifestyles that everyone either has already or desperately wants.

To the scientist, the unadorned interplay of humanity and energy holds endless fascination, but Crosby's intended audience is wider than the academy. In this, as in many earlier books such as Ecological Imperialism (1986), he injects anecdotes while refraining from jargon and scientific parlance. This will not please everyone, of course. Readers may raise an eyebrow when he points out that, while oil resources could last another couple of generations, "that, dear reader, is well short of forever" (p. 139). They could be jarred into rereading the passage in which he acknowledges the difficulty of maintaining a fusion reaction in a laboratory by comparing it to "a man burning wet wood with a blowtorch" (p. 156). Might this style put off the more serious student of energy? Perhaps, but it will also attract readers, and they will marvel at how much they can learn even about complicated matters. Besides John McPhee, few other writers who address technical themes have the dexterity to be clear and appealing at the same time.

Thomas Jefferson once said that if he had had more time he would have written less. In a pithiness that gives testament to Jefferson, Crosby exhibits the confidence of someone who has done a lot of thinking about technology and culture over decades of research and writing. One suspects that while he was in the midst of preparing earlier books he would periodically have flashes of insight about energy, and jot these down and file them away until they amassed enough bulk to merit this book.

Any shortcomings must be considered minor. Although Children of the Sun is a catchy title, it could mislead people into expecting a book entirely about the use of solar power. While Crosby's more expansive theme is found in the subtitle, the book may nevertheless surprise some readers. Alternative-energy enthusiasts could be caught up short when they read that nuclear energy is waiting "at our elbow like a superb butler" (p. 126). They might be further dismayed when Crosby suggests that we do not really have much choice about embracing nuclear energy because we cannot meet our needs without it.

Children of the Sun is impressive not because it touches on every facet of energy history, but because it does not. Its most attractive feature is its brevity. Crosby resists the...