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Lizard-baked Seaweed?
Help!
In his novel Galapagos, Kurt Vonnegut describes the dining habits of the iguanas in the region. Basically, he says they make their way down the rocky cliffs to the sea, where they eat a large quantity of indigestible seaweed. So they lie on the rocks, bake in the sun, and thus become the cooking vat for the seaweed. Is that true, or is it another Kurtism? I've been to libraries, had friends check it out, made a fool of myself by asking a ridiculous array of people, and now I'm even resorting to asking you!
-- H.R., Solana Beach
Take it from me, nothing builds character faster than making a fool of yourself in print. Think of your inquiry not so much as a desperation move but as one more hour on the great psychic NordicTrack to wellness. Personally, I'll ignore the part about my being some exponential step beyond "ridiculous."
The science of Galapagos was based on Kurt's background in anthropology and a trip he took to the islands in the early 1980s, escorted by several biologists. But of course, he's a novelist given to tweaking reality, so a Vonnegut fan should hardly be surprised when he extends fact into the realm of imagination. The animal in question is the marine iguana, the only marine lizard, found nowhere else in the world. As Vonnegut says, it does "waddle down to the ocean" to feed. The marine iguana eats a certain kind of (readily digestible) red-brown algae; and as a cold-blooded creature, it must bask in the sun for many hours after a dunk in the ocean to raise its body temperature. But it is not "using itself for a covered stewpot, getting hotter and hotter while the sunshine cooks the seaweed."
If literary imagination isn't enough of an explanation for Vonnegut's scenario, here's my guess about the origin of lizard-baked seaweed. If he were on the islands in the early '80s, he would surely know about the sudden die-off of marine iguanas caused by the rise in ocean temperature from the severe El Ni�o condition. The iguanas' primary food became scarce, and they began eating a type of seaweed that for them was indigestible. For a long time afterward, biologists found marine iguanas stuffed full of food but dying of malnutrition. Vonnegut perhaps extended the image of the dying iguana into an image of resourceful iguana as convection oven. The pea-brained animals in Galapagos, after all, were unconsciously more noble than the vicious, venal, big-brained humans.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Lizard-baked Seaweed?
Lizard-baked Seaweed?
Help!
In his novel Galapagos, Kurt Vonnegut describes the dining habits of the iguanas in the region. Basically, he says they make their way down the rocky cliffs to the sea, where they eat a large quantity of indigestible seaweed. So they lie on the rocks, bake in the sun, and thus become the cooking vat for the seaweed. Is that true, or is it another Kurtism? I've been to libraries, had friends check it out, made a fool of myself by asking a ridiculous array of people, and now I'm even resorting to asking you!
-- H.R., Solana Beach
Take it from me, nothing builds character faster than making a fool of yourself in print. Think of your inquiry not so much as a desperation move but as one more hour on the great psychic NordicTrack to wellness. Personally, I'll ignore the part about my being some exponential step beyond "ridiculous."
The science of Galapagos was based on Kurt's background in anthropology and a trip he took to the islands in the early 1980s, escorted by several biologists. But of course, he's a novelist given to tweaking reality, so a Vonnegut fan should hardly be surprised when he extends fact into the realm of imagination. The animal in question is the marine iguana, the only marine lizard, found nowhere else in the world. As Vonnegut says, it does "waddle down to the ocean" to feed. The marine iguana eats a certain kind of (readily digestible) red-brown algae; and as a cold-blooded creature, it must bask in the sun for many hours after a dunk in the ocean to raise its body temperature. But it is not "using itself for a covered stewpot, getting hotter and hotter while the sunshine cooks the seaweed."
If literary imagination isn't enough of an explanation for Vonnegut's scenario, here's my guess about the origin of lizard-baked seaweed. If he were on the islands in the early '80s, he would surely know about the sudden die-off of marine iguanas caused by the rise in ocean temperature from the severe El Ni�o condition. The iguanas' primary food became scarce, and they began eating a type of seaweed that for them was indigestible. For a long time afterward, biologists found marine iguanas stuffed full of food but dying of malnutrition. Vonnegut perhaps extended the image of the dying iguana into an image of resourceful iguana as convection oven. The pea-brained animals in Galapagos, after all, were unconsciously more noble than the vicious, venal, big-brained humans.
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