White light The elemental role of phosphorus--in our cells, in our food, and in our world

In this winding debut history, science writer Lohmann traces how phosphorus has shaped the natural world and human history. Describing the phosphorus cycle, he explains that weathering redistributes the element from rock to soil, where it's absorbed by plants that are eaten by animals who return the phosphorus to the earth in the form of dung. The nutrients contained in the chemical compound phosphate have made it a highly valued fertilizer, Lohmann writes, recounting how in 17th-century Japan, some landlords collected rent in the form of phosphate-rich human excrement. Elsewhere, he describes how alchemist Hennig Brand's accidental 1669 discovery of phosphorus while attempting to distill gold from urine led to the creation of matches, how white phosphorus bombs have been used in battle for more than a century in defiance of international law, and how phosphate mining in Florida has increased residents' risk of developing cancer (deposits there are high in radioactive uranium). Though the history intrigues, the prose can feel contrived ("A world had fallen into ruin, and we were set within its midst," Lohmann writes of destructive strip mining on the Pacific island of Nauru). Still, it's a stimulating study. Illus. Agent: George Lucas, InkWell Management. (Mar.)

Illuminating the role of death in life. "We have altered our connection with the earth," warns science writer Jack Lohmann in his first book, about phosphorus, eons before industrial farming, and after it. Before industrial farming, the element--drawn from waste products like bat guano and carcass bones--was recycled locally by farmers. They used waste from their small farms to fertilize the wide variety of plants they fed their families. They instinctively understood their complex soils, which invariably hosted varieties of microorganisms ferrying life-giving (if immobile) phosphorus to plant roots. So they fertilized with complex local phosphorus mixtures and carefully turned soils over without crushing them (as modern machines do), leaving busy pockets of microbial life. Industrial farming changed all this. Agribusiness mined the earth for huge quantities of phosphate rocks, which made crops grow faster, but reduced both their own diversity and that of their nutrients. The result: farming that hasn't solved world hunger, and excess phosphorus leaking into rivers and lakes, prompting excessive algae growth, hypoxia, and animal death (eutrophy) in most lakes of Eurasia and North America. Lohmann points out that, for millennia, hunter-gatherers did not die of chronic diseases. He suggests one reason may be their diets of local plants naturally fertilized with complex, recycled local waste. By comparison, for example, in agribusiness-dominated India, which uses massive amounts of mined phosphate fertilizer, half of all crops lack zinc; one-third lack boron, potentially contributing to weak skeletal and immune systems. Happily, worldwide, recognition of the urgent need to return to more balanced local farming practices is growing, Lohmann concludes. We are coming to see that "the soil functions as a living organism that preserves the world of a billion years ago while sustaining lives that will continue far into the future." A surprisingly riveting look at the role of death, in life, as illustrated via a single element. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.