How deep does light penetrate?
 |
Description
Book Introduction
Between survival and adaptation, growth and identity
An elegant exploration of caring for the unsteady self
Queer, mixed race, non-binary, science journalist
A captivating and provocative debut that reinvents the genre.
Chinese-American author Sabrina Imbler's debut novel, How Far the Light Reaches, which received rave reviews for "beautifully reinventing both science fiction and memoir" (New York Times Best Books), has been published by Arte.
Sabrina Imbler has been a science journalist, and the publication of this book has brought rave reviews from established authors such as Ed Yong, Cy Montgomery, and Megha Mazumdar, who all praised it, saying, “An amazing writer has emerged,” “A talent for a generation,” and “Miraculous and transcendent.”
The author has published essays and reports in various media outlets, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, and Catapult.
Working in the white male-dominated fields of science and environmental protection, he offers a unique perspective that differentiates himself from existing research and narratives.
With a queer, mixed-race, and non-binary identity and an immigrant background, he explores the mysteries of marine life, connecting nature and humanity through a multi-layered perspective.
In this book, Sabrina Imbler weaves her stories around ten sea creatures that live in particularly hostile or remote environments: a goldfish, an octopus, a sturgeon, a sperm whale, a snow crab, a giant worm, a butterflyfish, a salpa, a cuttlefish, and a jellyfish.
Introducing and describing marine life one by one, we discover radical models of family, community, and care.
Marine life lives in environments that are difficult for us to fathom, but that only reveals the limits of human imagination.
The deep-sea yeti crab is not crushed by the pressure of over 200 atmospheres at a depth of 2,000 meters.
They can live without any problems even in the aphotic zone that covers 90 percent of the ocean, where light cannot penetrate and where darkness is permanent.
The author says:
“No one expected that there would be such a rich life in such deep, cold water.” (p. 100) After studying the animals that live densely on rocks in the deep sea, kilometers from the sun, scientists discovered that bacteria and other microorganisms absorb “chemical energy from vents” [the author describes this as the heat and chemistry of the Earth’s interior].
Scientists were quite confused by this fact.
This completely overturned the scientific consensus we knew about 'direct and indirect energy production using sunlight' and the core concept of 'where and how life exists'.
Sabrina Imbler shares her discovery that “life always finds a new place to begin,” saying, “Just as grasses and pine trees evolved to transform sunlight into nutrients, deep-sea bacteria evolved to transform the energy of toxic gases into their own nutrients” (p. 101).
The author's insight leads to the reflection that communities in crisis will always find each other and "invent new ways to shine together in the darkness" (p. 112).
This book, a beautiful blend of scientific records and personal confessions, will take you on a journey to discover your own light.
Or, it may help us find a starting point for discovering new possibilities (transformations) in the darkness and difficulties that each of us carries.
Rachel E.
As Gross (author of “The Vagina”) says, this book will definitely “grab you by the tentacles and pull you into new depths.”
“It is impossible not to be changed after reading this book.”
An elegant exploration of caring for the unsteady self
Queer, mixed race, non-binary, science journalist
A captivating and provocative debut that reinvents the genre.
Chinese-American author Sabrina Imbler's debut novel, How Far the Light Reaches, which received rave reviews for "beautifully reinventing both science fiction and memoir" (New York Times Best Books), has been published by Arte.
Sabrina Imbler has been a science journalist, and the publication of this book has brought rave reviews from established authors such as Ed Yong, Cy Montgomery, and Megha Mazumdar, who all praised it, saying, “An amazing writer has emerged,” “A talent for a generation,” and “Miraculous and transcendent.”
The author has published essays and reports in various media outlets, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, and Catapult.
Working in the white male-dominated fields of science and environmental protection, he offers a unique perspective that differentiates himself from existing research and narratives.
With a queer, mixed-race, and non-binary identity and an immigrant background, he explores the mysteries of marine life, connecting nature and humanity through a multi-layered perspective.
In this book, Sabrina Imbler weaves her stories around ten sea creatures that live in particularly hostile or remote environments: a goldfish, an octopus, a sturgeon, a sperm whale, a snow crab, a giant worm, a butterflyfish, a salpa, a cuttlefish, and a jellyfish.
Introducing and describing marine life one by one, we discover radical models of family, community, and care.
Marine life lives in environments that are difficult for us to fathom, but that only reveals the limits of human imagination.
The deep-sea yeti crab is not crushed by the pressure of over 200 atmospheres at a depth of 2,000 meters.
They can live without any problems even in the aphotic zone that covers 90 percent of the ocean, where light cannot penetrate and where darkness is permanent.
The author says:
“No one expected that there would be such a rich life in such deep, cold water.” (p. 100) After studying the animals that live densely on rocks in the deep sea, kilometers from the sun, scientists discovered that bacteria and other microorganisms absorb “chemical energy from vents” [the author describes this as the heat and chemistry of the Earth’s interior].
Scientists were quite confused by this fact.
This completely overturned the scientific consensus we knew about 'direct and indirect energy production using sunlight' and the core concept of 'where and how life exists'.
Sabrina Imbler shares her discovery that “life always finds a new place to begin,” saying, “Just as grasses and pine trees evolved to transform sunlight into nutrients, deep-sea bacteria evolved to transform the energy of toxic gases into their own nutrients” (p. 101).
The author's insight leads to the reflection that communities in crisis will always find each other and "invent new ways to shine together in the darkness" (p. 112).
This book, a beautiful blend of scientific records and personal confessions, will take you on a journey to discover your own light.
Or, it may help us find a starting point for discovering new possibilities (transformations) in the darkness and difficulties that each of us carries.
Rachel E.
As Gross (author of “The Vagina”) says, this book will definitely “grab you by the tentacles and pull you into new depths.”
“It is impossible not to be changed after reading this book.”
index
Chapter 1: If you throw away the goldfish
Chapter 2: Mother and the Starving Octopus
Chapter 3: Grandmother and the Sturgeon
Chapter 4: How to Draw a Sperm Whale
Chapter 5: Pure Life
Chapter 6: Beware the Sand Attackers
Chapter 7: Hybrids
Chapter 8 We flock together
Chapter 9: Transforming into a Cuttlefish
Chapter 10: Our Eternal
Acknowledgements
Translator's Note
References
Chapter 2: Mother and the Starving Octopus
Chapter 3: Grandmother and the Sturgeon
Chapter 4: How to Draw a Sperm Whale
Chapter 5: Pure Life
Chapter 6: Beware the Sand Attackers
Chapter 7: Hybrids
Chapter 8 We flock together
Chapter 9: Transforming into a Cuttlefish
Chapter 10: Our Eternal
Acknowledgements
Translator's Note
References
Detailed image
Into the book
The octopus must have been hungry.
Did the octopus vaguely realize that if it left its watchtower to hunt, eat, or even stretch, its young might not hatch? I know this is anthropomorphic, but I still couldn't imagine a conscious creature starving for four and a half years without any semblance of hope.
--- p.36
If my mother grew up wanting to be white, I grew up wanting to be thin.
Sometimes I wonder if, if I were fully Chinese instead of half Chinese, my slimness would have come naturally.
I never considered this obsession to be a disease.
Because that's what every movie, magazine, and clinical paper says: eating disorders are a white woman's problem.
I would stand in front of the mirror and grab the back of my thighs to see how thick my bones were, and if they were thicker than my mother's, I would blame my whiteness.
--- p.40~41
Even though the environment of the Seol In-ge seems uninhabitable to us, it is not at all something for which we should feel sorry.
Pressure does not crush the crab, and darkness does not suffocate the crab.
Even if that life seems strange or unpleasant to us, it suits Seol In-ge perfectly.
What use is the sun to a crab without eyes? It has everything it needs.
--- p.95
This process, aptly named chemosynthesis, explains how cracks in lava that spew chemicals from the ocean floor support the unique survival mechanisms of life there.
Just as grasses and pine trees evolved to convert sunlight into nutrients, deep-sea bacteria evolved to convert the energy of toxic gases into their own nutrients.
Hydrothermal vents have revolutionized many of science's core concepts about where and how life exists.
The scientists' assumption that the strange creatures of the seafloor lived near the surface, eating the flesh of dead fish—the detritus of a society in contact with the sun—was logical.
But in fact, those creatures created a different way of life.
--- p.101
In 2019, oceanographer Kim Martini immediately recognized the connection between the woman and the bug after watching the documentary series “Lorena,” which prompted a fundamental reevaluation of the song’s story.
Martini wrote on Deep Sea News, a blog read by marine scientists, asking for the name to be reconsidered.
“Bobbitt is the name of a criminal who committed rape and domestic violence, and that name should not be immortalized anywhere,” Martini said, suggesting one of the kingfisher’s lesser-known nicknames, “the sand attacker.”
--- p.125~126
No, I'm not writing this to criticize those men.
But I am not trying to excuse them by seeing their actions as being instilled by a system beyond their control.
Almost every system we belong to is cruel.
Within it, our duty is to have a moral core independent of the arbitrary legal system that too often commits errors, and to act in a way that does not shame us.
This is a task we inherit as creatures with complex brains.
Complex brains are subject to inexplicable pleasures like love, sex, and groping in the car, but they also have a duty to empathize, to understand what it means when someone stumbles.
--- p.137~138
I'm not interested in writing in a way that somehow solves the problem of belonging.
Maybe this is a side effect of coming out twice as an adult, but I don't want to feel like something about myself has been resolved.
As a mixed race person, my experience is not fixed, but rather constantly evolving.
Between Chinese and white, between longing and irritation, between pride and guilt.
I want to imagine how I, a mixed-race person, will exist now and in the future.
I'd like to think of my mixed race as a gerund, not a noun.
I want to imagine how I can continue to live.
--- p.147
Salpas are fantastic creatures.
If you dive deep enough, some salpas even glow.
On the beach, salpas appear as beads of transparent jelly.
However, in water, they exist in the form of moving chains, which can be snake-like or twisted like a snail's shell.
A chain is made up of hundreds of identical salpas lined up closely together.
Although each clone is a distinct cylindrical entity, the entire colony of clones is still a single Salpa that moves as one.
Many chains grow up to 6 meters long and float on the ocean floor like giant quartz bracelets.
Therefore, for Salpa, individual identity is a confusing thing, and Salpa is a creature whose self-concept exists only in multiple forms.
--- p.169
Is this some kind of communication? If so, what is it? Scientists have discovered that female cuttlefish perceive other individuals as potential threats, and so they stop swinging their arms when they receive a specific signal—a signal that may be a splatter.
So scientists have argued that splatter may be a way for individuals to prevent attacks from other individuals, a physical signal of safety and homogeneity, much like a gay sign of silence.
I see this as a kind of love language.
If you splash, I'll splash too.
--- p.197~198
Jellyfish biologist Rebecca Helm points out that there's something they don't know.
For example, tearing apart some jellyfish, such as the curtain jellyfish, actually promotes spawning.
The act of attempting to massacre jellyfish could actually lead to disembodied orgies, as jellyfish eggs and sperm burst out simultaneously like a whirlwind.
All those gametes meet to form an embryo, which sinks to the bottom and grows into a polyp, which produces hundreds of clones, and each of those clones produces hundreds of jellyfish.
--- p.232~233
Imbler, who lived (or tried to live) as a straight woman and then realized she was queer and went through a “second puberty,” goes on to identify as non-binary (hence the pronouns “they/them” in the original version of the book) [this is why the pronouns “she/her” are used in the original text].
Just as the process of discovering one's identity and place in the world through much confusion and error has been a major part of life, we are also forced to closely observe how marine life transforms, adapts, and forms communities to survive in hostile environments.
Did the octopus vaguely realize that if it left its watchtower to hunt, eat, or even stretch, its young might not hatch? I know this is anthropomorphic, but I still couldn't imagine a conscious creature starving for four and a half years without any semblance of hope.
--- p.36
If my mother grew up wanting to be white, I grew up wanting to be thin.
Sometimes I wonder if, if I were fully Chinese instead of half Chinese, my slimness would have come naturally.
I never considered this obsession to be a disease.
Because that's what every movie, magazine, and clinical paper says: eating disorders are a white woman's problem.
I would stand in front of the mirror and grab the back of my thighs to see how thick my bones were, and if they were thicker than my mother's, I would blame my whiteness.
--- p.40~41
Even though the environment of the Seol In-ge seems uninhabitable to us, it is not at all something for which we should feel sorry.
Pressure does not crush the crab, and darkness does not suffocate the crab.
Even if that life seems strange or unpleasant to us, it suits Seol In-ge perfectly.
What use is the sun to a crab without eyes? It has everything it needs.
--- p.95
This process, aptly named chemosynthesis, explains how cracks in lava that spew chemicals from the ocean floor support the unique survival mechanisms of life there.
Just as grasses and pine trees evolved to convert sunlight into nutrients, deep-sea bacteria evolved to convert the energy of toxic gases into their own nutrients.
Hydrothermal vents have revolutionized many of science's core concepts about where and how life exists.
The scientists' assumption that the strange creatures of the seafloor lived near the surface, eating the flesh of dead fish—the detritus of a society in contact with the sun—was logical.
But in fact, those creatures created a different way of life.
--- p.101
In 2019, oceanographer Kim Martini immediately recognized the connection between the woman and the bug after watching the documentary series “Lorena,” which prompted a fundamental reevaluation of the song’s story.
Martini wrote on Deep Sea News, a blog read by marine scientists, asking for the name to be reconsidered.
“Bobbitt is the name of a criminal who committed rape and domestic violence, and that name should not be immortalized anywhere,” Martini said, suggesting one of the kingfisher’s lesser-known nicknames, “the sand attacker.”
--- p.125~126
No, I'm not writing this to criticize those men.
But I am not trying to excuse them by seeing their actions as being instilled by a system beyond their control.
Almost every system we belong to is cruel.
Within it, our duty is to have a moral core independent of the arbitrary legal system that too often commits errors, and to act in a way that does not shame us.
This is a task we inherit as creatures with complex brains.
Complex brains are subject to inexplicable pleasures like love, sex, and groping in the car, but they also have a duty to empathize, to understand what it means when someone stumbles.
--- p.137~138
I'm not interested in writing in a way that somehow solves the problem of belonging.
Maybe this is a side effect of coming out twice as an adult, but I don't want to feel like something about myself has been resolved.
As a mixed race person, my experience is not fixed, but rather constantly evolving.
Between Chinese and white, between longing and irritation, between pride and guilt.
I want to imagine how I, a mixed-race person, will exist now and in the future.
I'd like to think of my mixed race as a gerund, not a noun.
I want to imagine how I can continue to live.
--- p.147
Salpas are fantastic creatures.
If you dive deep enough, some salpas even glow.
On the beach, salpas appear as beads of transparent jelly.
However, in water, they exist in the form of moving chains, which can be snake-like or twisted like a snail's shell.
A chain is made up of hundreds of identical salpas lined up closely together.
Although each clone is a distinct cylindrical entity, the entire colony of clones is still a single Salpa that moves as one.
Many chains grow up to 6 meters long and float on the ocean floor like giant quartz bracelets.
Therefore, for Salpa, individual identity is a confusing thing, and Salpa is a creature whose self-concept exists only in multiple forms.
--- p.169
Is this some kind of communication? If so, what is it? Scientists have discovered that female cuttlefish perceive other individuals as potential threats, and so they stop swinging their arms when they receive a specific signal—a signal that may be a splatter.
So scientists have argued that splatter may be a way for individuals to prevent attacks from other individuals, a physical signal of safety and homogeneity, much like a gay sign of silence.
I see this as a kind of love language.
If you splash, I'll splash too.
--- p.197~198
Jellyfish biologist Rebecca Helm points out that there's something they don't know.
For example, tearing apart some jellyfish, such as the curtain jellyfish, actually promotes spawning.
The act of attempting to massacre jellyfish could actually lead to disembodied orgies, as jellyfish eggs and sperm burst out simultaneously like a whirlwind.
All those gametes meet to form an embryo, which sinks to the bottom and grows into a polyp, which produces hundreds of clones, and each of those clones produces hundreds of jellyfish.
--- p.232~233
Imbler, who lived (or tried to live) as a straight woman and then realized she was queer and went through a “second puberty,” goes on to identify as non-binary (hence the pronouns “they/them” in the original version of the book) [this is why the pronouns “she/her” are used in the original text].
Just as the process of discovering one's identity and place in the world through much confusion and error has been a major part of life, we are also forced to closely observe how marine life transforms, adapts, and forms communities to survive in hostile environments.
--- p.241
Publisher's Review
Through a thoughtful examination of the connection between scientific knowledge and human history, the book organically weaves together the lives of ten sea creatures.
The author delicately examines how marine life can open up our imaginations about family, identity, and survival.
- From a review of Time's "10 Best Nonfiction Books of 2022"
A mix of vivid prose on marine biology and thoughtful, intimate memoir.
Imbler chronicles his personal struggles to adapt to and grow beyond life in suburban California, drawing connections between the stories of the creatures he loves.
- From Wired's review of "The 12 Best Books of 2022"
From Linnaean taxonomy to horseshoe crab shells washed up on the beach, one cannot help but be amazed by his ability to draw fascinating and poignant meaning from any subject.
It strikes a balance between science and emotion, without relying on humanization.
While some readers might enthusiastically praise one side of the metaphor (the scientific record or the self-confessional narrative), the point we must note is that one cannot exist without the other.
Our fascinating and mysterious 'world', our fascinating and mysterious 'self'.
The author connects these two and reveals more.
- From the New York Times review of "The Most Anticipated Book of the Year"
What if art and science merged? With brutal honesty and elegant metaphor, "How Deep Does the Light Penetrate?" vividly exposes the gap between where we stand today and a truly inclusive world.
By doing so, [this book] fills that hole.
It also outlines a future where art and science amplify each other.
- 《Science》
Marine biology, cultural criticism, and memoir blend in this sensational piece.
Like a cuttlefish that can change its appearance 'in an instant', this book has a versatile nature.
Imbler focuses on creatures living 'alternative lifestyles' without over-humanizing them.
It is very ethical.
- The New Yorker
He has a natural ability to depict worlds so alien that they are almost incomprehensible.
In his writing, which suggests countless ways of being that we can refer to in imagining our way forward through the depths, we can find both comfort and hope.
- The Washington Post
The author's soft and clear gaze, refracted through the depths of the sea, is impressive.
Fascinating depictions of the mysterious lives of underwater animals often serve as a gateway to explorations of life on land.
The depictions of the purple mother octopus's hunger, the vibrant but transient underwater community of the snow crab (Kiwa Puravida), and the cuttlefish's ongoing transformation are not forced anthropocentric metaphors, but rather serve as starting points for explorations of family, race, gender and sexual identity, and relationships.
Such elegant cross-species analysis illuminates the joys and responsibilities of being a "complex-brained creature."
- Scientific American
It's a fascinating debut.
Science journalist Sabrina Imbler shines a light on the mysterious sea creatures that live in some of the most inhospitable places on Earth, drawing parallels between them and herself in their adaptation and survival.
Imbler's ability to balance science journalism with candid personal revelation is impressive, and his sparkling lyricism is moving.
His next move is highly anticipated.
- Publisher's Weekly
2022 Best Nonfiction Books by Time and People
Winner of the 2022 Los Angeles Times Book Award (Science and Technology)
Best Books of 2022 by Barnes & Noble, ShelfAwareness, and Wired
Praise from major media outlets including The New York Times, Science, The New Yorker, The Washington Post, and Scientific American
The sea is queer in all its mystery.
I am a hairy, queer human being, warm and soft to the touch.
I want to imagine how I can continue to live
In the darkness, we will invent new ways to shine together.
Sabrina Imbler's eyes dwell on marine life living in extremely harsh environments from a human perspective, overlapping human and non-human characteristics.
A deep-sea mother octopus (Graneledone boreopacifica) starves for four and a half years to increase the chances of survival of her offspring during her only chance to reproduce (Chapter 2, “Mother and the Starving Octopus”), and there are also creatures that live proudly in places where life is theoretically impossible.
Among them, the snow leopard is a representative animal that changed the concept of life. (Chapter 5, “Pure Life”) Until relatively recently, scientists believed that all life depended directly or indirectly on sunlight.
The logic was that plants make sugar through photosynthesis, and all other living things sustain themselves by eating plants directly or by eating organisms that eat plants.
However, it was discovered that the snow crab lives in the deep ocean, a opaque layer where no sunlight reaches, and feeds only on the heat and energy emitted from the Earth's interior.
It was a moment that rewrote the scientific concept of the existence of life.
Salps, which have transparent bodies and appear at first glance like jellyfish, are animals that form a single individual by gathering in chains (Chapter 8, “We Swarm”). For salps, whose self-concept exists only in the plural, individual identity is ambiguous.
Salpas live in groups and solitary lives depending on their needs.
Occasionally, wind and the Earth's rotation cause phytoplankton to explode, causing billions of salps to replicate themselves and cover the ocean.
A group of thumb-sized salpas can grow to occupy an area of as much as 100,000 square kilometers.
The author describes the non-human ecology as it is, which is difficult to explain with logic familiar to humans.
And then it moves on to an indescribably beautiful self-narrative and confession.
The confession of ‘corporeality’ that progressed while looking at the octopus is like this: “I started to enjoy queer bodies when I started dating people who weren’t cisgender men, and I started to enjoy the fact that we shape ourselves in such infinitely creative ways.
… … Perhaps I will always live compromising with my body, what my body wants, and what I want from my body.” (p. 52), this is the reflection on ‘community’ that progressed while looking at Seol In-ge.
“I admit, what I’m attached to is the mystery of such places, the mystery that makes them sacred, and that impossible, undulating way of life that we’re not meant to understand in the first place.” (p. 112) What about the confession after overlapping the Salpa and Dyke marches? “Our bodies flow across the cobblestones of the square, and we watch as some of us—the brave, the sentimental, the especially germ-resistant—take off their shirts and jump into the fountain to cool off.
There, in the water, we splash each other, kiss, and hug.
“Our soft parts all shake and pulsate together as a flock until the end, then gradually separate and go their separate ways.” (p. 175)
The body in any direction
A being that transforms and grows
We will discover wilder, more magnificent, and more abundant possibilities.
“Slugs drop their head-like projections, crabs sacrifice their pincers, and geckos drop their severed, still wiggling tails to serve as bait while they escape.
Snakes play dead, butterflies disguise themselves as leaves, and octopuses spit ink.
“These adaptations are remarkable, and that is why we consider these animals special, but still, if there had not been the constant threat of predators, these adaptations would not have been necessary in the first place.” (p. 135)
The author keenly observes the striking similarities between the survival strategies of nature and the formation of human identity.
This journey of reflection on one's own identity and potential alongside marine life introduces the wonders of nature while also "making the reader's heart melt" (Nicole Chung).
Weaving together multiple identities—mixed race, queer, racial identity, non-binary sexual identity, and immigrant family background—she captivates readers with “Sabrina Imbler’s unique intellectual communication style” (Megha Majumdar) like never before.
Born to a Chinese mother and a white father, the author first recognized her mixed-race identity at the age of twelve and has since struggled with race.
As a Chinese immigrant, I constantly question my position as someone who has to explain 'where I come from.'
The journey of sexual identity becomes more complex.
The turbulent relationships of early adulthood and the free-spirited experiences of college sometimes expose them to dangerous situations.
Navigating the fragmented boundaries of memory and uncertain consent, the author embarks on a journey toward true connection and self-understanding.
Exploring the delicate balance between consent and non-consent, pleasure and obligation, she redefines her identity as queer and non-binary.
The Queer Mystery of the Sea
The fluid boundaries of human existence
“Trauma is not one of the many catalysts for regeneration, it is the only catalyst.
Scientists who study the regeneration of immortal jellyfish know this.
To borrow the words of one study, various torture methods were developed to “induce rejuvenation.”
One standard technique for traumatizing jellyfish is to immerse the organism in a solution of cesium chloride, a colorless salt.
The alternative is so-called needle therapy, which involves indiscriminately poking the jellyfish's venomous umbrella with stainless steel needles.” (p. 225)
This book is a wonderful fusion of marine biology and autobiographical reflection, a journey recommended to anyone seeking to transcend the boundaries of fixed identity.
The author illuminates our own fluid modes of existence through the dramatic self-sacrifice or adaptation of marine creatures, such as the hybridity of the butterflyfish and the collective self of the salpa.
In particular, the author's perspective, which reinterprets trauma as a driving force for regeneration and transformation, reminds us that wounds and pain are not mere deficiencies, but can become the starting point of new possibilities.
For those with mixed, queer, or immigrant experiences, it offers an ocean of empathy. For those without, it offers a new lens through which to understand others, and even the courage to view wounds and darkness as opportunities for re-creation and transformation.
This book contains deep insights that make us realize that we are all beings who are constantly breaking, regenerating, and being reborn in new forms.
The author delicately examines how marine life can open up our imaginations about family, identity, and survival.
- From a review of Time's "10 Best Nonfiction Books of 2022"
A mix of vivid prose on marine biology and thoughtful, intimate memoir.
Imbler chronicles his personal struggles to adapt to and grow beyond life in suburban California, drawing connections between the stories of the creatures he loves.
- From Wired's review of "The 12 Best Books of 2022"
From Linnaean taxonomy to horseshoe crab shells washed up on the beach, one cannot help but be amazed by his ability to draw fascinating and poignant meaning from any subject.
It strikes a balance between science and emotion, without relying on humanization.
While some readers might enthusiastically praise one side of the metaphor (the scientific record or the self-confessional narrative), the point we must note is that one cannot exist without the other.
Our fascinating and mysterious 'world', our fascinating and mysterious 'self'.
The author connects these two and reveals more.
- From the New York Times review of "The Most Anticipated Book of the Year"
What if art and science merged? With brutal honesty and elegant metaphor, "How Deep Does the Light Penetrate?" vividly exposes the gap between where we stand today and a truly inclusive world.
By doing so, [this book] fills that hole.
It also outlines a future where art and science amplify each other.
- 《Science》
Marine biology, cultural criticism, and memoir blend in this sensational piece.
Like a cuttlefish that can change its appearance 'in an instant', this book has a versatile nature.
Imbler focuses on creatures living 'alternative lifestyles' without over-humanizing them.
It is very ethical.
- The New Yorker
He has a natural ability to depict worlds so alien that they are almost incomprehensible.
In his writing, which suggests countless ways of being that we can refer to in imagining our way forward through the depths, we can find both comfort and hope.
- The Washington Post
The author's soft and clear gaze, refracted through the depths of the sea, is impressive.
Fascinating depictions of the mysterious lives of underwater animals often serve as a gateway to explorations of life on land.
The depictions of the purple mother octopus's hunger, the vibrant but transient underwater community of the snow crab (Kiwa Puravida), and the cuttlefish's ongoing transformation are not forced anthropocentric metaphors, but rather serve as starting points for explorations of family, race, gender and sexual identity, and relationships.
Such elegant cross-species analysis illuminates the joys and responsibilities of being a "complex-brained creature."
- Scientific American
It's a fascinating debut.
Science journalist Sabrina Imbler shines a light on the mysterious sea creatures that live in some of the most inhospitable places on Earth, drawing parallels between them and herself in their adaptation and survival.
Imbler's ability to balance science journalism with candid personal revelation is impressive, and his sparkling lyricism is moving.
His next move is highly anticipated.
- Publisher's Weekly
2022 Best Nonfiction Books by Time and People
Winner of the 2022 Los Angeles Times Book Award (Science and Technology)
Best Books of 2022 by Barnes & Noble, ShelfAwareness, and Wired
Praise from major media outlets including The New York Times, Science, The New Yorker, The Washington Post, and Scientific American
The sea is queer in all its mystery.
I am a hairy, queer human being, warm and soft to the touch.
I want to imagine how I can continue to live
In the darkness, we will invent new ways to shine together.
Sabrina Imbler's eyes dwell on marine life living in extremely harsh environments from a human perspective, overlapping human and non-human characteristics.
A deep-sea mother octopus (Graneledone boreopacifica) starves for four and a half years to increase the chances of survival of her offspring during her only chance to reproduce (Chapter 2, “Mother and the Starving Octopus”), and there are also creatures that live proudly in places where life is theoretically impossible.
Among them, the snow leopard is a representative animal that changed the concept of life. (Chapter 5, “Pure Life”) Until relatively recently, scientists believed that all life depended directly or indirectly on sunlight.
The logic was that plants make sugar through photosynthesis, and all other living things sustain themselves by eating plants directly or by eating organisms that eat plants.
However, it was discovered that the snow crab lives in the deep ocean, a opaque layer where no sunlight reaches, and feeds only on the heat and energy emitted from the Earth's interior.
It was a moment that rewrote the scientific concept of the existence of life.
Salps, which have transparent bodies and appear at first glance like jellyfish, are animals that form a single individual by gathering in chains (Chapter 8, “We Swarm”). For salps, whose self-concept exists only in the plural, individual identity is ambiguous.
Salpas live in groups and solitary lives depending on their needs.
Occasionally, wind and the Earth's rotation cause phytoplankton to explode, causing billions of salps to replicate themselves and cover the ocean.
A group of thumb-sized salpas can grow to occupy an area of as much as 100,000 square kilometers.
The author describes the non-human ecology as it is, which is difficult to explain with logic familiar to humans.
And then it moves on to an indescribably beautiful self-narrative and confession.
The confession of ‘corporeality’ that progressed while looking at the octopus is like this: “I started to enjoy queer bodies when I started dating people who weren’t cisgender men, and I started to enjoy the fact that we shape ourselves in such infinitely creative ways.
… … Perhaps I will always live compromising with my body, what my body wants, and what I want from my body.” (p. 52), this is the reflection on ‘community’ that progressed while looking at Seol In-ge.
“I admit, what I’m attached to is the mystery of such places, the mystery that makes them sacred, and that impossible, undulating way of life that we’re not meant to understand in the first place.” (p. 112) What about the confession after overlapping the Salpa and Dyke marches? “Our bodies flow across the cobblestones of the square, and we watch as some of us—the brave, the sentimental, the especially germ-resistant—take off their shirts and jump into the fountain to cool off.
There, in the water, we splash each other, kiss, and hug.
“Our soft parts all shake and pulsate together as a flock until the end, then gradually separate and go their separate ways.” (p. 175)
The body in any direction
A being that transforms and grows
We will discover wilder, more magnificent, and more abundant possibilities.
“Slugs drop their head-like projections, crabs sacrifice their pincers, and geckos drop their severed, still wiggling tails to serve as bait while they escape.
Snakes play dead, butterflies disguise themselves as leaves, and octopuses spit ink.
“These adaptations are remarkable, and that is why we consider these animals special, but still, if there had not been the constant threat of predators, these adaptations would not have been necessary in the first place.” (p. 135)
The author keenly observes the striking similarities between the survival strategies of nature and the formation of human identity.
This journey of reflection on one's own identity and potential alongside marine life introduces the wonders of nature while also "making the reader's heart melt" (Nicole Chung).
Weaving together multiple identities—mixed race, queer, racial identity, non-binary sexual identity, and immigrant family background—she captivates readers with “Sabrina Imbler’s unique intellectual communication style” (Megha Majumdar) like never before.
Born to a Chinese mother and a white father, the author first recognized her mixed-race identity at the age of twelve and has since struggled with race.
As a Chinese immigrant, I constantly question my position as someone who has to explain 'where I come from.'
The journey of sexual identity becomes more complex.
The turbulent relationships of early adulthood and the free-spirited experiences of college sometimes expose them to dangerous situations.
Navigating the fragmented boundaries of memory and uncertain consent, the author embarks on a journey toward true connection and self-understanding.
Exploring the delicate balance between consent and non-consent, pleasure and obligation, she redefines her identity as queer and non-binary.
The Queer Mystery of the Sea
The fluid boundaries of human existence
“Trauma is not one of the many catalysts for regeneration, it is the only catalyst.
Scientists who study the regeneration of immortal jellyfish know this.
To borrow the words of one study, various torture methods were developed to “induce rejuvenation.”
One standard technique for traumatizing jellyfish is to immerse the organism in a solution of cesium chloride, a colorless salt.
The alternative is so-called needle therapy, which involves indiscriminately poking the jellyfish's venomous umbrella with stainless steel needles.” (p. 225)
This book is a wonderful fusion of marine biology and autobiographical reflection, a journey recommended to anyone seeking to transcend the boundaries of fixed identity.
The author illuminates our own fluid modes of existence through the dramatic self-sacrifice or adaptation of marine creatures, such as the hybridity of the butterflyfish and the collective self of the salpa.
In particular, the author's perspective, which reinterprets trauma as a driving force for regeneration and transformation, reminds us that wounds and pain are not mere deficiencies, but can become the starting point of new possibilities.
For those with mixed, queer, or immigrant experiences, it offers an ocean of empathy. For those without, it offers a new lens through which to understand others, and even the courage to view wounds and darkness as opportunities for re-creation and transformation.
This book contains deep insights that make us realize that we are all beings who are constantly breaking, regenerating, and being reborn in new forms.
GOODS SPECIFICS
- Date of issue: May 14, 2025
- Page count, weight, size: 268 pages | 132*204*20mm
- ISBN13: 9791173572418
- ISBN10: 1173572414
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