From a Q & A at the publisher's website:
What’s this book about?Read the full Q & A.
Reef Madness describes a 35-year argument that took place in the late 1800s between Charles Darwin and a younger scientist, Alexander Agassiz, over how coral reefs formed. That’s the issue atits simplest — a scientific conflict. But it’s also a story of intense personal and philosophical conflicts: of a son trying to deal with the huge legacy of a very famous, brilliant, but maddeningly flawed father, and a wider dispute among scientists about the rules of science. It was both a blood feud and a philosophical debate of the most elemental kind. And though it was forgotten for most of the last 50 years, it was at the time one of the hottest controversies in science.
There have been piles of books about Charles Darwin. But the Darwin in your book is a bit different than the one we’re used to meeting. How so?
In this book we see Darwin at two different times. One is quite young, before he’s really found his feet. And this young Darwin is a completely different animal than the gray-bearded, rather sickly Darwin of the popular imagination and most histories. It isn’t new to Darwin scholars, but it can be astonishing — and rather delightful — for the rest of us to discover that the young Darwin was a bright but aimless young man. He hardly studied his first two years at Cambridge, for instance; he was far more interested in hunting and in playing cards and drinking. His father was terrified he’d end up a ne’er-do-well sporting type. He almost didn’t take the job on the Beagle; when his father objected, he let the thing drop, and then hurried off to hunt, for it was the first day of partridge season, and almost nothing could make him miss that. He only took the Beagle job when his uncle whacked him upside the head and convinced his father it was a good idea.
Then on the Beagle, he became a very bold thinker and naturalist, and most especially a very imaginative geologist. He took five times as many notes on rocks as on animals; he considered himself a geologist above all. And he was a very bold one. It was then that he came up with his coral theory.
That’s one Darwin we meet here — the aimless sport who transforms into the adventurous and very bold theorist — neither of them much like the cautious and dyspeptic scholar of later years.
The other Darwin we meet is the older one with whom Alex starts his long debate. This was a very gracious man, which is completely consistent with the typical historical view of Darwin. He was a warm-hearted man, generous, and wrote wonderful encouraging warm letters to any fellow scientist whether they were with him or against him. This was the tone of his relation with Alex. The two liked each other. But Darwin’s graciousness, while quite genuine, was also the soft covering over a relentless effort to advance his own theories and cause. He had a unique way of charming, pushing, cajoling, and thoughtfully leading his colleagues in his direction. Alexander’s relationship with this Darwin was fascinating. He had to deal with two of the century’s most fascinating geniuses — each quite maddening in his own way — and somehow still find answers his own way.
--Marshal Zeringue