McCarthy, a British journalist and amateur wildlife lover, writes a serious and moving book about the destruction of the earth by man’s population growth, expansion imperative, and mindless overuse of the planet’s resources from clean water and air to forests, coral reefs, and just plain old fields and streams.  The book has three threads interwoven skillfully and effectively:  McCarthy’s family story (a distant father, a severely depressed mother, an alcoholic brother), the sad stories of destruction, and the embrace of the joy and wonder that only nature can bring to one.  The destruction story is more effective than most because it focuses so specifically on the decline in species of insects and birds in his native England, a fall of more than 50% in the numbers of individual creatures rather than the extinctions of species that is so often the focus.  His metaphor for this is the absence of the moth snowstorm that used to foul his windshields and headlights while driving as a young man but which have disappeared today.  He goes on to sing the praises of England’s bluebell woods and chalk streams and shares the moments when he has experienced joy and wonder positing that it is this awareness of nature’s unique ability to move the human soul that will provide the momentum to turn around the destructive cycle.  He’s not completely dotty about this, basing his hope on the 5000 generations of mankind who were dependent on and tuned into their environment before the 50 generations since agriculture began and man ruined the earth.  Dream on, my dear author!  Thoreau, Gerald Manly Hopkins, Emerson and others are trotted out to defend this position, but given the Trump and right wing European governments, it is a hail Mary pass to think that joy and wonder can win the day.  Despite this, the book is a good read and a fine addition to the nature library.