Moby-Duck

Starred review from October 25, 2010
Whimsical curiosity begets a quixotic odyssey and troubling revelations about plastics polluting the seas in former high school teacher and journalist Hohn's charming account of what he learned searching for 28,800 rubber bath toys lost at sea in 1992. His curiosity, prompted by a student's quirky essay, begins in 2005 around Sitka, Alaska, where yellow "duckies," frogs, turtles, and beavers washed up after three-story waves buffeted a container ship traveling from China to America. Hohn, a senior editor at Harper's magazine, eventually tracks more rogue ducks bobbing up from isolated Gore Point, Alaska, to Maine beaches. The author's quest leads him to a research vessel trawling for degraded plastic in Hawaiian seas, to the Chinese factory where the toys were manufactured, aboard a container vessel traversing the same route as the original ship (a particularly hair-raising section), and finally to the high Arctic to study the science of oceanic drift. Packed with seafaring lore and astute reporting, this enthralling narrative is the Moby Dick of drifting ducks.

Starred review from December 1, 2010

A finely spun chronicle of the wide-ranging quest to track the wanderings of a rubber duck lost at sea, from Harper's senior editor Hohn.

In 1992, a crate toppled off a container ship and dumped much of its cargo into the Pacific Ocean. Among the lost items were thousands of rubber toys. Ten years later, a yellow rubber duck of the same manufacture, barnacled and tortured by the elements, washed ashore in Maine. Could it have made it through the Northwest Passage? Thus began Hohn's pursuit for an answer. In prose that varies in tone from reflective to unaffectedly cool to delightfully wide-eyed ("[w]hat misanthrope, what damp, drizzly November of a sourpuss, upon beholding a rubber duck afloat, does not feel a Crayola ray of sunshine brightening his gloomy heart?"), the author follows in the wake of a half-dozen Virgils on a tour through driftology, oceanography, environmental degradation and the economics of toy-making. The characters are an engaging bunch—some crusty, some charismatic, some just doing their jobs—all with a touch of local color and all raising as many questions as they answer. Hohn spent time in the company of flotsam gatherers, on the shop floor of a Chinese toy company and with scientists exploring the toxic nature of plastic, and he learned about monster waves and the mysteries of tides and currents. He also crossed the Pacific on a container ship to refresh his sense of awe. To his credit, he doesn't dodge difficult questions: Should we tackle pollution at the source or on the beach? How do you measure the value of place? Can a small rubber duck push through the murderous climes of the Arctic?

There are no easy answers, but it's the hunt that counts, and Hohn makes it a gladdening, artful journey of discovery.

(COPYRIGHT (2010) KIRKUS REVIEWS/NIELSEN BUSINESS MEDIA, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)

Starred review from December 1, 2010
Like Bill Bryson on hard science, or John McPhee with attitude, journalist Hohn travels from beaches to factories to the northern seas in pursuit of a treasure that mystifies as much as it provokes. His quest is to determine what happened to a load of 28,800 Chinese manufactured plastic animals in a container that fell off a ship en route to Seattle in 1992. Hohns inquiry leads him to 10 Little Rubber Ducks (2005), childrens author Eric Carles idealized board-book version, and also to the plastic-strewn beaches of an Alaskan island, a Hong Kong toy fair, and the Sesame Street origins of the rubber ducks popularity. By turns thoughtful, bemused, or shocked, Hohn finds the story growing beyond his wildest visions as he learns about the science of ocean currents and drift and the lure of cheap plastic in a consumer culture that has dangerously lost its way. The resulting book is a thoroughly engaging environmental/travel title that crosses partisan divides with its solid research and apolitical nature. Rubber ducks as harmless, ubiquitous symbols of childhood? Not anymore, not by a long shot. This dazzles from start to finish.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2010, American Library Association.)