Moths, Myths, and Mosquitoes: The Eccentric Life of Harrison G. Dyar JR.

Growing up as a budding naturalist, I had to contend (as I suspect many of you did) with the stereotype of the biologist as eccentric. The popular image of the student of natural history is of a skinny, often bespectacled, Wally Coxian gentleman with odd clothing and a fussy, peculiar personality (for example, the earnest young entomologists in Silence of the Lambs, or any of the scientists depicted on The Big Bang Theory). Although I've always known this stereotype was wrong, I never really gave its origins much thought. But in a reading of Marc Epstein's excellent and definitive biography of Harrison G. Dyar, Jr., I felt I was staring at the very roots of the popular conception of the scientist. While Dr. Dyar was a prodigious scientist, he was also a most curious fellow of some considerable notoriety in the early decades of the last century.

Dyar is perhaps most known for his “Rule of Geometric Growth,” much used for sorting out the number of instars in caterpillars. He also named and described several thousand species of Lepidoptera, sawflies, and a great many mosquitoes and other flies. In his time, though, and (I suppose) for quite some time after, he was most known by the general public for his bigamy (he maintained two families in Washington, DC) and the extensive and sophisticated tunnels he dug for recreation, adjacent to each of his residences.

Epstein's chronicle of Dyar's life is comprehensive and thorough, and the research that underpins it is extensive. He mined the extensive historical and genealogical records in the Library of Congress as well as records and papers at the Smithsonian; he was even able to interview Dyar's son, Wallace. All these efforts contribute to a colorful depiction of the eminent scientist; Epstein vividly describes Dyar's early years and the significant role that spiritualism played in his family. Dyar was born to a wealthy family, and was independently wealthy in his own right for most of his years; his life in entomology was clearly a labor of love, and his persistence in the pursuit of legitimizing his career was impressive. He was an accomplished and innovative systematist, and most any student of his pet taxa will frequently encounter his name. Yet Epstein's Dyar is cantankerous and argumentative, quick to lash out at critics or “incompetents” and scientifically territorial to the extreme. Over the course of his long and productive career, he managed to alienate virtually all other significant workers in Lepidoptera and mosquitoes, as well as much of his family. By the end of his life, his marital travails and a series of bad investments had pretty much wiped out his fortune, but he fought for professional recognition to the very end.

Moths, Myths, and Mosquitoes is very well written, and for most of its length, a fairly compelling read. Some of the early chapters bog down in the minutiae of some of Dyar's extensive collecting trips, but this may be necessary to establish Dyar's productivity. In places, the narrative jumps back and forth across years in a rather disconcerting and confusing fashion. Later, however, the book moves smoothly and briskly through Dyar's relationships with the Smithsonian and the scandals that would lead to his decline. This biography is abundantly illustrated with informative illustrations, including archival photos of Dyar, his family, and other prominent entomologists of the time, as well as a set of color plates depicting particularly significant insects in Dyar's career.

H. G. Dyar, Jr., was not your average entomologist in accomplishment, demeanor, or eccentricity. But he was indeed a fascinating character, and Epstein's book comprehensively describes his interesting life.