Upon the completion of my fourth book, as customary, my dad and I sat down to brainstorm ideas for a follow-up. Although he is an emergency physician, he really should have been an historian. After gently interrupting to tell me to slow down, he simply said, “Disease!” While I was not wholly convinced by his one-word answer, as usual my dad had narrowed my path, and I was now working off a smaller map. With his simple clue of “disease,” this book was born, and I began my dogged pursuit of our deadliest predator.
For history geeks like me, this was the ultimate treasure hunt. I could not chart the unknown wilds in search of El Dorado or Cibola like a marauding Spanish conquistador or Nicolas Cage, for that matter, or trek to uncover the Lost City of Z. Nor could I embark on a quest for a Da Vinci Code Holy Grail like Robert Langdon, track down the Templar Treasure, emulate any of Indiana Jones’s epic adventures, or make the hyperspace Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. But, perhaps, I could solve this mystery.
I scoured my bookshelves and grabbed the required student textbooks I assign for my university classes. My multitool teaching portfolio bridges a broad range of topics and spans a wide swath of intersecting themes: American history; indigenous studies; comparative politics; war and politics of petroleum; and the catchall Western civilizations. The books were filled with gallant tales of great battles, decisive wars, and the rise and fall of glorious ancient civilizations, including Egypt, Greece, and Rome. They all recount the genesis and sociocultural explosion of Christianity and Islam. The narratives extoll the genius of influential military leaders such as Alexander the Great, Hannibal and Scipio, Genghis Khan, George Washington, Napoleon, Tecumseh, and Generals Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee. They chart the course of explorers, pirates, and characters of colonization, including Columbus, Cortes, Raleigh, Rolfe, and our cartoon Hollywood princess, Pocahontas. The textbooks all seek to explain the evolution of civilization and how our global order came to pass.
This simple notion of how our world of yesterdays fashioned and shaped our todays and tomorrows got me thinking. What and who were the major catalysts of change from our past that shaped our present and future? I judged all the usual suspects of trade, politics, religion, imperial European intrusion, slavery, and war. After scanning everything and everyone in my mental rolodex, I concluded that there was still something missing. When I closed the last book, the answer remained elusive, but my curiosity and the word “disease,” which by this time was dominating my thoughts and academic attention, had taken me further down the rabbit hole.
There was, of course, the infamous Black Death of the mid-fourteenth century, wrought by the deadly Yersinia pestis bacterium transmitted by fleas on rats, which wiped out 50% of the European population (tallying a global butcher’s bill of 200 million). I also knew that of the roughly 100 million indigenous people inhabiting the Western Hemisphere, 95% would be exterminated by a cocktail of disease during successive waves of European colonization kicked off by Columbus in 1492 and the ensuing transference of global ecosystems during the “Columbian Exchange.” I was aware of the episodic cholera and typhoid outbreaks of Europe and the American colonies, and the devastating “Spanish Influenza” outbreak of 1918–1919, which killed 75 to 100 million people, five times more than the world war that helped it go viral. These well-known epidemics and their historical repercussions had already been declassified and brought me no closer to my objective. I would ultimately find my prize in the most unlikely of places.
I enjoy doing groceries. I know, it’s bizarre, but I find it relaxing. Some people meditate or do yoga. I do groceries. On one outing, shortly after the banter about disease with my dad and browsing through all those books, I wandered the aisles, taking in the astonishing assortment of products. I read the labels and marveled at the fact that I had a selection and choice between 26 different forms of canned tomatoes, 19 different blends or roasts of tinned coffee, 57 varieties of ketchup, and 31 allegedly delicious flavors of food for my dog, Steven. I pushed my cart through the global village of groceries, bumping into produce and sundries from every pocket of our planet. I thought to myself that indeed the world is now a small place and that we are the preeminent species. After placing a bag of Ruffles All Dressed chips in my shopping cart, I looked up. There, standing in front of me, hidden in plain sight, was my answer. My treasure, at last, was emblazoned on a giant billboard in a Safeway in my adopted home of Grand Junction, Colorado.
I read the advertisement again. DEEP WOODS OFF!: REPELS MOSQUITOES THAT MAY CARRY ZIKA, DENGUE OR WEST NILE VIRUS. I shook my head in disbelief and personal displeasure that I had not connected the dots earlier. The topic of my next book, the one that you presently hold in your hand, was now a no-brainer—the mosquito. Nowhere in any of those academic textbooks was there an acknowledgment of her preeminent influence throughout history and her inescapable impact in shaping our human story. At last, I had found my El Dorado. I was determined to set the record straight. This book is the culmination of my treasure hunt.
While catching up with historian Dr. Tim Cook at the Canadian War Museum roughly a year after that fateful grocery shopping run (and devouring that bag of All Dressed chips), I told him about this book idea and of my vast collection of ongoing research. Tim immediately introduced me to his, and now my, agent, Rick Broadhead. Thank you, Tim, for making that quick phone call and, more importantly, for your support and friendship over the years. Rick, you have been with me since the first steps of this adventure and I am so very grateful to have you in my corner. You, my friend, are simply incredible and I cannot thank you enough for all you do. Having finally completed the manuscript in between teaching and coaching the hockey team (I am Canadian, after all) at Colorado Mesa University, I submitted the draft to my editors, John Parsley, Nicholas Garrison, and Cassidy Sachs at Penguin Random House. Thank you all for your keen eyes, stamina, and guidance during the revision and editing stages. Your feedback and dissections were invaluable.
As usual, many friends, colleagues, and new acquaintances offered their expertise, collaboration, and assistance. A special thanks to Sir Hew Strachan, my doctoral supervisor at the University of Oxford, who taught me to see beyond the words on the pages and interact with history as a live creature. I have been extremely privileged to be the beneficiary of your knowledge and mentorship. I would also like to thank in no particular order: Bruno and Katie Lamarre, Dr. Alan Anderson, Dr. Hoko-Shodee, Jeff Obermeyer, Dr. Tim Casey, Dr. Douglas O’Roark, Dr. Justin Gollob, Dr. Susan Becker, Dr. Adam Rosenbaum, and Dr. John Seebach. Adam and John, I enjoyed our numerous mosquito-laced (hominid or hominin?) conversations. John, your erudite answers to my inquiries about early human evolution and migration patterns, overlapping our enjoyable chats about Guns N’ Roses and the Tragically Hip, were extremely helpful and beneficial. Thank you also to all those who graciously shared their personal mosquito stories and knowledge. I would be remiss if I did not extend a warm thanks to the library staff at Colorado Mesa University for procuring my endless catalogue of requests, including many out-of-print and obscure titles. You are the true treasure hunters. I also wish to acknowledge Colorado Mesa University for providing funding to offset the cost of procuring photographs.
Thousands of people have spent their entire academic or medical careers within the expansive mosquito world. To these mosquito soldiers and their tireless efforts and to those academics on whose writings this story is partially built, I am indebted and extend my metaphorical hand of appreciation in thanks: J. R. McNeill, James L. A. Webb Jr., Charles C. Mann, Randall M. Packard, Mark Harrison, Jared Diamond, Peter McCandless, Andrew McIlwaine Bell, Sonia Shah, Margaret Humphreys, David R. Petriello, Frank Snowden, Alfred W. Crosby, William H. McNeill, Nancy Leys Stepan, Karen M. Masterson, Andrew Spielman, Jeff Chertack at the Gates Foundation, and Bill and Melinda Gates.
Finally, to my mom and dad, thank you for teaching me the ways of the Force. You are both Jedi Masters and, with my apologies to Alexander the Great, Sir Isaac Newton, and Yoda, you are also tops on my list of heroes. I love and miss you all and our lakefront home in Canada. Jaxson, my beautiful boy, you are too young to understand why I am away for extended periods of time, but trust me I’d rather be having “dude days” with you as well. Who else can save your Wayne Gretzky slap shot, catch your Matthew Stafford passes, or be Darius III to your Alexander the Great? I love you forever and in every galaxy far, far away. To my wife, Becky, thank you for holding down the fort during my work-related absences and my seeming absence while at home, writing. You have taken the sage counsel of “patience” espoused by the esteemed philosopher Axl Rose and mastered it.
Thank you all,
Tim