What stories are museums really telling? Are giant dinosaur skeletons, dramatic lion dioramas, and blue whale models giving us an honest snapshot of the natural world? And does it matter if they’re not?
These are the questions that zoologist and museum curator Jack Ashby takes on in his thought-provoking new book, 'Nature’s Memory.' By taking us behind the scenes of natural history museums, Ashby reveals a world that is equal parts awe-inspiring, politically charged, and ethically complex. As Assistant Director at the University Museum of Zoology in Cambridge, he brings authority, warmth, and curiosity to his investigation of what museums choose to show - and what they leave out.
At the heart of the book is the idea that natural history museums are far from neutral. The decisions about which specimens are put on display are shaped by outdated traditions, colonial legacies, and curatorial preferences rather than ecological relevance or scientific balance. “Despite the infinite diversity of animals and plants museums can choose from, there are some that we’re likely to find wherever we go,” Ashby writes. Lions, elephants, and dinosaurs get the spotlight, while insects, plants, and the more “ordinary” creatures are too often left in the dark.
Ashby’s critiques go further. He highlights the under-representation of female specimens, the invisibility of Indigenous collectors, and the troubling imperial histories behind many iconic exhibits. These aren’t easy topics, but Ashby approaches them with clarity and care, offering insight without sensationalism. His goal is not to tear museums down but to encourage them to be better: more inclusive, more transparent, more honest.
While Ashby is refreshingly upfront about his own biases – particularly his focus on Australian mammals – this means some parts of the global museum landscape are left underexplored. Readers hoping for a more international survey, particularly from non-Western institutions, might find the scope narrower than expected.
The final chapters of the book are its most hopeful. Ashby reminds us that natural history museums aren’t just windows into the past – they’re tools for solving the problems of the future. With billions of specimens worldwide, these collections provide vital data for studying climate change, tracking biodiversity loss, and preparing for pandemics. As Ashby puts it, “Few people have cottoned on to this yet, but... natural history museums are the only ones that can help save the world.”
Where solutions are offered, they’re cautious – Ashby tends to stop short of offering detailed recommendations for how museums might implement meaningful change. This restraint may reflect his deep understanding of just how complex institutional reform can be, and lends the book a thoughtful, grounded tone.
Nature’s Memory is sharp, engaging, and quietly radical. It balances critique with affection, combining personal insight, institutional reflection, and cultural analysis with surprising accessibility. Whether you’re a museum lover, scientist, student, or simply curious, this book will encourage you to ask better questions about the institutions you trust – and the stories they choose to tell.
