Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712

Earth stories: context and narrative in the communication of popular geoscience

Iain S. Stewart a,*, Ted Nield b

a Centre for Research in Earth Sciences, School of Geography, Earth, and Environmental Sciences, Plymouth University, Plymouth PL4 8AA, UKb The Geological Society of London, Burlington House, Picaddilly, London, UK

A R T I C L E I N F O

Article history:

Received 2 February 2012

Received in revised form 16 August 2012

Accepted 22 August 2012

Available online 18 September 2012

Keywords:

Science communication

Public engagement

Geological outreach

Mass media

Journalism

Geo-education

A B S T R A C T

Geoscientists are increasingly being encouraged to present their work to the wider public, and even to

advocate more directly its policy dimensions. For those involved in geoconservation, that often entails

communicating geological information to people who have little or no Earth science background. A

review of current science communication thinking indicates that improving the geo-literacy of the

‘ordinary person in the street’ is unlikely to be achieved simply by educating them with basic ‘geo-facts’.

Instead, genuine and effective public engagement is more likely to come from conveying the deep-seated

‘context’ of our geological knowledge, and by presenting the wider culture within which Earth scientists

work. This inculcation of a popular ‘geo-culture’ can take its cues from mass-media representations of

Earth science (‘disasters and dinosaurs’) by recasting geological issues, concepts and knowledge in terms

of messages that have strong narratives, dramatic incident and human interest. Ultimately, the role of

such popular geological story-telling is less about delivering specific information about Earth science

issues and more about establishing the credentials of ‘brand geoscience’ in the public’s mind.

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1. Introduction

Every UK geologist knows that the nation has a natural historythat spans over three billion years of Earth’s existence. Fewsupermarket checkout assistants have that appreciation. That itshistory has left its clues in the rocks underfoot – producing one ofthe richest and most varied stretches of geological real estates onthe planet – is a revelation lost on your postman. Amateurrockhounds may be only too well aware of how that diversegeological underlay shapes the scenic grandeur of our land, but fewinvestment bankers have that familiarity. And those that read thepages of this journal keenly appreciate how our nation’s rocks havecontributed to a cultural legacy that instilled some of the scientificprinciples which guide our modern understanding of how theplanet works, but such enlightenment is unlikely to be shared byyour hairdresser. Even the fact that rocks, courtesy of the mineralswithin them, powered our country’s industrial development is athought too far for most.

The point is that most ordinary members of the public – eventaxi drivers – lack any firm acquaintance with the bedrock onwhich they live. They are for the most part blissfully unaware thatunassuming railway cuttings or riverside bluffs are listed asRegionally Important Geological Sites (RIGS) because theypreserve fragile vestiges of our geological inheritance. Or that,

* Corresponding author. Tel.: +44 1752 584767.

E-mail address: istewart@plymouth.ac.uk (I.S. Stewart).

0016-7878/$ – see front matter � 2012 The Geologists’ Association. Published by Else

http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.pgeola.2012.08.008

by the same token, the holes in the ground from which our modernurban fabric was once quarried are similarly portals into the past,and hence are protected as Sites of Special Scientific Interest. Forthose who are not geologically minded, this apparent indifferenceto terra firma is arguably more an issue of detachment. No one hastold them that such places are important. Or at least, no one hastold them in a way that makes them care.

For this reason, the central concern of geoconservation – thatour rich and at times unique geological diversity is threatened – is amessage that has a relatively low priority amongst the public(Prosser et al., 2011). Equally, the related notion that the UK’sparticular amalgam of rocks, minerals, fossils, soils and landforms(geodiversity) is as valuable a resource base as its much laudedecological one (biodiversity) is one that still needs to fire thepopular imagination (Gordon et al., 2012). Such ideas are,thankfully, increasingly formalised within relatively robust UKregulatory frameworks which ensure a degree of statutoryprotection (albeit locally augmented by voluntary conservationschemes) (Burek and Prosser, 2008; Prosser et al., 2011), butsustaining such guardianship over the long term needs a broaderand deeper public consciousness about both geodiversity andgeoconservation. In practice, it depends on local geoscienceoutreach initiatives that build geological awareness, fosterunderstanding and facilitate involvement and activism amongthe wider public. Professional geoscientists – academic andindustrial – can have an important role in this, by conveying thenature of our science to communities, groups and individuals whothus far have received little enchantment in geology. For the

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I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712700

geoscience community, however, a key challenge in delivering thisaspiration is that ‘. . .we have yet to develop a still more versatilebridge across the gap between helping users understand thatgeology is relevant to them and making geological informationunderstandable to all’ (Walsby, 2008, p. 86).

In this paper, we explore one bridge between geology and thepublic – that provided by ‘popular geoscience’. We do this as twogeologists who are also active Earth science popularisers, one (ISS)an academic who presents geology in mainstream televisiondocumentaries and the other (TN) a science journalist who writespopular geology science books and edits a leading geosciencemagazine. Since many of the issues are those that underpin publicunderstanding of science more generally we review basic sciencecommunication questions, such as what are the messages we wantto get across and who are the audiences we want wish to reach. Butthe main sentiment of the paper is to distinguish communicating‘geo-facts’ – geological information and knowledge – from thedeeper-seated embedding of ‘geo-culture’ – the context of Earthscience endeavours. In particular, we argue that an essentialelement of public engagement in geoscience ought to be ‘story-telling’; the construction of a compelling narrative spine emergesas a central construct in popular journalism and televisiondocumentaries, and is one that can be employed more widely inEarth science outreach.

2. Why communicate?

Today, the notion that scientists should communicate theirwork beyond the professional community to the wider audience ofpolicy makers and the public seems broadly accepted (e.g. RoyalSociety, 2006; Burchell et al., 2009). Most research and profession-al funding agencies now demand a public dissemination compo-nent, and so scientists in all fields are coming under increasingpressure to deliver public recognition for their efforts. The cultural‘sea change’ has emerged from the higher stakes of research, andfrom an increased recognition by scientists, stakeholders, andpolicymakers that scientists need to get their message out (Warrenet al., 2007). Most academic and professional geoscientists nowincorporate a public engagement element to their work, althoughoften it remains unclear if the underlying motive is to engender amore positive public attitude to research, shape public debateabout key science issues, or reflect the potential reputationalenhancement of individuals, organisations or sponsors (RoyalSociety, 2006). By and large, the scientific profession now endorsespublic outreach as a cornerstone of scientific research andinnovation, yet there remain institutional asperities to achievingthat aim. For a start, the degree to which individual scientistsembrace the public in their work will come down to pragmaticdecisions about the degree to which their organisation willprioritise this initiative (Marker, 2008). Public consultation anddissemination are costly and time consuming so time and moneymust be allocated by managers to support this effort. Likewise,public engagement activities need to be recognised and rewardedin opportunities for promotion and career development.

An additional constraint is that the process by which scientistsengage with those beyond the professional arena can be deemed asbeing potentially hazardous. Public consumption of science ismediated by various agencies (most prominently the media, butalso activist organisations, corporations and religious groups) andthere is much distrust among some scientists about the capacity ordesire of those agencies to represent science information fairly. Themain impediments for engaging with the media, for example,include the perceived unpredictability of journalists and theconcomitant risk of incorrect quotation. This is part of a widerconcern among many scientists that engaging closely with thepublic will incur a negative reaction from managers and of research

peers, especially because such incursions take time away fromvaluable R&D, and so could be detrimental to career advancement(Royal Society, 2006). Empirical surveys of actual scientist–mediainteractions are more encouraging, however, suggesting thatdialogues between the two are more frequent and more positivethan previously thought (Peters et al., 2008; Bentley and Kyvik,2011). In fact, those researchers most involved with publicengagement tend to have higher levels of scientific publishingand enjoy higher academic rank with leadership roles.

Of course, not all scientists may be able or willing to ‘go public’;6–10% of scientists polled by the Royal Society (2006) felt this way.For some, the whole notion of communicating to the publicremains incompatible with the academic culture for unfetteredscholarly inquiry or the professional sensitivities of commercialprojects. Others will find the challenges of translating orcircumventing technical intricacies too arduous, or too far outsideof their comfort zone. Indeed, some departmental managers mayquake in their boots at the thought of certain of their staffmediating with the public (Burchell et al., 2009).

Not surprisingly, many of those scientists who are keen toundertake public engagement are looking for guidance andtraining in this new domain. Some practical advice is availablefor geoscientists (e.g. Forster and Freeborough, 2006) but only aminority had courses in communication as part of their education;only 15% in a recent global survey of geoscientists (Liverman andJaramillo, 2011) (Fig. 1). Moreover, most graduate trainingcourses in geoscience degree programmes emphasise communi-cation to peers (how to present a paper, write an abstract, preparea poster etc.) rather than to the public. With little or no formaltraining in the media, the majority of geoscientists that converseregularly with the public are self-taught, their skills honedthrough personal experience. Although successful communica-tion is arguably an emotional rather than a technical skill, themost effective communication demands formal instruction. Forexample, if geoscience is really to inform genuine decisionmaking, then our emerging geoscientists may need training inmedia relations and how the worlds of political advocacy andscience policy work (Schneider, 2008). What most mediaprofessionals agree, however, is that the key communicationskills can be taught, developed and practiced (Somerville andHassol, 2011, p. 52).

And there are good reasons why scientists in general ought tolearn the basics of effective communication. Perhaps the mostprominent reason is that scientists, especially those in universities,remain trusted figures by public and media (NSB, 2010; BIS, 2011).In a social landscape where information can be misused by themedia or certain activist groups, academic scientists are widelyseen as the ones best able to minimise the potential formisinterpretation and to evaluate the significance of their ownresults (Liverman, 2008). In this context, a scientist that does notaccept responsibility for communicating their own work is likely tohave that work communicated by someone who understands thescience less well. Or worse, it will not be communicated at all.

3. What do the public know about geoscience?

An enduring complaint by scientists of all denominations is theapparent scientific illiteracy of the public (Hartz and Chappell,1997; Augustine, 1998; Gross, 2006; Mooney and Kirshenbaum,2009). It reflects a long-held view within the scientific elite that, inorder to grasp the technological advances that drive society andtake their responsibility in civic society, people need to understandthe underpinning values and principles of scientific endeavour(Durant et al., 1989). For many social commentators, such as theUK journalist Andrew Marr, the degree to which the publiccomprehended science was lamentably deficient:

Fig. 1. Overview of geoscience opinions on media issues (Liverman and Jaramillo, 2011).

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712 701

‘Most voters are frankly merely info-peasants, scientificilliterates, vacant idiots at the mercy of the glossy corporate-science propaganda and newspaper hysterias. They are told a‘government scientist’ is an authority, whether he’s spent hislife on earthworms or planets. They don’t ask about peer-groupreview. They don’t even have a clear notion of scientific proof, orthe simple big discoveries that lead to the front-page storiesthat shock them.’ (Marr, 1999)

Marr (1999) refers to this as the ‘deep comprehension gap’ butscience communicators know it as the ‘deficit model’ of publicunderstanding of science – crudely, that the public are emptyheads waiting to be filled up by scientific knowledge. In recentyears this mental model has now been replaced by more nuancedconceptual frameworks (see Weigold (2001) for a review), but theunderlying premise of endemic scientific illiteracy remains rife. Inthe US, for example, researchers have concluded that less than one

Fig. 2. A visualisation of the sprawling, complex nature of modern Science, with the size of nodes proportional to the scientific output of different disciplines and the links

showing the interconnections between cognate fields (based on Web of Science) (BBC Trust, 2011).

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712702

fifth of residents meet a minimum standard of civic scientificliteracy (Miller et al., 1997).

Today, most science communicators would argue that it is less acase that people need their knowledge ‘fix’ topped up and morethat they ought to be helped to appreciate the way ‘Science’ hasevolved. Most people’s attitude to what ‘Science’ is all about isformed, both positively and negatively, at school, and many stillintuitively understand it as the holy trinity of biology, chemistryand physics (BIS, 2011). Today, however, the scientific arena is vastand disparate, and the corresponding realm of science communi-cation is enormous and intricate (Fig. 2). Its sheer breadth ishighlighted by science journalist Sharon Begley (cited in Hartz andChappell, 1997) who noted,

‘I cover everything from archeology to genetics, neuroscience,and physics. I do not do medicine, which is defined as anythinghaving to do with sick people. And I don’t do technology. I’ll dogenetics. I’ll do neuroscience. But once it gets into somebodysick, I give it to ‘‘medicine.’’’

Somewhere amongst all that is geology. With little or no formaleducational background in geoscience beyond school geographylessons most lay persons are unprepared for the new intercon-nected world of the ‘Earth system’ and for the high-tech wizardryused to investigate it. Moreover, in the public sphere, geoscience iscompeting with those equally novel science nodes depicted inFig. 2, and in each of these nodes scientists are expecting the publicto have a degree of technical literacy equal to the demands of theadvances that threaten to change and shape their lives. It meansthat what is basic scientific knowledge to a particle physicist willbe different to that of a geneticist, a psychologist or indeed, ageologist. Given that sprawling intellectual landscape, andconsidering the remoteness of much of its hinterland for thosewith only a distant recollection of high school science, how muchgeology can we expect a public to know?

The extent of ‘geo-illiteracy’ is difficult to gauge, thoughoccasional surveys imply a patchy knowledge of some very basicgeological tenets. According to Hartz and Chappell (1997), forexample, a 1996 survey (Table 1) showed that although over three-quarters of US adults sampled understood that the centre of theplanet is ‘very hot’, almost a quarter did not. Furthermore, over halfof them thought that the earliest humans co-existed withdinosaurs. Such misconceptions underpin genuine geo-education-al concerns, such as the challenges to evolution and Earth scienceposed by the pseudo-science of Young Earth Creationism andIntelligent Design (Buchanan, 2005; Nisbet and Nisbet, 2005).Countering such apparent deep-seated deficiencies are initiativessuch as the National Science Foundation’s Earth Science Literacyinitiative (http://www.earthscienceliteracy.org/), which attemptsto set out ‘the ‘‘Big Ideas’’ and supporting concepts that allAmericans should know about Earth sciences’ (Fig. 3). According tothat scheme,

‘. . .an Earth-science-literate person understands the funda-mental concepts of Earth’s many systems, knows how to findand assess scientifically credible information about Earth,communicates about Earth science in a meaningful way, and isable to make informed and responsible decisions regardingEarth and its resources.’

Of course, all this presupposes that there is body of unassailable‘geo-facts’ that can be readily conveyed to a general audience. At anintroductory level that may not be especially controversial, but itbecomes more problematic with geoscientific issues where adegree of uncertainty and even conflict may exist within thegeoscience community (Oreskes, 2004). That is particularlypertinent in the context that, in the regulatory arena, those whowish to contest mainstream scientific views do so by explicitlyexploiting technical uncertainty to enhance (‘manufacture’) doubtin the public’s mind (Michaels, 2005a, 2005b). Given that, as we

Table 1Results of a quiz given by researchers for the National Science Board as part of a larger survey to determine how much American adults know about basic science issues, as

well as what their attitudes are towards science and technology. The survey was conducted for the National Science Board’s Science and Engineering Indicators 1996, and is

presented in Hartz and Chappell (1997).

Question Answer % correct

The centre of the Earth is very hot. True 78

The oxygen we breathe comes from plants. True 85

Electrons are smaller than atoms. True 44

The continents on which we live have been moving their location for millions of years and will continue to move in the future. True 79

The earliest human beings lived at the same time as the dinosaurs. False 48

Which travels faster: light or sound? Light 75

How long does it take for the Earth to go around the sun: 1 day, 1 month or 1 year. One year 47

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discuss later, the public often first encounters geoscience at timesof crisis (Deepwater Horizon) or controversy (‘fracking’), moreimportant than disseminating specific knowledge about geologymay be the effort of establishing a broader ‘geo-literacy’, in thesense of knowing how our science really works. As Groffman et al.(2010, p. 287) point out:

‘The public and decision makers need more than informationand technical knowledge – they need mental frameworks, ormodels, for ‘‘connecting the dots’’ between otherwise appar-ently isolated events, trends, and policy solutions. Theselinkages make it easier for them to recognize the connectionbetween their everyday lives, specific values, and variousenvironmental problems.’

It is a view also encouraged by those ‘upstream’ who use ourscientific knowledge – the policy-makers who base their judg-ments and decisions on scientific advice – as highlighted by USCongresswoman Nancy Napolitano:

‘We do not know what you are focusing on unless you tell us.You are plugged into the science world daily and discussing itcontinually in your own terminology. We jump from issue toissue and are lucky if we get to focus on any particular issue formore than 30 minutes at a time. We depend on overloaded staffto keep us informed and to identify key elements. Equally

Fig. 3. Overview of the key ‘big ideas’ and supporting concepts promoted b

important, scientists think and process information differentlythan public policy people do. Scientists are taught to develophypotheses and then work to disprove them. In Congress, weare typically trying to mesh your scientific knowledge into abroader policy and regulation issue question.’ (Napolitano,2011, p. 424)

Like all scientists, geologists both in academia and industry arebeing expected to get more involved in the public arena,particularly in terms of lending their expert voices to policymatters (Oppenheimer, 2011). In the past this arena was regardedsomewhat as a line of communication with the public andgovernment in which scientists stood back from policy. These daysthe public scientist will be entangled within a complex web ofinteractions involving multiple feedbacks and in which scientificinformation is only one voice among several (Fig. 4). Thatentanglement means many geoscientists remain shy of thisexpectation, perhaps preferring to restrict their activities topromoting their science in schools and popular forums. But thereare pragmatic reasons for geologists to get involved in public policydebates, not least because such interventions improve the qualityof public discourse and the information reaching decision-makers,and because failure to intervene leaves governments with nochoice but to seek explanations from others, who may not be asinformed (Oppenheimer, 2011).

y the Earth Science Literary Principles (www.earthscienceliteracy.org).

Fig. 4. Contrasting visualisations of science in the public arena: (top) a traditional

linear model whereby scientists hand information to the public and stand back from

the policy process; (bottom) a more complex and nuanced modern view whereby

science and scientists are often caught up in a web of interactions involving many

feedbacks.

Modified from Oppenheimer (2011, Fig. 1).

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712704

For those scientists who are committed to ‘going public’, thequestions become more about what can they expect in the way ofreception for their interventions and how can the maximise theirefficacy? To address those questions needs a more carefulconsideration as to who ‘the public’ actually is.

4. Who are the public?

So far, we have referred loosely to ‘the public’ but who is it outthere that we are specifically trying to reach? Most geoscienceorganisations tend to consider their public in terms of ‘stake-holders’ – those groups most likely to ‘use’ their information.Arguably the easiest stakeholders for geoscientists to conversewith are fellow scientists in industry, the academic community andgovernment (Fig. 5). More vexed are the interactions with businessand government, where the challenges of communicating geosci-ence are compounded by the need to comprehend complexinstitutional and decision-making structures and to compete withan often equally baffling counter-jargon of ‘policy speak’ (Marker,2008). Any geoscientists working in areas that impinge onplanning or other legal issues will readily appreciate the difficultiesin reading or writing documents replete with planning terminolo-gy and the associated lexicon of the regulatory framework (Forsterand Freeborough, 2006). Equally, those engaged in outreach withteachers and other educators face by a bewildering maze of keystage’ requirements, as well as curricula that vary between exam

Fig. 5. Summary of which groups geoscientists find it hardest/easiest to talk to

(Liverman and Jaramillo, 2011, Fig. 6).

boards and across national educational systems. Given suchcomplexity, it is little wonder that many scientists feel thatcommunicating what they know to the ordinary man or woman inthe street is a far simpler exercise, even if it might be done throughthe mediating efforts of journalists and the mass media.

Yet communicating science to the general public is itself fraughtwith challenges because the ‘public’ is in fact a disparate lot,consisting of various groups of individuals who require differentinformation according to their own personal needs and interests.One commonly used subdivision of the population is that of the‘attentive public’, the ‘interested public’ and the ‘residual public’(Miller, 1986; Miller et al., 1997; Miller and Pardo, 1999). The mostscience-tuned are the ‘attentive public’, which make up 10–20% ofthe whole. They are generally young and well educated (often withuniversity-level science courses) who regularly watch news andread newspapers, and fairly routinely read popular sciencemagazines (or occasionally general science magazines like Scienceand Nature). They are also the most likely to visit museums andscience centres, and constitute a small but informed audience thatwill actively seek out information on technical issues. A far largerproportion (40–50%) are ‘science interested’, typically beingsomewhat older and more remote from science education butnevertheless frequent viewers of television programmes on science,technology and nature and weekly readers of science stories in thenewspaper. Often this ‘interested public’ claim to have a high level ofinterest in a particular issue but do not feel especially well informedabout it. The least science-minded are the residual or non-attentivepublic (or, more crudely, the science illiterate), who acknowledgeneither knowledge nor interest in science.

More recent reviews have expanded this collective of multiplepublics and refined their complex attitudes to science (e.g. OST,2000). What has emerged ever more forcefully is that different‘publics’ demand different science engagement approaches. Forexample, a group that are the most likely to visit cultural institutionssuch as museums and science centres may be far less likely thanaverage to have attended a science-based event or festival (OST,2000). Moreover, disseminating very introductory science outreachmaterial may be wasted on or put off those ‘attentive’ individualswho already possess a degree of scientific literacy sufficient to handlea fairly sophisticated depiction of the scientific process. (Although anote of caution here – according to Miller (1986), the unfortunatereality is that despite the high level of science professed by theattentive public, two-thirds of them are unlikely to pass a ‘‘relativelyminimal test of scientific literacy’’.) The information needs of theinterested public are more difficult to address but any approach tocommunicating with this group ought to be non-technical, simple,and pictorial (Miller, 1986). There is little consensus about theinformation needs or wants of the residual public.

A key challenge for science communication is that thesemultiple publics are scattered among the traditional stakeholdergroups. Although it is generally accepted that where scienceinforms stakeholder policy (government, business or education) itshould rely strongly on recommendations from scientific expertsrather than public opinion (e.g. BIS, 2011), still the centralarguments will be rehearsed in the public arena. And in thatarena, professional scientific advice competes with misinformedrhetoric as the various ‘publics’ express perceptions and prejudicesinherited less from designated experts and more from the widerpopular science culture. In this context, it is difficult to conveyspecific messages to specific targets. Instead, effective sciencecommunication becomes more about engaging with people’sinterests, prior knowledge, social networks and values/beliefs:

‘. . .this informal learning is individually motivated, voluntary,collaborative, occurs at irregular intervals, and is open-ended. . .It occurs throughout one’s life and encompasses a

Fig. 6. Comparison of UK broadsheet newspaper coverage of science in 2003 and

2011, showing that in the latest survey the number of stories about ‘Earth science’

had increased to 10% of all the stories (King and Hyden, 2012).

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range of outcomes, including different dimensions of knowl-edge, awareness, interest, motivation, social competencies (i.e.the ability to succeed as a member of society), civic participa-tion and expression and consumer or individual choices.’(Groffman et al., 2010, p. 286).

In other words, audiences do not receive science information ina vacuum but rather assimilate it from their own individualcultural context and use it for their own ends (Ziman, 1992).Indeed, while scientists may have scientific ‘facts’ at their disposal,the lay persons have local knowledge and an understanding of, andpersonal interest in, the problems to be solved. This realisation,arguably more than any other, has reframed science communica-tion into a two-way interchange:

‘. . .What the past decade or so has brought to the fore. . .is thatwhere science is being communicated, communicators need to bemuch more aware of the nature and existing knowledge of theintended audience. They need to know why the facts beingcommunicated are required by the listeners, what their implica-tions may be for the people on the receiving end, what thereceivers might feel about the way those facts were gleaned, andwhere future research might lead. Communicators might alsoconsider that factual communications—while they may beinspirational—probably have little lasting effect on knowledgelevels. People will pick up the knowledge they need for the task athand, use it as required, and then put it down again.’ (Miller, 2001)

In this guise, public understanding of science becomes a longgame in which we engage the public in a discussion about whatinterests them (Miller, 2001). That discussion is a dialogue not amonologue. It is less about providing information and more aboutproviding context. For Walsby (2008), a better public understand-ing of ‘what geology is’ and ‘what geoscientists do’ will come whenthose messages are delivered in concepts, formats and languagethat are recognisable to particular groups. One way to framegeological information in more familiar ways is to consider notwhat the public needs to know about geology, but rather what theywant to know about it.

5. Geology in the news

One way to find out what the public is interested in is to examinethe geoscience issues that the news media choose to bring to thepublic’s attention. One recent analysis of UK ‘quality’ (i.e. broadsheet)newspapers suggests that there is a healthy interest in geologicalnews stories (King and Hyden, 2012). According to that survey, thenumber of stories about ‘Earth science’ had increased dramaticallyover the last decade, and currently is greater than biology and morethan physics and chemistry combined (Fig. 6). It also highlighted amedia fascination with environmental disasters and crises – modernand ancient – and with the weird, wonderful, and downright bizarreelements of our planet’s distant past (Table 2).

Most scientists, of course, recognise that although the newsmedia are crucial purveyors and interpreters of geoscienceinformation, they also have their own agendas ‘. . .and publiceducation per se is not necessarily primary among them’ (West,1986, p. 40). Thus, while there are some shared goals betweenjournalist and scientist, there are also important distinctions:

‘The scientist’s primary responsibilities are to disseminateinformation, educate the public, be scientifically accurate, notlose face before colleagues, get some public credit for years ofresearch, repay the taxpayers who supported the research, andbreak out of the ivory tower for the sheer fun of it. Thejournalist’s goals are to get the news, inform, entertain, not loseface before his or her colleagues, fill space or time, and not be

repetitive. Sometimes these divergent agendas work to mutualbenefit, but at other times they lead to conflict.’ (Weigold, 2001)

Uncertainty and suspicion about the media’s role in communi-cating geoscience inhibits many geologists from getting moreinvolved. In a recent survey of geoscientists, for example, 73%thought that few members of the news media understood thenature of geoscience issues (Liverman and Jaramillo, 2011), and72% of respondents considered that the media was more interestedin negative stories about geoscience (Fig. 1). The potential fornegative stories is arguably at its highest when extreme geologicalevents bring the spectre of natural disaster (Liverman, 2008), andin those circumstances the journalist’s role is especially acute:

‘. . .[the media] can play a positive role in education andcommunication about hazards and risk. Responsible journalismprovides a very powerful mechanism for persuading politicians

Table 2The headlines of Earth science-related stories found in the 2011 survey of King and Hyden (2012).

Headline Newspaper and date

Undisturbed for million years. . .until now The Times, 11/10/2011

Meteorite smashes through roof of Comette family’s Paris home The Guardian, 11/10/2011

Kazakh gas sector quietly gains momentum Daily Telegraph, 11/10/2011

Scientists count every grain of sand in erosion study The Times, 13/10/2011

T rex just got bigger Daily Telegraph, 13/10/2011

Airlines feel the heat as volcano rumbles The Guardian, 14/10/2011

The wonder gas that could cut your energy bill The Times, 23/10/2011

Earthquake death toll may reach 1000 The Times, 24/10/2011

1000 feared dead in Turkish earthquake as survivors left to fend for themselves The Guardian, 24/10/2011

Gone with the wind: the dinosaurs who kicked up a stink The Times, 27/10/2011

Migration clue to giant size of dinosaurs The Guardian, 27/10/2011

Did all life begin in a Greenland volcano? The Daily Mail, 28/10/2011

Origins of life traced to a volcano in Greenland Daily Telegraph, 28/10/2011

Scientists scour suburbs for the rare space rock that fell to earth The Times, 07/11/2011

Commodities. Advocates keep the shale gas flame alight Daily Telegraph, 07/11/2011

Hope amid ruins as quake city bids cathedral farewell The Times, 10/11/2011

Obama to delay $7 bn oil pipeline The Times, 11/11/2011

The science column. The law that shows why wealth flows to the 1% The Guardian, 12/11/2011

Fig. 7. Pie chart of who prospective students at the University of Glasgow think dig

dinosaurs (Clark, 2008).

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712706

to act and communities to take notice of scientific information.Regrettably, the media can also be sensationalist and onlybecome interested in natural hazards when death anddestruction have already occurred’. (Huppert and Sparks, 2006).

Although most geoscientists probably appreciate that journal-ists need some kind of news ‘hook’ in order to translate an eventinto a story, there is a recognition that ‘. . .journalistic valuations ofdrama, personalities and novelty can serve to trivialize newscontent, as it can also lead to the blocking out of news items that donot hold an immediate sense of excitement or controversy’.(Boykoff, 2009, p. 446). For the New York Times journalist AndrewRevkin, a casualty of this ‘whiplash journalism’ can be the sense ofcontext:

‘. . .the media seem either to overplay a sense of imminentcalamity or to ignore the issue altogether because it is not blackor white or on a time scale that feels like news. This approachleaves society like a ship at anchor swinging cyclically with thetide and not going anywhere. What is lost in the swings ofmedia coverage is a century of study and evidence. . .’ (Revkin2007, cited in Boykoff, 2009, p. 441)

Uncertainty and controversy fuel news stories just as ardently asthey drive scientific research proposals, but it is questionablewhether better public understanding of the underlying issues isachieved by this. Whether it is stem cells, genetic modification ofcrops (GM), or ‘fracking’, the pace at which science happens isgenerally way ahead of the rate at which people can adjust theircognitive frameworks to make sense of it (Gross, 2006). And ifinformation reported in a news story is not consistent with anindividual’s existing knowledge and values, then they are most likelyto misconceive it, or simply ignore it (Corbett and Durfee, 2004).

Despite their potential for misinformation, geological crisesoffer rare opportunities where the public, through the media, areactually willing to listen to a geologist explain their science. Oftenin these fleeting windows ‘facts’ are sparse and contested, andthe urgency of action often precludes a careful analysis of theunderlying scientific context. If the talking point is one that thepublic audience has met before, then it ought to be possible tobuild on those existing inherited elements and rearticulate keybasic messages, with a reasonable expectation that they will hithome. In contrast, if this is the public’s first real exposure to thetopic at hand, then the communication task is far morechallenging. In that situation, with no popular reference frame,a geological expert can struggle amid the soundbites to establishcontext and convey a sense of balance.

Establishing the basic grounding by which lay persons can follow‘new science’ requires scientists of all creeds to be smarter about theway they convey their knowledge to the public. The populardigestion of a complex science article, for example, is greatly aidedby the inclusion of a brief background context that places the claimsa new research paper within the wider body of research that alreadyexists (Corbett and Durfee, 2004). But alongside a more effectivecommunication strategy there is also the need for scientists to have amore nuanced appreciation of what the news agenda is and becomemore savvy about the way the media frames science in the first place.As Nield (2008) observes:

‘By always bearing in mind two crucial facts – that the newsmedia are not going to change the way they work to pleasescientists, and that they should be approached as a branch ofthe entertainment industry – all subsequent decisions andbehaviours on the part of scientists and their companies/institutions will be more likely to be blessed with success.’

6. That’s entertainment: the medium of television science

In September 2007, a sample of a hundred final-year schoolvisitors to the University of Glasgow’s Open Day, were asked aseries of questions, including who digs dinosaurs?; what does apalaeontologist do?; and, what does an archaeologist do? (Clark,

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712 707

2008). Dinosaurs, being a firm favourite of the public’s imaginationand the subject of numerous films and documentaries, might beexpected to register strongly with the public, as would thescientists that unearth them; indeed, dinosaur palaeonologistshave been more active than most professional geologists inengaging with the public on their science. Despite this, themajority of respondents to the first question, who digs dinosaurs?,answered ‘archaeologists’ and only a third opted for palaeontol-ogists (Fig. 7). When asked whether they knew what apalaeontologist did, 83% claimed they did (with the remaindereither not knowing [11%] or never having heard of the term [6%]);in comparison, a 100% of the sample felt they knew what anarchaeologist did.

This blurred perception of palaeontologists and archaeologistsmay be because, in the public’s eyes, they both ‘dig up the past’. Butaccording to Clark it also reflects where the public turns to for theirsources of information. A US survey of the public perception ofarchaeology (Ramos and Duganne, 2000) revealed that over half ofthe respondents got their knowledge on archaeology from

Fig. 8. National Science Foundation Science & Technology trends: (a) Primary sourc

television (which is presumably why 5% of the respondents toClark’s question of ‘who digs dinosaurs’ specified ‘Ross fromFriends’!); in contrast, newspapers, magazines, encyclopaedia andbooks were quoted by a quarter to a third of those asked. In termsof television entertainment (and general news exposure), archae-ology simply outcompetes palaeontology (Clark, 2008).

Today, the bulk of the general public get their science fromtelevision. According to the National Science Foundation (2008)‘. . .in both the United States and Europe, most adults find out aboutthe latest S&T [science and technology] developments fromwatching television. The print media rank a distant second. TheInternet, although not the main source of news for most people,has become the main place to get information about specific S&Tsubjects’. The latest US survey (NSB, 2010) confirms television’scontinuing primacy, though the Internet is now in second placeand its margin on other media such as newspapers and radio largeand growing (Fig. 8). The most recent UK survey (BIS, 2011)indicates that half of people (54%) hear or read about sciencethrough television, almost a third (32%) through print newspapers

e of information, by use, 2008. (b) Primary source of information 2001–2008.

Fig. 9. Comparison of BBC science coverage (news and non-news) to scientific output on the Web of Science (WOS) for various topics. The height of the bars, and the figures

above them, are proportions of each of the topics, in turn molecular, cellular and basic medical sciences; clinical research; general biology; chemistry; physics; climate;

geology; astronomy; and technology.

Source: BBC Trust (2011).

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712708

(32%) and only a fifth (19%) through the internet (though only 2%use science blogs specifically as one of their most regular sources).It seems that whilst those interested in finding out more aboutspecific issues head first to the internet, the general passiveconsumption of science is delivered to most households throughpopular mainstream television programmes.

In terms of television, geoscience tends to have a far higherprofile in non-news programmes than in news programmes(Fig. 9). Whereas news is reactionary and topical, non-news outputtends to be a less frenetic media environment and therefore onemore conducive to establishing context. Making science docu-mentaries for television and radio ought to afford more time (andincentive) for media professional and scientist to develop goodworking relations and appreciate each other’s demands andpotentially conflicting agendas. However, the reality is that heretoo there is considerable room for confusion and disenchantment(e.g. Harris, 2011). ‘While many academics would like theirresearch to be brought to wider attention through the media, fewunderstand how to go about this, what will make it attractive tomedia companies, and how, finally, to explain their work tocameras and microphones.’ (Harris, 2011, p. 156). Moreover, theprocess can be remarkably disruptive, as Ira Flatlow, cited in Blumand Knudson (1997, p. 41) observes:

‘. . .scientists who agree to become television ‘talent’ may haveno idea of the demands that may be made of their laboratory,Dozens of phonecalls interrupt their work. Scripts have to bewritten and rewritten. Then comes the invasion. Laboratoriesare besieged by hoards of camera, lighting and sound people. Allwork stops while those ‘TV people’ take over. Unsuspectingscientists may balk at the commotion and decide that this is notwhat they bargained for.’

According to Harris (2011), the solution is to gain anunderstanding of how the broadcast media works and what theyare looking for when making programmes. In the following section,rather than report specific concerns related by scientists anddocumentary film makers about this process, we instead adopt anarrative format based on an fictionalised account of experiences

from both sides to convey the essence of the tensions that typicallyarise.

7. A narrative tale of miscommunication

It usually starts with a cold call from a researcher. They havebeen given Professor X’s name by someone, or more likely a Googlesearch has picked up on some of his recent research work. Theresearcher is interested in how his findings might contribute to anew popular geology series that they are developing for BBC4. Thescientist’s interest is stirred – he pushes aside the work in front ofhim and proceeds to quickly sketch out the bones of the researchand what he think its wider implications are. (Usually there is littleor no inquiry on the part of the academic about the thrust of theprogramme. Also, is this a commissioned programme that isactually going to happen, or is this ‘chat’ merely preparation for aspeculative pitch for funds that will be have the same anticipatedsuccess levels as a research grant?)

Initially, the television researcher’s responses to even somebasic elements of the science show them to be woefully ignorant ofthe general field, causing Professor X mild irritation. Little wonder,the researcher is probably a physics or biology graduate in the firstfew days of a placement, embarking on a rapid learning curve inthis foreign field of geoscience. With only a few weeks to puttogether the script of a programme, the pressure amongst the smallprogramme team is intense. But the researcher is bright, and halfan hour in their sparring has become more confident and pointed,usually instigating counter replies that; ‘ah, yes, good question –you know, we really don’t know why that’s the case’. After 45 minor so of awkward interrogation the researcher thanks the scientistsfor some fascinating insights and rings off.

The scientist, perhaps ever so slightly glowing, wanders into thestaff room to causally mention that he’s ‘just been talking to theBBC’. The researcher meanwhile reports back to his producer thatmuch of the conversation was unintelligible or off topic (forinvariably the programme team has shaped out a narrative spine),except for one off-the-cuff remark about an intriguing researchfinding that could give the programme makers a bridge betweentwo parts of their story. A return call from the researcher sets up a

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meeting to record a short interview. Again, rarely does theacademic inquire as to what specific tack the questions will followand how his contribution will fit into the overall arc of theprogramme. Perhaps it is the silent euphoria of realising that thirtyyears of painstaking (and at times marginalised) research is finallyabout to see the limelight. The research sponsors will be pleased, aswill other members of the wider research consortium, whoseprofile will be enhanced when the programme airs. Finallysomething to write on that blasted REF Impact form.

Invariably it is only when the television crew turn up and theinterview commences, that the academic begins to be aware of thebit part that his research is playing in the show. He is informed bythe director that his ‘sequence’ will last about 2 min. What’s more,the programme makers want no mention of the variouscollaborating research luminaries that have worked in partnershipto get the results, or indeed the past seminal work on which thenew research has built; apparently there is no time to unpick that‘backstory’. Instead, the interview focuses on what Professor X feelsis a minor, even tangential aspect of his research, with no interestin drawing out the deeper, more central implications of his work,which are deemed ‘too technical’ for the audience to grasp.

Frustrated by what appears to be a superficial and contrivedexercise, the academic becomes reluctant to provide the readysoundbite that tripped unconsciously off the tongue during thatinitial phonecall; the early confidence and swagger is replaced bycaution and caveats as the shadows of his academic peers loomominously over the increasingly fractured interview. The directortoo is frustrated by this sudden reticence to deliver what had beenforthcoming over the phone, and as soon as something close towhat is needed is ‘in the can’ the interview is brought to a politeclose. The ‘TV people’ depart – the director mulling over how bestto save this underwhelming contribution from being consigned tothe edit room floor – leaving an academic confused and unsettledby the whole intrusive affair.

The sequence of events outlined above is admittedly a crudecharacterisation of the myriad of experiences, good and bad,between professional scientists and documentary makers, but it islikely that anyone who has been involved in some way withscience on television (and radio) would recognise at least some ofthe elements. Crucially, the mutually unsatisfactory conclusionstems from a failure by both parties to communicate early on theirown agenda and what they wanted out from the exercise. Perhapsmore critical was not considering what each other needed to makeit a successful interaction. For the programme maker, that ought toinvolve helping the academic cut the Gordion knot of conflictingtheories and interpretative nuances that litter the academicterritory (Harris, 2011). For the scientist, it ought to be empathisingwith the challenges faced by the television or radio producer inmaking difficult science digestable in bite-sized pieces. In thatregard, scientists could give some thought as to what actuallymakes an interesting television or radio programme, what ideasand material work (or do not work) when presented on themedium, and, perhaps most importantly, what can they do to maketheir basic message more engaging – more entertaining (Harris,2011).

8. Talking geoscience: language and narrative

Rex Buchanan, a geologist/science writer at the KansasGeological Survey has spent twenty five years popularisingpalaeontology and earth science and has come to one importantconclusion: as scientists, ‘we’re not very good at it’ (Buchanan,2005):

‘We do a mediocre job of helping adults learn about andappreciate science. Many of the science stories that I read in

newspapers or try to watch on television aren’t very engaging.Some are too long, and many seem irrelevant. Popular sciencetoo often seems like castor oil—something we should takebecause it’s good for us, not because we want to.’ (Buchanan,2005, p. 1)

The reasons for the apparent inability of scientists tocommunicate outside the professional community are variedand complex, but at the heart of the problem is the manner inwhich we converse with our audience. People that are not overlyfamiliar with science tend to ‘tune out things that they think arescientific and complicated’ (Gross, 2006, p. 680). Yet often it is notthe scientific principles and practices that are incomprehensible asmuch as the language used by experts to express them (e.g. Gobenand Swan, 1990). We scientists are trained to think and write in astrongly codified manner, which is appropriate when we aretalking amongst ourselves but not when we begin to communicateoutside our professional peer group (Liverman, 2008). Moreeffective communication can come from learning from the fieldsof rhetoric, linguistics and cognitive psychology about how tobetter organize our thoughts in a way that non-specialistaudiences might expect to receive them (Goben and Swan,1990). Another improvement can come from acknowledging thatour scientific lexicon is overly technical; according to (Livermanand Jaramillo, 2011), 61% of surveyed geoscientists considered that‘most scientists are so intellectual and immersed in their ownjargon that they can’t communicate with journalists or the public’(Fig. 5). At the heart of the problem is the belief that scientistsgenerally do not talk to the general public in their language.

‘Scientists typically fail to craft, simple, clear messages andrepeat them often. They commonly overdo the level of detail,and people have difficulty sorting out what is important. Inshort, the more you say, the less they hear. And scientists tendto speak in code. We encourage them to speak in plain languageand choose their words with care. . .Many words that seemperfectly normal to scientists are incomprehensible jargon tothe wider world. Use simpler substitutes. . .Try to use meta-phors, analogies and points of reference to make results moremeaningful. (Somerville and Hassol, 2011)

As implied in the remarks above, the problem with languageextends beyond simply the words and phrases that we use, but alsoreflects the way in which we organise those elements to make aneffective message. For the would-be geo-communicator, Buchanan(2005, p. 2) has some specific advice:

‘Tell stories when you write about your work for non-scientists.Use active voice, strong verbs, and words that help youraudience visualize your subject. Avoid jargon. Use analogies.Vary sentence length. Geology has some great sounding words,like ‘‘hoodoo’’ or ‘‘monandnok.’’ Use them (and define them).Let that excitement of your work show through. If you’re notpassionate about your work, nobody else will be. Have funwhen you write.’

The idea of fun, passionate communication may seem a worldaway from the more proscriptive, technical delivery that mostwould-be scientists are drilled in. but the argument is that if we asgeoscientists are to convey our message to as wide a public aspossible then we ought to learn the tricks of the mass media trade.The greater reach can be achieved by writing in prose that appealsto the broadest possible audience:

‘Try to craft messages that are not only simple but memorable,and repeat them often. Make more effective use of imagery,metaphor and narrative. In short, be a better storyteller, lead

Fig. 10. Scientists can communicate more effectively with the public by inverting

the pyramid of their usual presentations to colleagues. That is, start with the

‘bottom line’ and tell people why they should care.

From Somerville and Hassol (2011, Fig. 3).

I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712710

with what you know, and let your passion show.’ (Somervilleand Hassol, 2011)

Of course, in reframing our scientific messages as stories in thisway, we run the risk of oversimplification. But although the chargeof ‘dumbing down’ is frequently made against populist scienceprogrammes, arguably it is no more than adjusting the message to

Table 3List of the top-rated BBC Horizon programmes (2000–2011) as indicated by public viewin

range of science topics, including health and engineering. Almost a third of the most popu

is arguably higher than shown, because several of the remaining documentaries contain

Helike: The Real Atlantis; in ‘Climate’ – The Big Chill, Global Dimming; in ‘Physics’ – F

Film Year

Mystery of the Persian Mummy 2001

Mega-tsunami 2000

Supervolcanoes 2000

The Fall of the World Trade Centre 2002

The Big Chill 2003

Death of the Iceman 2002

Extreme Dinosaurs 2000

Vanished – the plane that disappeared 2000

The Atkins Diet 2004

Prof Regan’s Supermarket Secrets 2008

The Lost Pyramids of Caral 2002

The Mystery of Easter Island 2003

Freak Wave 2002

The Bible Code 2003

Saturn: Lord of the Rings 2004

Secrets of the Star Disc 2004

Making Millions the easy way 2004

The Hunt for the Supertwister 2004

Crash of Flight 587 2003

The Dinosaur that fooled the world 2002

What really killed the dinosaurs 2004

The Truth About Vitamins 2004

Averting Armageddon 2003

Living Nightmare 2003

The Next Megaquake 2005

The Lost Civilisation of Peru 2005

Is Seeing Believing? 2010

Dr Money and the Boy with no Penis 2005

King Solomon’s Tablet of Stone 2004

Earthquake Storms 2003

Dirty Bomb 2003

Archimedes’ Secret 2002

Helike: The Real Atlantis 2002

The Secret of El Dorado 2002

Fatbusters 2002

Killer Lakes 2002

Why do we dream? 2009

Why Are Thin People Not Fat 2009

The Secret life of your Body Clock 2009

Global Dimming 2005

Parallel Universes 2002

T-Rex: Warrior or Wimp? 2004

Japan earthquake 2011

The Secret Life of Caves 2003

Time Trip 2003

suit the audience; an academic presenting an equivalent topic to afirst-year introductory class and then to a group of Mastersstudents will employ significant differences in language andsubstance, yet there would be no suggestion that the strategy forthe former involved ‘dumbing down’. Simplification is a crucialdevice in communication beyond our peers since, according toSchneider (2008), ‘. . .without resorting to simplification it is nearlyimpossible to communicate the implications of the scientificresults to a broad audience’.

Yet, as well as telling simpler stories, geoscience commu-nicators ought to tailor them more to our audience’s needs.According to Somerville and Hassol (2011), scientists are used tocommunicating with their peers in a certain format, beginningwith background information, moving to supporting details, andfinally coming to their results and conclusions. But ordinary peoplewant to know what the science means for them – the ‘so what’question. So, to connect with the public, science communicatorsmust invert that pyramid (Fig. 10) and begin with what theiraudience cares about – ‘the bottom line’. Policy makers too, needthe same approach, as US Congresswoman Nancy Napolitanonotes:

g figures. BBC Horizon – the flagship science strand on UK television – covers a broad

lar science documentaries are geology-related. In fact, the Earth science proportion

significant geoscience content (e.g. in ‘Archaeology’ – The Mystery of Easter Island,

reak Wave).

Subject Viewers (millions)

Archaeology 5.10

Earth science 5.00

Earth science 4.70

Technology 4.20

Climate science 4.10

Archaeology/climate science 4.00

Earth science 4.00

Technology 3.80

Medical/health 3.70

Medical/health 3.60

Archaeology 3.60

Archaeology 3.40

Physics 3.40

Mathematics 3.30

Cosmology 3.20

Cosmology 3.20

Mathematics 3.10

Earth science 3.00

Technology 3.00

Earth science 3.00

Earth science 2.90

Chemistry 2.90

Earth science/cosmology 2.90

Chemistry 2.90

Earth science 2.89

Archaeology 2.87

Neuroscience 2.83

Biology 2.80

Archaeology 2.80

Earth science 2.80

Technology 2.80

Mathematics 2.80

Archaeology 2.80

Archaeology 2.80

Medical/health 2.70

Earth science 2.70

Neuroscience 2.68

Medical/health 2.63

Biology 2.61

Climate science 2.60

Cosmology/physics 2.60

Earth science 2.60

Earth science 2.51

Earth science 2.50

Physics 2.50

Fig. 11. A geological-themed children’s play area at the English Riviera Geopark in Paignton (Devon, UK) illustrates how elements of an area’s geological history can be

integrated into the popular culture of a community.

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‘Provide clear, real-life examples of the potential implicationsof your science. Explain to us the relevance of your sciencewithin a context the average person can understand. Talk to usin terms we can understand and can interpret easily. . .

Otherwise we get detoured by the acronyms and phrasesand miss the bigger story you are trying to tell.’ (Napolitano,2011)

9. Dinosaurs and disasters: engaging with popular geoscience

In an earlier section we discussed how it appeared that, interms of popular demand, archaeology trumps palaeontology.One important reason for that primacy is that archaeology, of allsciences, is all about people, and stories about them. It is nosurprise that it sells beautifully in the media – just likepsychology and social sciences. It is a fact often overlooked byscientists that most (other) people are mostly interested in otherpeople, and they are mostly not interested in anything else. Thefact that scientists are more interested than average in things andideas (like other academics) marks them out as mentally veryunusual – and it can create a barrier to their media work.Scientists, being preternaturally interested in inanimate thingsmay not approach their explanations sufficiently from the humanangle. ‘‘Cannot the science stand by itself?’’ they often ask. Theanswer is no.

Where Earth science frequently has the edge over otherphysical sciences is that geology does have an innate capacity topresent a human angle. The most obvious example being thepeople threatened by natural hazards. The inherent human dramaof modern geological emergencies make them especially popularin mass popular culture, and that same drama can be extendedback into the deep time with tales of violent evolutionarycatastrophes and planetary crises. Similar to the predilections’of the news media, modern geophysical catastrophes and pastbiotic crises have also been the stable fodder for television scienceover the last decade (Table 3). Such an enduring populist diet of‘dinosaurs and disasters’ suggests a deeper attraction. A hint iscontained in a recent report by the BBC Trust (2011, p. 45) whichlaments that the prime position on BBC radio and television non-news output tends to be given not to those major sciences that arethe ‘giants’ of academic endeavour (see Fig. 2), but rather to thesmall and isolated ‘minnows’ of astronomy, anthropology, andgeoscience. In other words, it would seem that the sciences thathave that are currently doing best on television are the ‘historicalsciences’, those that chronicle particular sequences of events thatoccurred at given locations (from outcrops or regions to entireplanets) (Frodeman, 1995; Cleland, 2001; Dodick and Orion, 2003).Collectively, the four historical sciences identified by Hull (1976) –cosmology, geology, palaeontology, and human history – span thebreadth of ‘big history’, in which our human past is set within thehistory of life, the Earth, and the Universe (e.g. Christian, 1991;

Speir, 2010). History and, by extension, archaeology have longbeen popular with the general public, so it is perhaps not surprisingthat geology – framed as part of our collective cosmic past – hasnow also gained wider appeal.

10. Conclusions: brand geoscience

The current popular appeal of geology, both ‘in the press’ and‘on TV’ is because it is able to provide epic narrative tales thatcapture the public imagination.

These tales – about the turbulent history of our planet and theinner workings of the Earth ‘machine’ – are powerful devices toestablish a coherent ‘geo-culture’. They are narratives that buildnaturally on people’s intrinsic interest and fascination with ourhuman past, and provide the context by which ordinary peoplecan relate to and engage with more specialist geoscienceknowledge.

Raising awareness in the apparently more prosaic geology ofour doorstep can then be ‘framed’ in such stories about our naturalworld, past and present. For those engaged in geoconservation andgeodiversity, a key message ought to be that by conserving ourrocks, soils and landscapes, we are conserving our collectivehistory. In that context, quarries, roadside sections and railwaycuttings become gateways to amazing lost worlds, packed full ofstrange life and exotic environments: oxygen-stoked Carbonifer-ous rain forests, Triassic salty deserts and Pleistocene ice-drapedhills. Even a children’s playpark can be transformed into portalsthat transport people back to those unfamiliar worlds (Fig. 11). Inthat sense the public’s apparent disinterest in its own geologicalbackyard in large part reflects a reluctance of geoscientists to playthe obvious trump card we have been dealt with: the layers of theEarth as the ultimate storybook.

A final thought emerging from this argument is that geoscien-tists need to approach the media and the public less from the pointof view of educators. The reality is that science communication isdone not primarily for the conveyancing of facts, but (like all publicrelations activity), for the purpose of inculcating warm feelings.Even if facts are got across in a story, the chances are the public willnot retain them long. What they may retain however, after readinga story with a strong narrative, full of incident and human interest,is a favourable impression of ‘‘brand geoscience’’. And that isarguably a much more valuable commodity.

Acknowledgements

The authors are grateful to Colin Prosser for his encouragementto develop this article, and to Colin, Howard Falcon-Lang and ananonymous referee for insightful reviews that sharpened thethoughts expressed in it. The paper is a contribution to the IUGS-GEM working group on ‘Communicating Environmental Geosci-ence’ (http://communication.iugs-gem.org/).

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