Now there is one powerful figment of the human imagination that has permeated nations, religions, cultures and childhood memories since ancient times: merpeople have been such a potent part of human (and even natural) history that their place, first among the gods, then in the great chain of being, remained unchallenged for thousands of years. This instant sense of recognition and familiarity when seeing an image of a mermaid or a triton is shared the world over, almost like a collective memory. Vaughn Scribner takes us on a journey to explore this ongoing human obsession with these hybrid creatures at the crossroads of human and animal, of science and myth, that keep pushing the boundaries of order, wonder and our own sense of being in the world.

In six chapters, his book traces our perceptions of these fish-tailed beings throughout the centuries and provides not only a stunningly beautiful variety of images, but also some highly interesting insights into their and our (hi)story. It was surprising to learn, for instance, that our dominant ‘mer-imagery’– female, long-haired, bare-breasted, sensual and often equipped with brush and mirror – has its origin in the early Christian church's appropriation of this pagan symbol in order to guard the male population against female, and their own, sexual drives. If the fish symbolized the soul in early Christianity, the hybrid mermaid became a symbol of the dangers to the soul. The Christian agenda, however, backfired considerably, because this heady mix of sensuality, danger, piousness and religious control led to an explosion of the most beautiful artwork within churches and cathedrals that eventually found its way into the cultural realm, fuelling the fascination rather than the fear. The ungodly myth abounded. So did the ‘mer-sightings’ (18) and recorded interactions as humans increased their conquest and exploration of uncharted territory around the world. The early modern period fostered a new wave of ‘mer-mania’ (20) that was now more than ever steeped in the belief of their actual existence: ‘As Europeans set sail throughout the world, they expected to find merpeople – and find merpeople they did’ (57, original emphasis). This obsession reached its peak in the early nineteenth century when ‘caught’ and preserved specimen moved from the eighteenth-century cabinets of curiosity into the tents and showrooms of impresarios, satisfying the public's boundless fascination. Yet the moneymaking dreams of the likes of P.T. Barnum, who obtained a ‘Feejee mermaid’ in the 1820s (cleverly constructed by Japanese craftsmen), inadvertently invited a new wave of scientific studies that quickly identified these ‘finds of a century’ as fake, and with this verdict put an end to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, merpeople were an actual part of the natural realm. Thus, from the 1840s onward, people gradually lost their belief in the existence of merpeople, and the natural world became a little less wondrous and colourful. Needless to say, though, that the ‘mer-mania’ as such did not subside; rather, merpeople simply evolved from being a wondrous symbol of myth and nature to a new symbol of capitalism in the twentieth century, feeding new generations with a never-ending avalanche of advertisements and movies featuring them. In the present day, renewed ‘mer-studies’ have laid bare the gender-stereotyping associated with mermaids; heartbreakingly, merpeople have also become emblems of our dying oceans. On the positive side, they are now also a symbol of non-binary understandings of humankind, challenging prejudices and celebrating difference. Intriguingly, in 2012, a mockumentary about the discovery of a mermaid's body created an enormous frenzy, with viewers calling to seek verification (!), despite the network elucidating beforehand that their ‘documentary’ was wholly fictional. Here we are then, at the ‘tail-ending’ (237) of our obsession.

There is so much more to explore in this book, with its vast historical overview and multitude of sources, that it provides a solid foundation for a variety of historians investigating all aspects of humanity. From a history-of-science perspective, I found several topics worth exploring further: apart from the ‘biological discomfort’ (125) experienced by everyone confronted with the aspect of human–animal hybridity, which Scribner only mentions in passing, it is also fascinating to consider how often merpeople kept popping up as a reference whenever the origins of (human) life were contemplated, ranging from the long-standing debate on humankind's aquatic roots, to Linnaeus's head-scratching regarding their rightful place in his taxonomy, and evolutionary theory convincing some people anew that such creatures could theoretically exist (especially after the discovery of equally weird and unclassifiable animals like the Platypus).

One more curious feature of the book ought to be mentioned: each chapter is preceded by a fictionalized primary source, a dramatization, so to speak, which captures a moment in history as seen through the eyes of, and felt by, its human protagonists. For the first chapter on ‘Medieval monsters’, for instance, we are entering the mind of a churchman who contemplates the carving of a mermaid in his place of worship, seeing her through his eyes and sharing his arousal, guilt and unease over watching the overt sexual depiction of a female (upper) body. In Chapter 2, ‘New world, new wonders’, we accompany a ship's mate out in the ocean as he witnesses his crew members’ ‘sighting’ of a mermaid (without seeing her himself). As a reviewer, I am not quite sure what to make of it; as a reader, letting the imagination go up a notch by this novel-like narrative felt almost like a guilty pleasure.