But the role of scientific writing extends far beyond the realm of academia. Advances in science are often made, not by persuading scientists of their merits, but by appeals to the general public. Major advances in science (such as Darwinian natural selection and Linnaean taxonomy) have often been taken up, not so much on the basis of their scientific merits (acknowledgment may take years to accumulate), but on the basis of popular books promoting their ideas. By contrast, climate-change debates illustrate the barriers faced by scientific evidence when it is not supported by public opinion.

When we think of science writing, we often think only of the two extremes – academic writing and science journalism – but science writing operates across a diverse range of forms, from the lightweight and trivial to the hard-hitting and profound. The latest anthology of The Best Australian Science Writing 2013 reflects that diversity. Here we have personal memoir, pop science, poetry, and essays; philosophical meditations, creative non-fiction, and considered reflections; journalistic reportage and first-person immersion, although, sadly, no scientific articles themselves. Most contributions are from writers and journalists, perhaps reflecting the background of the editors, although a significant proportion come from writers with scientific training. A much smaller number come from practising scientists.

A solid core of contributions falls comfortably into the genre of classic science writing, particularly those by Cordelia Fine, Rhianna Boyle, Emma Young, and Karl Kruszelnicki. Others write from the interior view; Michael Lucy reports on science reporting as a science reporter, while Peter Doherty, Fred Watson, and Nick Haslam provide accounts from their own perspective as scientists.

The first-person account certainly seems to make a strong impression in this collection. This ranges from the immersive journalism of Ella Finkel and Gina Perry, in which the journalist–researcher is present within the recount of the story, to the powerful firsthand account of surgeon Kellee Slater’s experience of donor-organ recovery. Less successful to my mind is the inclusion of personal memoir, which sits uncomfortably in the collection. The exception is Rachel Robertson’s fine personal essay on mathematics and autism.

Many of the contributions are extracts from larger works, giving the collection, when read from beginning to end, a slightly fragmented, schizophrenic feel. I often wanted more context. Who is writing this? Who are they writing for? With the biographical information clustered at the beginning of the book and the sources at the back, this made for much flicking back and forth. The longer pieces provided a welcome relief from the sometimes frenetic shifts in pace, which were possibly exacerbated by the juxtaposition of different forms. Consider the long sweeping paragraphs of Clive Hamilton’s reflections on climate change, or the nuanced and considered discussion of kuru by Jo Chandler, compared to Nicky Phillips and Åsa Wahlquist’s almost telegraphic paragraph structure.

Having said that, the interspersing of the prose extracts with poetry by Ian Gibbins and gareth roi jones was inspired. This was a well-signposted change of pace that was enjoyable rather than disruptive, perhaps because the change in form was so readily identifiable.

Some contributions required a very broad definition of science writing. Is Chris Turney’s discussion of Antarctic exploration about history or science? Likewise, Antony Funnell’s discussion of efficiency and Kirsten Drysdale’s story on data-mining seem to stretch the definition somewhat. But stretching the definition is perhaps better than being too narrow. A narrow definition might not have allowed the inclusion of Mark Tredinnick’s lyric prose on weather, Andrew Croome’s evocative descriptions of place, or Janine Burke’s meditations on nests.

The best contributions synthesise complex concepts with exquisitely concise detail, compact enough to hold in one hand. Science writing for a general audience allows us to connect through emotion, as well as intellect, and no one illustrates this better than Tim Flannery. It will be a long time before the death of the last Christmas Island pipistrelle fades from my mind. Carefully wrapped in metaphor and familiarity, these contributions are precious gifts of comprehension, bringing light and beauty to what might have remained in darkness and bringing us a richer appreciation of the complexity of our world.