An Orb-weaver spider (Araneus diadematus) in Rennes, western France (Photo: Damien Meyer/ AFP/Getty Images)
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City living is making spiders bigger, study finds

According to new research, city-dwelling spiders are larger and more fertile than their rural-dwelling relatives.

The growth of cities destroys the homes of many animals. With habitats drenched in cement, their only option is to relocate - and in the worst cases, urban expansion can cause species extinction. However, it’s not all doom and gloom for some species, as city living appears to bring out the best in them. Have you noticed that spiders are looking meatier nowadays?

According to new research, city-dwelling spiders are flourishing. Similar to rats and pigeons, spiders are “urban exploiters”. This means that they thrive in urban surroundings. Despite our squeamish attitudes towards them, spiders are important creatures: they greatly impact food webs, plant colonies and herbivore abundance, and they help to control the insect populace.

Most research on the expansion of cities focuses on birds. For instance, noise pollution has forced birds to change their calls, while other studies show that some birds have even stopped migrating. Researchers from the University of Sydney, however, were interested in the changes in spider anatomy that might have come from living in cities, and specifically Golden Orb-Weaving (Nephilla Plumipes) spiders, which are common in both urbanised and rural Australian landscapes. They build strong semi-permanent webs with golden-looking silk, and, once matured, they reside in this web their entire life. Thus, their “coach potato” lifestyle makes them ideal research subjects.

The researchers collected 222 spiders from rural and urbanised areas. All spiders were female and had reached maturity, and their body size, fat reserves, and ovary weight were recorded. The findings showed that rural-dwelling spiders had smaller bodies, but that city-dwelling spiders were larger, and more fertile. Places with roads, buildings and a lack of greenery typically denoted larger spiders. The researchers proposed that temperature differences could explain these results, as cities are much warmer than rural areas thanks to the urban heat island effect.

Their results could also reflect differences in prey availability. The study's lead author, ecologist Elizabeth Lowe, explained in more detail:

There were strong associations in particular between spider size and the presence of hard surfaces (such as roads and buildings) and lack of vegetation. These hard surfaces contribute to the urban “heat island” effect, which makes it warmer in cities than surrounding areas. It is also likely that there is more food for the spiders in the city as a result of night lighting and increased resources. This combination of warm temperatures and more food would allow spiders to put more energy towards growth and reproduction. Fewer predators and parasites in urban areas could also allow urban spiders to grow larger.”

This study is only applicable to one species of spider in one Australian city, so it's not fair yet to say that all urban spiders are getting bigger - so don't panic about huge spiders with larger ovaries just yet. However, the researchers pledge that this is promising news:

The fact that some spiders benefit from urbanisation is a good thing. In order to maintain biodiversity in cities, we need to be able to support diverse populations of spiders and other invertebrates” Lowe said. “By gaining a better understanding of the impacts of urbanisation on wildlife in cities, we can work towards creating healthy, functioning ecosystems in urban areas." 

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Beautiful and the damned: a spellbinding oral history of Hollywood

West of Eden: An American Place by Jean Stein follows a specific tribe of people: the beautiful.

One day in LA, the showbiz tycoon David Geffen drove by the house that had belonged to Jack Warner, the co-founder of Warner Brothers. The gates were open, so he went in. “It was so grand and so Hollywood . . . It was an homage to an idea about the way people lived in Hollywood. I got caught up in the whole gestalt and I bought it.” Geffen then marvels that he paid $47m for the homage, while Jack had sold his whole studio for just $38m in 1956. You have to have a sense of irony.

From around 1920 there was a tribe in southern California, sometimes known as “the beautiful people”. In many cases, they were technical beauties (they appeared in dreamlets known as movies or had their photographs in magazines made of heavy, perfumed pages). Yet the true beauty talked about was a spiritual aspiration – a quest for romantic nobility, fragile elegance, or serene madness – that might offset the inner derangement, selfishness and comic vulgarity that so threatened their longing for godless class, or inscrutability. They lived within the frantic church known as Hollywood, a fierce cult or early form of terrorism (it hired intimidators, all of them called Oscar) that cherished the hopeless grail of beauty and sacrificed many lives in its pursuit.

Jean Stein is one of them; she admits as much in West of Eden, which seems to me the best book ever done on the terrifying social dysfunction of the beautiful people. Ms Stein is now 81. She is the daughter of Dr Jules Stein (1896-1981), the son of Lithuanian Jews, who became a celebrity ophthalmologist yet so loved music and show business that he founded the MCA agency – Music Corporation of America.

The marriage of medicine and ten-percenting is important to this book, and Jean Stein – who is clear-eyed, and knows where the bodies are buried – has the innate touch and scalpel smile of an expert autopsist. She does not quite write, but she composes absorbing, novelistic oral histories. In 1982 she did one on Edie Sedgwick, the Sixties model, junkie, sexpot and icon, a ghost long before her death. Now Stein delivers a calm Götterdämmerung that can be read as the fearsome annals of a haunted Hollywood, as well as an adroit response to John Steinbeck’s East of Eden (1952), earlier proof of California’s soft spot for fallen angels.

West of Eden is selective and yet, by the end of its 334 pages, you feel that the light and the shadow have fallen on nearly every­one. There are just five subjects. First: Edward L Doheny, the oil tycoon who established the architecture of Los Angeles, and helped inspire There Will Be Blood. Then there are the Warners, but chiefly Jack, the youngest of four who outlived and betrayed his brothers, and who abandoned a nice Jewish wife for an adventuress and ended up being painted by Salvador Dalí and dreaded as “a character”. There is also Jane Garland, a schizophrenic child of great wealth who drifted around with various unofficial nurses and uncertain friends. Next is the teeming casebook called Jennifer Jones; and then the Steins themselves, which means Jules and Jean, and her two daughters by William vanden Heuvel, one of whom now publishes the weekly magazine the Nation.

In shaping these five windows, Stein has interviewed numerous tribe members, many of whom have memories, wounds and nightmares for which they are in therapy (or script development – the two forms are very alike). Her tone and manner are matter-of-fact, but she knows how wary those close to Eden are about trusting stories. Life is a competing set of fantasies, and given that lies have always been allowed in LA, falsehood itself, as a moral handicap, has come to mean little. Though all “true”, this book reads like a dream.

A short review cannot cover all five windows in detail, so let me fix on the one I know best: the glass or screen in which Jennifer Jones existed like a butterfly. Born in 1919 (Gore Vidal once told me she was three years older; gossip devours fact), she was the daughter of an Oklahoma showman who thought she would act – on screen, of course, but also always and everywhere. She married a young actor, Robert Walker, and they had two sons. Then in 1941 she was seen by the mogul David Selznick: he was moved by her and she was drawn upwards by her chance of stardom. Each abandoned a spouse and two sons. They became archetypes of misjudgement, though her mediocre acting never matched the skill or glow of other Selznick employees (such as Ingrid Bergman). They had a daughter, Mary Jennifer, who lived in rivalry with her mother and loathed her, and finally killed herself.

Jennifer, as Lauren Bacall reports, could be a little nutty. She and Selznick gave lavish Sunday parties: “Jennifer was busy doing her make-up and combing her hair and changing her outfit. She was kind of playing her part. She was always trying to be noticed, to have people really care about her and be there for her.”

This is not pretty stuff; maybe that is why these people were so desperate to be beautiful. Indulgence and neglect formed a damaging mixture that left bodies lining the roadside west of Eden. Lawyers and doctors catered to the stricken beauties. Shrinks played an especially devious role, though “shrink” was the wrong word; those hired to soothe mania in fact inflated their clients’ egos and dramatised their self-pity, the movie in which we all take part.

Hard to credit, often hard to stomach, this is a spellbinding record of that ancien régime. Whatever happened to the tribe? The members may be thinner on the ground now in southern California, but their ignoble nobility is everywhere.

David Thomson’s books include “Showman: the Life of David O Selznick” (André Deutsch) and “How to Watch a Movie” (Profile Books)

West of Eden: An American Place by Jean Stein is published by Jonathan Cape (334pp, £20)

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war