Gallant, André Joseph. A High Low Tide: The Revival of a Southern Oyster. The University of Georgia Press, 2020.
André Joseph Gallant’s A High Low Tide: The Revival of a Southern Oyster explores the hopes for – and challenges facing – the Georgia oyster industry. The multifaceted nature of Georgia oyster farming is narrated through the professional journey of waterman-turned-researcher Justin Mansky. Mansky’s obsession with restoring the Georgia oyster industry serves as a proxy for the ambition of his fellow watermen and highlights the scope of the obstacles standing in revival’s way. But rather than a single character narrative that interweaves history with anecdotes, Gallant interjects himself for “well over a year” within the watermen community, reporting on the ways in which their lives have been impacted by market whims, changing regulations, and Mansky’s efforts.[1] In this way, Gallant’s work is as much a work of investigative journalism as it is ethnography.
Mansky’s love of deep waters and oysters is described through a kaleidoscope of childhood memory and young adult realities. Gallant writes about his subject’s skill and interest through a blend of mechanical metaphor and wonder: “The sight of oysters in their natural habitat – an expansive reef the likes of which [Mansky] had never seen…made Justin’s brain thrum like a Tesla coil,” a nod to life in the automotive industry before oysters, which Gallant suggests are both valuable economically. [2] The realities of farming oysters and the slim profit margins of running his own operation introduced financial precarity into Mansky’s personal life. However, Mansky’s hero archetype is established early; his desire to find a way to make oyster farming viable is stronger than his setbacks, which Gallant signals are frequent among the Georgia watermen community. Gallant’s cinematic use of metaphor departs from the often-deployed characterization of hard work as unglamorously gritty. Gallant’s narrative allows the reader to draw inference to the work of oyster farming, not just as one of toil, but as art. Watching men lug buckets of oysters back to their boat he writes, “Everything – the men, the spartina field in the distance, the Ossabaw tree line—seemed cast in a blond film, as if the air itself sparkled with gold…the scene resembled a painting by Jean-Francois Millet.”[3]
Moreover, Gallant revisits the challenges in keeping Georgia “ugly” oysters healthy and of selling them within a complicated regulatory framework. Bivalves also suffered from decades of changes including “a lethal combination of drought, elevated salinity, and parasitic protozoan infections” in the 1980s, followed by increasingly complex regulations to mitigate the risk of disease, foster food safety, and accommodate sprawling suburbanization, he writes.[4] This move sets the stage for seeing Mansky’s firsthand knowledge on oyster farming – the physical dangers, financial instability, innovative farming methods – translated into an extension agent role at the University of Georgia’s Marine Extension Service.
Gallant seeks to “understand the motivations, hopes, and dreams of the people who work daily on the water” with an eye towards educating the reader about the ways in which aquaculture can combat diminished North American oyster beds.[5] But he argues, oyster aquaculture requires financial investment and has the potential to marginalize traditional fisherman. For example, the introduction of a regional hatchery run out of the Extension Service raises the potential for economic stability the oyster industry depends upon Gallant juxtaposes this promise with the reality that providing predictable quantities of seed at a predictable size and price requires not only federal approval but buy-in from Georgia’s watermen. In doing so, the author reminds us that some of the greatest barriers to innovation are not regulatory but human; untested systems require unearned trust.
Mansky advises Gallant, himself present as part observer, part translator of bivalve science – “to meet watermen, not just see oysters up close.”[6] Gallant seems to ask the reader to indulge him in these interviews, their backgrounds provide requisite context for their outlook, and rallying for Mansky’s success: “When he distributed seed, Justin often handed them off, exchanged a few words, and left. The watermen did with the packages as they pleased…It was best for Justin to lie back and let the guys figure it out for themselves.”[7] The reader may be surprised to find fatherly advice in the story of Georgia’s oyster industry revitalization efforts.
Understanding the watermen community is as important as science and politics. While Gallant describes the harvesters, shuckers, canners, and restaurants as “victims” of Georgia water wars spanning several decades, it is the oystermen who would refuse that label.[8] They have survived an industry that has changed so rapidly that there is a collective feeling of being purposely left behind. Gallant’s ethnographic approach allows the reader to understand that skepticism in the watermen community is well earned. Gallant’s narrative technique is particularly helpful in retelling more painful histories like that of African Americans in Harris Neck: the documented superiority of the area’s oysters is but one component of a long history of seizure, discrimination, and reprisal. Gallant’s interviews with watermen reveal that their hope tied to a hatchery project and distribution of oyster seed masks deeper issues; industry decline, and hope for its revitalization, is complicated.
Early in the book, Gallant asserts that “place defines taste,” a claim that is not itself his argument, but may nevertheless contain a crucial part of it.[9] His narrative demonstrates that place defines environmental and human resilience. The political, cultural, and economic forces impacting oysters and the industry built around them make the oyster itself a narrative food and its farming industry a case study in interdependence. The relationships between all those impacted – workers, regulators, buyers – depend on one another. If Gallant condenses these interrelationships, it is to provide the historic context for the understandable skepticism that exists in many of the players. Readers with an interest in aquaculture’s potential will find this title equal parts illuminating, frustrating, and hopeful – Mansky’s journey surprisingly familiar, a tale of a young man who learns to listen to his elders while forging a future that honors the past. The reader will also have work to do in deciding what the Marine Extension Service represents and who benefits; that food is political is an understatement. That may be Gallant’s point exactly.
[1] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 201.
[2] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 43.
[3] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 114.
[4] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 28.
[5] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 3.
[6] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 49.
[7] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 121.
[8] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 39.
[9] Gallant, A High Low Tide, 52.
*Cover Image: Front cover of the book.
[Cover Image Description: The cover features a photograph focusing on a hand holding a oyster, with a blurred seascape during the day and a gray sky in the foreground.]
Edited by Valeria Zambianchi; reviewed by Lívia Regina Batista-Pritchard.
