The Heat Will Kill You First: Life and Death on a Scorched Planet

“The harshest truth about life on a superheated planet is this: as temperatures rise, a lot of living things will die, and that may include people you know and love.”

Goodell seeks to tap into the reader’s fears by personalizing the effects of climate change. Instead of keeping the consequences abstract or distant, he shifts the focus to the second person—to people “you know and love.” This use of pathos brings the issue closer to home, triggering concern not just for the general environment but for loved ones. Goodell makes the potential losses intimate, increasing the emotional stakes.

“At one point, they [Gerrish and Chung] asked a local contractor to make their daughter’s bedroom cooler because it was ‘too stuffy.’”

Irony lies in Gerrish and Chung’s ability to control something as minor as the temperature in a room while being powerless against the larger, more dangerous force of nature. People often focus on the small discomforts of everyday life while overlooking or underestimating much larger risks, like extreme heat. Goodell uses this anecdote to show how easily we can be lulled into a false sense of security by managing small problems—a key idea in his discussion of the Inadequacy of Current Responses to Extreme Heat.

“This phenomenon, known to city planners and heat researchers as the urban heat island effect, is so pervasive that climate skeptics once claimed that climate change is merely an illusion created by thousands of once-rural meteorological stations becoming surrounded by urban development (the argument, like most arguments pushed by climate skeptics, has been thoroughly debunked).”

Describing skeptics’ argument as “thoroughly debunked,” Goodell adopts a tone of condescension, suggesting that these views are not only incorrect but unworthy of serious consideration. The choice of the word “pushed” suggests that these flawed arguments are being forcefully or deliberately spread, adding an undertone of frustration toward the persistence of misinformation. This impatience supports the text’s stance that the scientific consensus on climate change is clear and that skepticism only delays meaningful action.

“In Phoenix, temperature is a signifier of class, wealth, and, often, race. If you’re rich, you have a big house with enough air-conditioning to chill a martini.”

The specific image of “chilling a martini” immediately evokes a sense of luxury and indulgence. A martini is a symbol of leisure, sophistication, and affluence. An act as frivolous as chilling a martini contrasts sharply with the more urgent, life-threatening realities of heat for those who are not wealthy, developing Goodell’s claims about Socioeconomic Inequality in Climate Resilience. While some people in Phoenix might struggle to stay cool enough to avoid heatstroke, the wealthy can use their resources to the point of keeping drinks cold.

“If nothing else, my move shows the complexity of climate-related decisions about where and how we live. I knew very well that my move made no sense from a climate perspective, but who cares? I would rather live with Simone in a tent in the Sahara than without her in a solar-powered house on a lake in the mountains. Austin is full of people moving here for similarly personal reasons, whether it is the music scene or a high-tech job.”

Rather than discussing climate decisions in general terms, Goodell uses the first-person perspective to describe his own experience, suggesting that his conflict is one many people face. Even people who are aware of the climate crisis make choices that defy logic, reflective of the common human tendency to prioritize personal desires over long-term environmental concerns.

“‘To me, science is—or can be—a tool for justice,’ [Otto] told me. ‘Extreme event attribution is the first science ever developed with the court in mind.’”

Otto’s hesitation implies a critique of how science is often used—or misused—in ways that do not promote fairness or equity. Scientific advancements can sometimes serve corporate interests or military applications or perpetuate inequality rather than addressing systemic issues like climate justice. However, there is also a tone of optimism, suggesting that though science has not always been fully leveraged for justice, it is possible to bridge the gap between what science could achieve and how it is employed in practice.

“Cruz was staring down at his well-worn, muddy boots and I suddenly heard myself talking like some kind of wise-ass city guy. Cruz clearly knew a million times more about the relationship between plants, heat, and life than I did.”

This quote reflects a central theme regarding the disconnect between urban, often privileged, perspectives and the realities of rural or indigenous communities living in closer contact with nature. Goodell lampshades this by calling himself a “wise-ass city guy,” acknowledging this divide and the assumptions that may come with an urban mindset. The author’s realization of Cruz’s superior knowledge also ties into the theme of the natural world as a humbling force. Throughout the book, people are shown to be at the mercy of the environment, and this quote reinforces that understanding nature requires respect and recognition of one’s limitations.

“The Blob went unnoticed at first.”

By capitalizing “The Blob,” Goodell gives this entity a sense of importance and mystery. The capitalization suggests that the “Blob” is not only a significant force but something distinct and potentially dangerous. The vagueness of “The Blob” also sparks curiosity. The lack of detail allows the reader to project various possibilities onto the Blob, turning it into an open-ended concept that could represent any number of forces—natural, environmental, or even metaphorical.

“I was greeted with nothing but rock and water and hundreds of purple sea urchins, their thorny spikes like medieval armor. A voracious horde had invaded the once-magnificent kelp forest and devoured everything (‘Purple urchins are the cockroaches of the sea,’ one scientist told me), leaving only some empty abalone shells, a rockfish poking around, and a few pathetic kelp stipes.”

The simile comparing the urchins’ spikes to armor suggests they are protected and relentless, giving them a warlike or combative quality. This image enhances the sense of the urchins as an invading force. Additionally, the scientist’s comparison of the urchins to cockroaches reinforces their resilience and invasiveness. Cockroaches are pests but are often associated with survival in harsh conditions, so this metaphor is used to show the urchins’ ability to thrive in a degraded environment while pushing other life forms out. This passage illustrates Ecological Vulnerability to Extreme Heat, as the unchecked presence of the sea urchins has led to the collapse of a diverse ecosystem. Focusing on the dramatic shift from a thriving kelp forest to one overtaken by a single species, Goodell draws attention to the fragility of ecosystems and the potential outcomes when natural checks and balances are disrupted.

“The financial facts of Perez’s life were merciless: He worked ten hours a day, at a rate of $14 per hour (low as it is, it’s much better than the $8 per hour farmworkers are paid in Texas). No overtime, no paid days off, and for damn sure no health care.”

The phrase “for damn sure no health care” is significant because it shifts the tone of the passage and reveals Goodell’s emotional response. This informal and emphatic language contrasts with the more straightforward, factual presentation of Perez’s other working conditions, signaling Goodell’s frustration with the system that leaves workers like Perez vulnerable.

“In the field where Perez fell, the young trees looked healthy and green and well tended. I pulled out my phone to take a photo, but I got a warning screen: iPhone needs to cool down before you can use it.”

While the phone’s safety mechanism protects it from the heat, Goodell argues that there was no such protection for Perez or other workers like him, who are forced to continue laboring in extreme conditions. The iPhone is designed to shut down and protect itself when exposed to excessive heat. However, those working in the field are not afforded such protections. This raises questions about how society values technology and production over the well-being of workers, suggesting that laborers are expected to be more resilient than the very tools they use.

“I imagine the molecules in the city all vibrating faster, and those molecules bumping into other molecules, until finally the dancing molecules vibrate all the way down to Antarctica, a place so remote that I am one of the first humans ever to sail these waters. I know that isn’t how it works, but I also know it sorta is. The heat we generate in modern life cannot be contained. It is not localized, like the soot that spews out of the 4x4s blasting through the city.”

Focusing on molecules vibrating suggests movement and escalation, implying that once set in motion, the environmental consequences of modern life are difficult, if not impossible, to stop. The term “dancing molecules” lends an almost organic quality to the heat, as if it’s alive and capable of reaching anywhere. This personification of heat supports the idea that human activity creates ripples that inevitably impact distant places like Antarctica. Goodell implies that once the energy (or heat) is released, it is part of a larger, uncontainable system.

“[Heat] creates new opportunities for microbes, opening up fresh biological landscapes for them to explore, turning pathogens into microscopic versions of Ferdinand Magellan, expanding the boundaries of the known world.”

Magellan’s voyages introduced European influence to distant parts of the world, often resulting in the displacement and devastation of indigenous peoples and ecosystems. Goodell is thus critiquing the modern, heat-induced expansion of microbes as a form of biological imperialism. This metaphor transforms pathogens into agents of invasion, highlighting the unintended, far-reaching consequences of environmental shifts. Just as explorers disrupted civilizations, so too will climate change create ecological upheaval by allowing dangerous microbes to spread into new territories.

“[Bente] is studying fundamental questions about Hyalomma ticks and CCHF that should freak out anyone who’d like to walk through nature without worrying whether they’ll contract a virus that will make their eyeballs bleed: Can Hyalomma ticks be established in the US? (It’s extremely unlikely.) Might other types of ticks be carrying CCHF in Africa? (Yes, but so far, they are only ‘a sideshow,’ Bente said.) Is airborne transmission of CCHF possible? (‘CCHF is a very old virus,’ Bente said. ‘Why mutate now?’)”

The parenthetical asides offer reassurance on the surface, but they are worded to retain an element of doubt. While “It’s extremely unlikely” initially seems comforting, the phrase doesn’t fully eliminate the possibility of Hyalomma ticks establishing themselves in the US—it just makes it seem less imminent. This rhetorical choice gives Goodell room to manage the reader’s anxiety without fully dismissing the threat. Rather than fully reassuring the reader, the parentheses introduce a layer of ambiguity.

“‘I know that sounds kind of crude,’ Alexander continued. ‘But if you ask ten consumers what brand of residential air conditioners they have in the house, maybe two can tell you. All of these companies that were doing all this advertising —well, what’s the benefit of that? So we decided we’re not gonna do any advertising. We’re just gonna focus on the fact that people don’t know what brand is in their house. And that the most important driving factor in their choice of an air conditioner is price. So, we said, ‘We’re going to be a manufacturer of cheap cold air.’ We used to actually say that flat out. Cheap cold air. That was our product.’”

Goodell’s repetition of “cheap cold air” throughout the chapter is a critique of the environmental and social consequences of this mindset. Focusing on making air conditioning as cheap as possible leads the company and consumers to overlook the broader implications of energy consumption, greenhouse gas emissions, and climate change. The phrase “cheap cold air” becomes shorthand for a mentality that prioritizes immediate comfort and affordability over long-term sustainability. The repetition of the phrase can be seen as a critique of how this business model perpetuates a cycle of consumption that is ultimately unsustainable.

“Inside, the Comfortplex feels like a giant Costco, cheaply built to build machines that sell cheaply. Out on the production floor, fifteen-thousand-pound rolls of aluminum sheets are unfurled and stamped into louvers, heat exchangers, and other air conditioner parts. Robotic carts scoot around, carrying tools and parts. Newly built air conditioners roll down the production line, robotic soldiers ready for deployment against the enemy of heat. Seven production lines run 24/7.”

The metaphor of “robotic soldiers ready for deployment against the enemy of heat” adds a militaristic tone to the passage. Goodell imbues the machines with a sense of purpose and urgency—they are part of a larger battle against heat, a problem exacerbated by climate change. This metaphor addresses the tension between the comfort provided by air conditioning and the broader environmental issue it contributes to. In this comparison, Goodell suggests a certain aggression in the way humanity has approached the problem of heat, using brute force to fight against nature.

“She photographed it all—the loud, clanking, Dickensian machinery of cool.”

The term “Dickensian” evokes the grim, oppressive environments characteristic of Charles Dickens’s portrayal of industrial England in the 19th century. This suggests that the machinery behind air conditioning is rooted in a much darker, antiquated model of industry. Goodell calls to mind scenes of soot-filled factories, exploitation, and dehumanizing labor conditions. This allusion implies that while air conditioning provides relief and comfort for many, it is built on a system that still echoes the harshness and mechanical relentlessness of the Industrial Revolution.

“As for what to name them [heat waves], Greek mythology ‘is evocative,’ one man said, ‘but it’s also kind of demoralizing. It makes heat sound like a supernatural force.’ A woman added: ‘Using mythological names makes you think we don’t have control of what’s happening, but we do.’”

The debate about naming heat waves is also about the relationship between language and accountability. Mythological names obscure the direct link between human actions and climate impacts by framing these events as timeless, inevitable forces. This kind of naming can be comforting because it removes the pressure of responsibility—if heat waves are like the wrath of gods, there is little we can do to stop them. However, this comfort is dangerous because it feeds into a narrative of helplessness. Naming, in this case, becomes a tool of accountability: Goodell believes that the names that are chosen for climate disasters should remind people of their role in creating—and solving—the problem.

“In Austin, as in many other cities, city officials and volunteers have launched tree-planting campaigns to try to even out the tree inequity, but it’s going to take a long time to democratize shade.”

In this quote, Goodell suggests that shade is a shared resource that should be accessible to all, not a luxury. His focus on shade shows that climate resilience is not just about large-scale technological or policy solutions; it’s also about small, localized interventions that can make a meaningful difference. However, the slow pace of these interventions suggests that those without access to shade now will continue to suffer the consequences of extreme heat for years to come, further entrenching existing inequalities.

“‘Singapore can make itself into a garden because the farm and the mine are always somewhere else,’ writes Richard Weller, a professor of landscape architecture at the University of Pennsylvania. ‘I would call Singapore a case of Gucci biodiversity, a distraction from the fact that they bankroll palm oil plantations in Kalimantan, the last of the world’s great rain forests.’”

“Gucci” invokes a sense of luxury, exclusivity, and branding. Weller draws attention to how the city’s greening is less about ecological integrity and more about crafting an image of wealth, exclusivity, and global prestige. Singapore’s biodiversity is framed as something that is curated, polished, and meant to be consumed aesthetically by residents and tourists alike, rather than as a holistic or ethical environmental commitment. This kind of environmentalism is about appearances, which offer little substantive action.

“However, when we skied up to the spot, we discovered that the Inuit guides had not yet arrived, and, more disturbing, that the meeting place was a polar bear slaughtering ground. Seal blood was splashed everywhere on the ice, along with: seal flippers, tails, entrails. And among it all, enormous footprints of bears.”

Goodell uses visceral, graphic imagery to depict the harsh reality of the Arctic. Although the polar bears are not directly seen, their presence is implied through the bloody aftermath of their feeding. This creates a sense of looming danger. The fact that the bears are unseen makes their presence even more terrifying for Goodell and his companions, as they know the animals are near but cannot predict when or if they will appear. This moment illustrates the power dynamics in nature, where humans are not in control and are often at the mercy of larger forces. Polar bears, whose habitats are shrinking due to melting ice, are forced into more frequent encounters with humans as they struggle to survive. The scene not only reveals the raw violence of nature but also represents how climate change is pushing species and ecosystems to extremes.

“The tree you used to climb when you were a kid will die. The beach where you kissed your partner will be underwater.”

The quote shifts the focus from global, large-scale environmental disasters to the smaller, personal losses that individuals will experience as climate change progresses. Goodell makes it clear that climate change will not only devastate ecosystems but also deeply impact people’s daily lives and the places they value. This emphasis on specific, personal memories connects the larger theme of environmental degradation with individual experience, making the consequences of climate change more immediate and relatable. In a sense, this passage reads like an elegy—a lament for a world that is slipping away.

“We are confronted simultaneously with our vulnerability to catastrophe and our profound unseriousness in the face of it. It’s as if the fires are starting to spread through Rome and all we can do is argue about the fiddling.”

Goodell’s reference to “Rome burning” is not just a historical allusion but a direct reflection of the escalating effects of global warming. The fires spreading through Rome are a parallel to the literal wildfires and rising temperatures experienced around the world, which are symptoms of the larger climate crisis. Nero’s “fiddling” represents the distractions and debates that keep society from confronting the rising heat head-on. Goodell critiques how, despite the increasing severity of heat-related disasters, humans remain preoccupied with minor issues or ineffectual policies.