Everything about Africa seems outsized—the landscape, the beauty, the dangers, the passions. Wildflower, the story of some of the greatest African nature films and, more especially of those who made them, is outsized as well. The “wildflower,” Joan Root, herself beautiful as a Hollywood heroine, helped produce ground-breaking documentaries like The Year of the Wildebeest and Mysterious Castles of Clay (a 1978 Oscar nominee) in the 1970s. She was extraordinarily sensitive to the destructive times she lived in and uniquely gifted in her quiet ability to do everything possible to reverse, or at least, restrict the damage.

Born in 1936 to a white Kenyan settler, Joan grew up “in the arms of the wild.” (As a baby, she was kidnapped by a big red monkey who surrendered her for a banana.) After finishing school in Switzerland, she returned to Kenya to help her parents run a photo-safari business, where she met and married Alan Root, a free spirit whose daredevil dominance complemented Joan’s overly controlled inner depths.

Mark Seal’s empathetic account, expanded from an article in Vanity Fair, sees her as one of the world’s two “greatest wildlife filmmakers” of their time. The other was her husband, whom she enabled in all ways, good and bad. With Alan’s spark and physical hubris shepherded by Joan’s astounding ability to plan and participate in the filming without turning a hair, they produced film after film.

For 28 years they appeared to have the perfect marriage, except for the occasional dalliance on Alan’s part. Joan’s ability to live with this seems outsized too, but she put herself heart and soul into protecting the precious ecosystem in Kenya against the depredations of an international flower business.

Joan put her safety into the hands of a young local, which turned out to be a mistake. Shot to death by assailants who invaded her property, she died at the age of 69. This absorbing biography will assure her place in the list of individuals who deserve appreciation for their willingness to put themselves on the line (and in the line of fire) for the natural world and its treasures.

Maude McDaniel writes from Maryland.

In this era of Twitter and texting, it’s hard to imagine the marital experience of John and Abigail Adams. Separated frequently by John’s political activity–for as long as five years, when he was advancing American interests in Europe during the Revolution–they communicated only by letter. The post was erratic, to the point that they often had no idea of each other’s circumstances for months at a time. Luckily, their bond was strong–probably both cause and effect of their copious correspondence. In Abigail & John: Portrait of a Marriage historian Edith B. Gelles becomes the latest to plumb this by now well-known epistolary archive.

Abigail & John begins with Abigail Smith’s decision to marry John Adams, tracks back to the colonial origins of their families and ends with John’s death in 1826, eight years after Abigail’s demise drew 54 years of marriage to a close. In between, Gelles covers familiar moments such as Abigail’s exhortation to "Remember the Ladies!" and John’s longstanding feud and eventual reconciliation with Thomas Jefferson, but the marital bond’s strength and fruitfulness is her primary interest.

Gelles offers the marriage as a model of shared endeavor and mutual support, and her depiction is largely persuasive. Their letters reveal how each was intimately involved in the activities and decisions of the other, even across miles and oceans, and how domestic events influenced political decisions, as well as vice versa.

Despite the book’s double focus, Gelles, who has written two academic books about Abigail, betrays an evident preference for the wife. Abigail comes off as a paragon, and John sometimes suffers in comparison, though Gelles takes pains to explain away his shortcomings, albeit not always convincingly. Although the book itself suffers from occasionally plodding prose, it presents an engaging portrait of an exemplary marriage.