Of course, tree aficionados will lament the omission of their favorite. (I would like to read her on the ginkgo, whose messy fallen fruits crush so satisfyingly underfoot in the autumn.) But Stafford offers so much of interest, on every page, that even the offended will relent. She combines sharp taxonomic, pictorial, and biological details with references to the tree’s significance in art, religion, medicine, technology, gastronomy, romance, literature, agriculture, warfare, and other facets of human exist­ence. Here she is, in science mode, on the olive.

In every chapter—all illustrated by a wide spectrum of artists—Stafford teases out the roles that her various specimens have played in the hearts, minds—and purses—of humans.

Stafford’s species become almost human in their own rights, a notion reinforced by her treatment of individually famous trees, perished or extant.

While good with etymology, and even up to speed on genetic engineering and the future of trees, Stafford’s real delight lies in the arcane and startling.

Of course, trees are often home to butterflies, as we learn early on in Peter Marren’s splendid account: “Purple Emperor butterflies spend most of their lives up in the sunlit canopy of English woods, descending only to drink from puddles or to imbibe some life-enhancing substance from dog shit or roadkill. Unless you are in luck, you need binoculars to get a good view of the dark butterflies forty feet overhead.” And so we have an easy transition from Stafford’s volume to Rainbow Dust.

But beware: There will be whiplash in the transition. Whereas The Long, Long Life of Trees is almost entirely upbeat, Marren’s “attempt to write a personal ‘cultural life’ of British butterflies and to try to give a sense of their lasting appeal” is suffused with melancholy and a twilight nostalgia. The hobby that once captivated many is now more or less extinct and, worse, deemed barbaric. And butterflies themselves are under environmental stresses: “[I] fear for the future of the butterfly, but also for the barren world we are creating for ourselves,” writes Marren.

But this state of affairs does not stop Marren from recalling the joys that butterfly-collecting has brought him, and countless others, since its origins in the late 17th century. And along the path of his easygoing, even meandering, narrative we visit any number of personages, some exceedingly eccentric.

The arrangement of the chapters is charmingly serendipitous: The first three are devoted to butterflies in general, and a couple of special species, rich with personal anecdotes. Then, in “Gatekeepers: Collecting with Jean Froissart, John Fowles and Vladimir Nabokov,” we take a detour to examine societal attitudes towards butterfly-collecting through the lens of distinguished writers. And we learn about the history and conventions of butterfly naming, with revealing observations about collectors such as this one:

Paul Di Filippo writes science fiction in Providence.