Jennifer Lucy Allan’s previous book, The Foghorn’s Lament, was a weird and brilliant look at the drones and honks and other “music of the sea”, the author cannily navigating science, history and music with endearing levels of passion. While the subject of this follow-up may seem superficially narrower, Clay: A Human History somehow manages to veer off into creation myths, sacred geometry, Japanese Buddhism and the surface of Mars (the clay is white on the red planet, apparently).

Of course, the author being a writer for the Wire magazine (amongst others), there are shards of music here too, from minimalist, water-filled ceramic pot tunes to the ringing tone of struck porcelain, but it’s all part of the book’s playful examination of the subject, turning and viewing it from every angle. In these hands you’re safe: Allan is also an amateur potter, and like The Foghorn’s Lament, Clay features a lot of first-person wandering and encountering, through museums, labs and riverbanks, wide-eyed and empathetic.

It’s these people-powered moments, together with a knack for deft historical pen portraits, that give the book its earthy heart. The love of humanity, their deathless creativity and connection to Earth’s materials: Allan’s done it again.