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By now, you’ve probably heard about “zombie fungi”, which are able to puppet the behaviour of their insect hosts with magnificent precision. One such fungus, Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, infects carpenter ants. Once infected by the fungus, ants are stripped of their instinctive fear of heights and climb up the nearest plant. In due course the fungus forces the ant to clamp its jaws around the plant in a “death grip.” The fungus then digests the ant’s body and projects a stalk-like structure out of its head, from which spores shower down on ants passing below.
Unlike the fictional killer zombie fungi in the recent post-apocalyptic HBO series, The Last of Us, zombie fungi have never been found to infect mammals. But it’s no surprise that they animate our imaginations: Thinking about fungi makes the world look different. Fungi comprise one of life’s kingdoms—as broad a category as “animals” or “plants”—and are key to understanding the planet on which we live. They are inside you and around you. They sustain you and all you depend on. As you read these words, fungi are making soil, producing food, making medicines, nourishing and killing animals and plants, and influencing the composition of the Earth’s atmosphere.
Fungal fact is more remarkable than fungal fiction. And as we look towards the future of life on a damaged planet, what can we do to nurture generative relationships with this mind-bending and hugely diverse group of organisms?
Read More: How HBO’s The Last of Us Tries to Capture the Video Game’s Complex Morality
Most fungi live most of their lives not as mushrooms, but as branching, fusing networks of tubular cells known as mycelium. Mycelial networks have no fixed shape. By remodeling themselves they can navigate labyrinths and expertly explore their surroundings. Globally, the total length of…
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