In the margins of her drafts, Jane Goodall often crossed out the word “but.” This small act of revision appeared throughout her letters and writings, a quiet insistence on rephrasing that revealed a subtle yet persistent pattern in her thinking. The word itself was unassuming—a conjunction used to introduce something contrasting with what has already been mentioned. Yet Goodall’s decision to strike it out suggested an unwillingness to concede to contradiction, a refusal to accept the inevitability of counterarguments or opposition. One draft began, “These chimpanzees are highly social creatures, but they can also be incredibly aggressive.” After crossing out “but,” Goodall replaced it with “and”: “These chimpanzees are highly social creatures, and they can also be incredibly aggressive.” The revision was slight, almost imperceptible, yet its implications were significant. By refusing to juxtapose the chimpanzees’ sociability against their aggression, Goodall resisted the temptation to create a false dichotomy between the two traits. Instead, she acknowledged both as integral parts of the animals’ complex behavior—a nuanced understanding that permeated her work and set her apart from many of her contemporaries.
In her letters to Louis Leakey, dated April 12th, 1960, Jane Goodall writes of the chimpanzees she observes, “They-” but then hesitates. The sentence continues only after a lengthy pause, filled with other thoughts and observations. This habitual revision recurs across years without comment in her writing life: a pattern of deferred completion. In another letter to Leakey, dated July 27th, 1963, she begins describing the chimpanzees’ interactions but stops short, leaving the sentence unfinished. It is not until several lines later that she resumes the thought, as if returning from a momentary digression. This tendency towards interruption and delay appears in her drafts as well. This recurring pattern of omission or hesitation is visible in many of her draft revisions, suggesting perhaps an intentional withholding or a reluctance to commit fully to certain assertions. Yet, she never explicitly addresses this practice in her writing; instead, the revision remains implicit and unexplained.
In her letters and draft revisions, Jane Goodall often returns to the phrase “the chimpanzee,” replacing more distant terms such as “the animal” or “it.” This revision appears throughout her writing life, sometimes changing the focus of an entire passage from the broader category of animals to these specific creatures. For instance, one draft begins with a general statement about animal behavior: “The animal’s response is often surprising,” then shifts in revision to: “The chimpanzee’s response is often surprising.” The phrase recurs across years and contexts, appearing in letters describing her research as well as articles advocating for conservation. In these revisions, the specificity of “the chimpanzee” seems to pull Goodall’s attention back from broader themes or general observations, anchoring her writing in the particular animals she studies. Yet, this repeated revision is never commented on; it remains a silent shift, a habitual return to the precise subject that captivates and centers her work.
In her letters and draft revisions spanning decades, Jane Goodall frequently returns to a particular habit of language. This recurring pattern involves the repetition of certain phrases or words, often in close proximity to one another. For instance, in a letter dated 1964, she writes, “The chimpanzees are remarkable creatures. They truly are remarkable.” The same phrase is found again in her draft notes from 1972: “These animals never cease to astonish me – they are truly remarkable.” This pattern of repeating the word ‘remarkable’ is not isolated; it appears consistently throughout her writings, often in relation to the chimpanzees she studies. In a letter dated 1985, Goodall pens, “Their intelligence is remarkable, truly remarkable,” and again in a draft from 1993: “Their social structure is complex – remarkably so.” The word recurs yet again in her writings from the early 2000s: “The resilience of these creatures is remarkable. Truly remarkable.” This repetition, this recurring emphasis on the ‘remarkable’ nature of the chimpanzees she studies, remains a constant presence across the span of Goodall’s writing life.
In her many drafts and letters, Jane Goodall often began sentences with the word “and.” This small grammatical choice, repeated throughout her writing life, created an ongoing sense of continuity, a subtle insistence that each thought was linked to those preceding it. The conjunction was sometimes used conventionally, connecting clauses within a sentence, but just as frequently, it initiated entirely new thoughts or paragraphs. In one letter from 1975, for instance, she wrote: “And the chimps have been particularly active this week…” In another draft of an article dated nearly twenty years later, the same pattern emerged: “And then there is the question of their social structure.” The recurring habit might be seen as a stylistic quirk or even a minor grammatical transgression. But for Goodall, it seemed to serve as a way to underscore the interconnectedness of her observations and ideas—a constant reminder that everything was connected in the complex web of life she studied so closely.
In her early letters from Gombe, Jane Goodall frequently wrote about the chimpanzees’ “playful nature.” However, drafts show that this phrasing often underwent revision. For instance, in a 1963 letter to Louis Leakey, she initially described how the chimps “seemed to frolic and play,” but later replaced “frolic” with “demonstrate.” Another version replaces “playful nature” with “expressive behaviors,” which recurs in several drafts from that period. The phrase “playful nature” does not disappear entirely, though; it reappears in a 1965 letter to her mother, this time describing the chimps’ interactions with their offspring. Here, she wrote, “The young ones are so full of energy and playfulness.” Yet, even in this context, drafts show that Goodall hesitated over the wording; one version replaces “playfulness” with “curiosity,” while another omits any characterization altogether, simply noting that “the young chimps interacted energetically with their mothers.” This habit of revising descriptions of chimp behavior continued throughout her writing life.
In her letters and draft revisions that recur across decades, Jane Goodall often hesitates before using the word “human.” The record returns to this pause time and again. Sometimes she crosses out the word entirely, replacing it with alternatives such as “person,” “being,” or “individual.” Other times she delays its use, pushing it further down in a paragraph or saving it for a later sentence. This pattern of omission and delay is most pronounced when discussing her observations of non-human animals. For instance, one draft reads: “It was clear that these creatures were not merely acting on instinct; they possessed a level of understanding and empathy often attributed to humans.” Yet in the final version, she rephrases this as: “These beings displayed a depth of comprehension and compassion typically associated with our own species.” The word “human” is absent, its use postponed or circumvented. This habitual revision, repeated without comment throughout her writing life, offers a glimpse into Goodall’s careful consideration of language and its implications in her work.
In the margins of her drafts and within the lines of her letters, Jane Goodall often underlined words, returning to them as if drawn by an unspoken magnetism. One such word, “wild,” appears time and again throughout her writing life, each instance a small testament to its significance. In a letter dated 1965, she wrote, “The chimpanzees are truly wild, their behavior untainted by human interference.” The line is unassuming, yet the word “wild” stands out, underlined in her characteristic decisive stroke. This was not an isolated occurrence; drafts from various points in her life reveal a similar pattern. In one essay drafted years later, she penned, “The wild places of the earth are dwindling,” the word “wild” once more singled out by her pen. The repetition is striking, yet Goodall never directly addresses this recurring emphasis. It remains an unspoken constant in her writings, a silent refrain that echoes through the years.
In her letters and draft revisions spanning decades, Jane Goodall often returned to the phrase “the complex interrelationships.” This exact wording appears again and again, without comment or explanation, as if a natural part of her thinking process. It first emerges in a 1965 letter to Louis Leakey, where she discusses the chimpanzee communities at Gombe: “the complex interrelationships between individuals are becoming clearer.” The phrase recurs five years later in a research paper draft, this time referring to ecological systems rather than social ones: “the complex interrelationships of the forest ecosystem.” In both instances, Goodall does not elaborate on what she means by “complex interrelationships,” leaving it to stand alone as an observation. This same phrase appears yet again in a 1980 letter about human impacts on wildlife habitats: “the complex interrelationships between species and their environment.” Here, the context is broadened further still, encompassing not just chimpanzees or forests but entire ecosystems.
In one letter dated from 1963, Jane Goodall wrote about her observations of the chimpanzees in Gombe: “The adult males are powerful and often aggressive, yet they display a tenderness towards their offspring that is touching to observe.” This sentence appears frequently across her letters and draft revisions, with subtle changes over time. In another version from 1975, she revised it slightly to read: “The mature males possess immense strength and can be fiercely combative; nevertheless, they exhibit a gentleness towards their young that is deeply moving.” The wording shifts again in an undated draft from the late 80s or early 90s, where she wrote: “Adult male chimps wield great power and frequently engage in violent altercations; nonetheless, they manifest a profound tenderness when interacting with their progeny – a sight that never fails to stir one’s emotions.” Throughout her writing life, Goodall returned to this observation of the complex nature of these animals, always capturing the tension between strength and gentleness.