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We’re now a quarter of the way through the 21st century, and it’s indisputable that climate is one of the most important stories of our time. That’s our philosophy here at Heatmap, but just about everything around us illustrates it, too — from government policy and tech to movies and reality TV.
And of course — or maybe, especially — books.
It’s been about 17 years since the term “cli-fi” (or “climate fiction”) was first coined, and in the meantime, books that touch on climate themes in both fiction and nonfiction have taken off like the Keeling Curve. In 2025, we’ll be reading novels that imagine life in San Francisco after years of deluge and investigative reports into subjects such as how companies have gotten away with dumping forever chemicals into the environment for so long. There will be new natural histories to dive into — on the desert, forests, prairies, and even on the chemical compound CO2 — as well as new frames of thinking about climate change and how we approach its solutions.
Because so many 2025 books will touch on climate themes, I’ve set aside a section of honorable mentions at the end of this list that are also worth checking out. The division doesn’t indicate quality; I chose the primary 18 based on my subjective excitement and to showcase different genres, publishers, and authors. It might be in the appendix that you find a book on the topic you’re personally most excited about (Arctic exploration? Solar geoengineering? Florida-set family dramas?) for next year.
Finally, if you want to see all these books in one place or judge them by their (excellent) covers, you can browse our curated list on Bookshop here.
The U.S. government’s Fifth National Climate Assessment section on the Southwest reads like an apocalyptic horror story: “Heat-related mortality,” “increased wildfire risks,” and “longer and more severe droughts” all make it into the opening few paragraphs. The truth is that the hottest and driest region of the United States is home to 60 million people, many of whom will have to adapt to a more extreme future in the coming years. In New Mexico-born journalist Kyle Paoletta’s debut book, American Oasis, he traces the allure of places like Albuquerque, Phoenix, El Paso, and Las Vegas back to the Athapaskan migration from the sub-Arctic around 1100 BCE and through the heydays of Arizona Highways, a magazine from the 1950s, while also charting what lies ahead for those who are drawn to making the desert, however impossibly, their home. Preorder it here.
Speaking of the American desert, on the fiction side of things this winter comes Madeleine Watts’ latest novel, Elegy, Southwest. Watts made a name for herself as a writer of cli-fi after the release of her 2021 novel, The Inland Sea, set against the backdrop of Australia’s fires and floods, and she returns this year with a road trip novel that follows Eloise, a doctoral student studying the Colorado River and climate change. As part of her research, Eloise flies to Las Vegas for a road trip through the Southwest with her husband, Lewis, to whom the novel is addressed. Along the way, Eloise begins to believe she’s pregnant, while Lewis struggles with the fresh grief of losing his mother. As Watts told an interviewer of her process for The Inland Sea, “I wanted to write … about what it’s like to live in the experience of a changing climate that is not always a tangible part of your day-to-day but that’s already there – it’s in the air all around you.” Expect a similar treatment this go-round. Preorder it here.
Eric Puchner’s new novel, Dream State, is the story of two marriages set over 50 years. With the book opening in 2004, that naturally requires some speculation about the future — in this case, the future of “a rapidly warming Montana.” As The Indypendent writes in an early review, “The looming climate crisis — declining snowfall, depleted wildlife, raging seasonal wildfires, and abnormally warm temperatures — is writ large in the book, forming a blistering backdrop, highlighting newfound restrictions on what both residents and short-term visitors can now see and do in the area.” The novel has earned praise from Pulitzer Prize-winner Adam Johnson, who called it “a masterpiece,” as well as author Lynn Steger Strong, who has a climate book of her own on the list below. Preorder it here.
Four years ago, Argentinean author Agustina Bazterrica burst onto Americans’ radars with the English-language translation of her 2017 novel Tender Is the Flesh, a book that imagines a future in which animals have become toxic to humans, leading us to resort to industrialized cannibalism. (Critics have described it, vividly, as “splatterpunk.”) This year, Bazterrica turns her attention from factory farming to the climate catastrophe, telling the story of a member of a “Sacred Sisterhood” cloistered in a mysterious convent who is prompted to reflect on her life outside its walls when a new acolyte arrives. Don’t expect Bazterrica to soften her critiques of capitalism here, though it’s not all doom and gloom; early readers have said The Unworthy “ends on a light note of hope.” Preorder it here.
Charlotte McConaghy’s follow-up novel to her critically acclaimed 2020 debut, Migrations, is set on a fictional research island, Shearwater, located between Australia and Antarctica. Dominic Salt, the caretaker of the island’s seed vault, has called the refuge home for the past eight years — ever since fleeing Australia’s accelerating natural disasters, hoping to find a safer place to raise his three children. But with rising sea levels now threatening the island, Dominic and his family have just seven weeks left before they plan to move on. Just before their departure, Dominic’s oldest daughter discovers a woman who has shipwrecked on shore, and the tension — and mystery — starts to grow. Wild Dark Shore has earned a starred review from Kirkus, which calls it a “terrific thriller.” Preorder it here.
Climatologist, World Weather Attribution co-founder, and 2024 Trailblazing Women in Climate laureate Friederike Otto does not mince words about who is most impacted by extreme weather — and who needs to be involved in the solutions. “If we leave the issue of climate change to white men, it’ll continue to be treated as a physical problem with technological solutions,” she has said, adding, “The more diverse the people working on it, the closer we get to implementing these solutions and making progress on climate change.” Her new book, Climate Injustice, elaborates on her thesis further, using the stories of real people in the Global South to illustrate how exploitation, sexism, and colonialism have created a crisis with unequal impacts. Preorder it here.
Everyone who works in the climate space is familiar with the question posed in the title of this book. Entomologist Douglas W. Tallamy is one of the leading proponents of the native gardens movement, and in How Can I Help?, he answers a query implied in his own earlier book, 2009’s Bringing Nature Home: that “unless we restore native plants to our suburban ecosystems, the future of biodiversity in the United States is dim.” How Can I Help? is structured to address some of the most common questions Tallamy encounters during his lectures about how individuals can become directors of their own miniature national parks at home. Despite the daunting challenge of biodiversity loss, Tallamy offers actionable ideas for helping the planet, with conservation beginning in your backyard. Preorder it here.
If I had to make one prediction for 2025, it’d be that we will hear a lot more about per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances — that is, the “forever chemicals” commonly known as PFAS. The chemicals are found in everything from our dental floss to our clothes, but perhaps most disturbingly, they’re also found in our drinking water. In Poisoning the Well, The Hill staff writers Sharon Udasin and Rachel Frazin follow how PFAS got into our environment in the first place — a story of corporate greed and cover-ups that will be familiar to anyone aware of the fossil fuel playbook. Preorder it here.
Journalist Malcolm Harris’ last book was an “encyclopedic,” 700-page history of the city of Palo Alto, which became a fixture of best-of-the-year lists after it came out last February. Hot on its heels is Harris’ follow-up, What’s Left (which slow readers will be relieved to hear is less of a time commitment, at 320 pages). Harris’ intention with his new work is to explore “our remaining options for saving the world,” all of which involve varying degrees of collective action but which escalate from “progressive” to “socialist” to “revolutionary.” It’s one that you can be sure will have people talking. Preorder it here.
Alan Weisman’s hugely successful 2007 book, The World Without Us, speculated about humanity’s legacy if we suddenly disappeared. (Slate named it in 2019 as one of the 50 best nonfiction books in the past quarter-century.) Now, Weisman turns his attention to helping us stick around. “I am working on a book with kind of a vast topic, which is what are humanity’s best and most realistic hopes for getting through this very difficult century that we have,” he told Bangladesh’s Business Standard in 2022, while visiting the country during the research stage of his new project, Hope Dies Last. Weisman’s book took him all over the world — including the Korean de-militarized zone, the Netherlands, and the Marshall Islands — as he looked to speak with people across disciplines and professions about how we can approach our future. Bill McKibben has described the result as “a nonfiction companion to Kim Stanley Robinson’s Ministry for the Future.” Preorder it here.
In 1999, 24-year-old environmentalist Terence Unity Freitas traveled to Colombia to support the Indigenous U’wa people in resisting Occidental Petroleum, which was interested in drilling to extract some 1.5 billion barrels of oil from beneath the cloud forest. During what was supposed to be a weeklong visit, Freitas was kidnapped by the Armed Revolutionary Forces of Colombia (better known as FARC) along with two other Americans; their bodies were later found, bound and shot, just over the border in Venezuela. Twenty years later, Abby Reyes — the author of this memoir and Freitas’ partner at the time of his death — was recognized as a victim in Colombia’s truth and reconciliation process, resurfacing old griefs, reflections, and questions. “I bring the reader along in my demand for truth before the tribunal while awakening our collective awareness of what the truth demands of all of us in this era of ecological collapse and social transformation,” Reyes has said of her book. Preorder it here.
In Susanna Kwan’s debut novel, Awake in the Floating City, San Francisco is almost entirely underwater. Years of Biblical rain mean most people have already evacuated, but Bo — who lost her mother to the waters — lingers long past when sensible people have fled. Then one day, she receives a note from her neighbor, Mia, a 130-year-old woman who doesn’t want to leave the city, either; together, the two become the last people left in San Francisco. “What post-apocalyptic vision dares be so gorgeous?” marvels the author Meng Jin in one of the book’s early blurbs. Preorder it here.
Identical twin sister arborists teach the Women’s Tree Climbing Workshop. While that sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale, it’s the delightfully real-life starting point of journalist Marguerite Holloway’s Take to the Trees. “I was there to be in trees and to better understand them,” she writes of her attendance at the climbing workshop. “Trees and forests are facing existential threats because of climate change, but it can be a struggle to grasp the extent of the danger.” While not all of us have the time, ability, or inclination to take to such “gut-lurching” heights to learn more, we can read Take to the Trees, which records Holloway’s experience overcoming her fears and learning to appreciate the threat to American forests. Preorder it here.
Natural history is one of my favorite genres, and I’m especially excited for Sea of Grass by Minnesota Star Tribute journalists Dave Hage and Josephine Marcotty about one of the more neglected ecosystems of the genre: the American prairie. The grassland, which makes up a vast swath of the inner United States, is an incredible self-sustaining marvel — and nearly as biodiverse as a tropical rainforest. Yet many people today still either share European settlers’ disinterested view of the landscape or adopt a purely utilitarian one — which is why, after 200 years of plows, drainages, and nitrogen fertilizers, the effects have been “catastrophic.” Still, plenty of people who live on the prairie understand the importance of protecting such a special ecosystem, and Hage and Marcotty follow the effort to work alongside the land, not just against it. Sea of Grass earned a coveted blurb from McKibben, in which he calls the book “well worth the read.” Preorder it here.
We’ve been attempting to predict the weather for as long as humans have existed. Satellites, radars, and computers helped us make a significant leap forward from the days of farmer’s almanacs, but advances in artificial intelligence, drones, and the proliferation of home weather stations have created previously unimaginable opportunities for accuracy. (It’s a tech frontier we’ve covered quite a bit here at Heatmap, as well). In his book, Journalist Thomas E. Weber dives into the wild — and wildly important — world of forecasting, which will hit shelves just in time for hurricane season. Preorder it here.
Climate scientist and Shift Key guest Kate Marvel structured her highly anticipated first book around nine different emotional lenses for looking at climate change. That might seem like an odd angle for a scientist, since researchers are specifically taught not to bring emotion into their work. Still, she contends that just as there is no one way to feel about climate change, there is no one emotion we can tap to guide our response to it, either. From hope to pride to love, Marvel urges readers to get deep into their feels in Human Nature, which also touches on “Greek mythology,” “witches,” “geophysical fluid dynamics,” and “romantic comedies” — though according to Marvel, you won’t find “despair” in its pages. A 120,000-copy initial print run suggests the publisher, Ecco, believes this one will be a hit. Preorder it here.
Addressing climate change will require us to address how we eat, which accounts for a third of our carbon emissions. How to ameliorate that is one of the most significant questions we’re currently staring down as a species — and the topic of journalist and Heatmap contributor Michael Grunwald’s next book. Though the answers he finds might not always fit into our comfortable narratives — Grunwald recently ruffled feathers with a related piece for The New York Times defending industrial agriculture’s high yields on small parcels of land as our “best hope” — We Are Eating the Earth seems certain to reshape how its readers think about food, policy, and our thrice-daily consumptions. I can’t wait to be challenged by it. Preorder it here.
Science journalist Peter Brannen’s last book was about the five times life on our planet almost ended in mass extinctions. His follow-up, The Story of CO2 Is the Story of Everything, will zero in on the collection of molecules that have allowed life to exist in the first place. Of course, the great irony of carbon dioxide is that while it has made our planet habitable, fluctuations in its presence in the atmosphere are also responsible for things like almost killing our ancestors all off in an event known as the Great Dying — and now, of course, we have put our thumb on that scale. By looking backward, often by many millions of years, Brennen gives us a glimpse of our future. You’ll definitely want to preorder this book, if only because it will look great on the shelf next to Brennen’s other Eric Nyquist-designed cover. Preorder it here.
The Edge of Water, by Olufunke Grace Bankole (Feb. 4), a novel about a Nigerian immigrant to New Orleans whose destiny is shaped by a hurricane; Ends of the Earth Journeys to the Polar Regions in Search of Life, the Cosmos, and Our Future, by Neil Shubin (Feb. 4), about what we can learn about life and our future from our world’s most extreme landscapes; Dimming the Sun: The Urgent Case for Geoengineering, by Thomas Ramge (March 4), which makes the case for solar geoengineering to turn down the heat on a warming planet; Bad Nature, by Ariel Courage (April 1), an ecological disaster road-trip novel with a patricide plot; Shelter and Storm: At Home in the Driftless, by Tamara Dean (April 8), a memoir about living through the era of climate uncertainty; The Float Test, by Lynn Steger Strong (April 8), a family drama set against the backdrop of a sweltering Florida summer; Atomic Dreams: The New Nuclear Evangelists and the Fight for the Future of Energy, by Rebecca Tuhus-Dubrow (April 8), about the political reversal over nuclear’s place in the energy transition; Phytopolis: The Living City, by Stefano Mancuso (April 22), about how we can adapt our cities, greenly, to the challenges of the future; Carbon: The Book of Life, by Paul Hawken (March 18), about the element both responsible for life and perhaps the biggest threat against it; A Year of Compassion: 52 Weeks of Living Zero-Waste, Plant-Based, and Cruelty-Free, by Colleen Patrick-Goudreau (March 25), about how to protect the planet with small acts of kindness from home; The Lost Trees of Willow Avenue: A Story of Climate and Hope on One American Street, by Mike Tidwell (March 25), a chronicle of record year for climate change as seen on a single Washington, D.C., block; Ocean: Earth’s Last Wilderness, by David Attenborough and Colin Butfield (May 6), the story of one of the planet’s most critical features, co-authored by one of its most beloved natural historians; Arctic Passages: Ice, Exploration, and the Battle for Power at the Top of the World, by Kieran Mulvaney (May 13), about what the age of Arctic exploration can reveal to us about the future of the pole; Hot Takes: Every Journalist’s Guide to Covering Climate Change, by Sadie Babits (June 2), a handbook for incorporating climate science into your reporting.
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Paradise, California, is snatching up high-risk properties to create a defensive perimeter and prevent the town from burning again.
The 2018 Camp Fire was the deadliest wildfire in California’s history, wiping out 90% of the structures in the mountain town of Paradise and killing at least 85 people in a matter of hours. Investigations afterward found that Paradise’s town planners had ignored warnings of the fire risk to its residents and forgone common-sense preparations that would have saved lives. In the years since, the Camp Fire has consequently become a cautionary tale for similar communities in high-risk wildfire areas — places like Chinese Camp, a small historic landmark in the Sierra Nevada foothills that dramatically burned to the ground last week as part of the nearly 14,000-acre TCU September Lightning Complex.
More recently, Paradise has also become a model for how a town can rebuild wisely after a wildfire. At least some of that is due to the work of Dan Efseaff, the director of the Paradise Recreation and Park District, who has launched a program to identify and acquire some of the highest-risk, hardest-to-access properties in the Camp Fire burn scar. Though he has a limited total operating budget of around $5.5 million and relies heavily on the charity of local property owners (he’s currently in the process of applying for a $15 million grant with a $5 million match for the program) Efseaff has nevertheless managed to build the beginning of a defensible buffer of managed parkland around Paradise that could potentially buy the town time in the case of a future wildfire.
In order to better understand how communities can build back smarter after — or, ideally, before — a catastrophic fire, I spoke with Efseaff about his work in Paradise and how other communities might be able to replicate it. Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.
Do you live in Paradise? Were you there during the Camp Fire?
I actually live in Chico. We’ve lived here since the mid-‘90s, but I have a long connection to Paradise; I’ve worked for the district since 2017. I’m also a sea kayak instructor and during the Camp Fire, I was in South Carolina for a training. I was away from the phone until I got back at the end of the day and saw it blowing up with everything.
I have triplet daughters who were attending Butte College at the time, and they needed to be evacuated. There was a lot of uncertainty that day. But it gave me some perspective, because I couldn’t get back for two days. It gave me a chance to think, “Okay, what’s our response going to be?” Looking two days out, it was like: That would have been payroll, let’s get people together, and then let’s figure out what we’re going to do two weeks and two months from now.
It also got my mind thinking about what we would have done going backwards. If you’d had two weeks to prepare, you would have gotten your go-bag together, you’d have come up with your evacuation route — that type of thing. But when you run the movie backwards on what you would have done differently if you had two years or two decades, it would include prepping the landscape, making some safer community defensible space. That’s what got me started.
Was it your idea to buy up the high-risk properties in the burn scar?
I would say I adapted it. Everyone wants to say it was their idea, but I’ll tell you where it came from: Pre-fire, the thinking was that it would make sense for the town to have a perimeter trail from a recreation standpoint. But I was also trying to pitch it as a good idea from a fuel standpoint, so that if there was a wildfire, you could respond to it. Certainly, the idea took on a whole other dimension after the Camp Fire.
I’m a restoration ecologist, so I’ve done a lot of river floodplain work. There are a lot of analogies there. The trend has been to give nature a little bit more room: You’re not going to stop a flood, but you can minimize damage to human infrastructure. Putting levees too close to the river makes them more prone to failing and puts people at risk — but if you can set the levee back a little bit, it gives the flood waters room to go through. That’s why I thought we need a little bit of a buffer in Paradise and some protection around the community. We need a transition between an area that is going to burn, and that we can let burn, but not in a way that is catastrophic.
How hard has it been to find willing sellers? Do most people in the area want to rebuild — or need to because of their mortgages?
Ironically, the biggest challenge for us is finding adequate funding. A lot of the property we have so far has been donated to us. It’s probably upwards of — oh, let’s see, at least half a dozen properties have been donated, probably close to 200 acres at this point.
We are applying for some federal grants right now, and we’ll see how that goes. What’s evolved quite a bit on this in recent years, though, is that — because we’ve done some modeling — instead of thinking of the buffer as areas that are managed uniformly around the community, we’re much more strategic. These fire events are wind-driven, and there are only a couple of directions where the wind blows sufficiently long enough and powerful enough for the other conditions to fall into play. That’s not to say other events couldn’t happen, but we’re going after the most likely events that would cause catastrophic fires, and that would be from the Diablo winds, or north winds, that come through our area. That was what happened in the Camp Fire scenario, and another one our models caught what sure looked a lot like the [2024] Park Fire.
One thing that I want to make clear is that some people think, “Oh, this is a fire break. It’s devoid of vegetation.” No, what we’re talking about is a well-managed habitat. These are shaded fuel breaks. You maintain the big trees, you get rid of the ladder fuels, and you get rid of the dead wood that’s on the ground. We have good examples with our partners, like the Butte Fire Safe Council, on how this works, and it looks like it helped protect the community of Cohasset during the Park Fire. They did some work on some strips there, and the fire essentially dropped to the ground before it came to Paradise Lake. You didn’t have an aerial tanker dropping retardant, you didn’t have a $2-million-per-day fire crew out there doing work. It was modest work done early and in the right place that actually changed the behavior of the fire.
Tell me a little more about the modeling you’ve been doing.
We looked at fire pathways with a group called XyloPlan out of the Bay Area. The concept is that you simulate a series of ignitions with certain wind conditions, terrain, and vegetation. The model looked very much like a Camp Fire scenario; it followed the same pathway, going towards the community in a little gulch that channeled high winds. You need to interrupt that pathway — and that doesn’t necessarily mean creating an area devoid of vegetation, but if you have these areas where the fire behavior changes and drops down to the ground, then it slows the travel. I found this hard to believe, but in the modeling results, in a scenario like the Camp Fire, it could buy you up to eight hours. With modern California firefighting, you could empty out the community in a systematic way in that time. You could have a vigorous fire response. You could have aircraft potentially ready. It’s a game-changing situation, rather than the 30 minutes Paradise had when the Camp Fire started.
How does this work when you’re dealing with private property owners, though? How do you convince them to move or donate their land?
We’re a Park and Recreation District so we don’t have regulatory authority. We are just trying to run with a good idea with the properties that we have so far — those from willing donors mostly, but there have been a couple of sales. If we’re unable to get federal funding or state support, though, I ultimately think this idea will still have to be here — whether it’s five, 10, 15, or 50 years from now. We have to manage this area in a comprehensive way.
Private property rights are very important, and we don’t want to impinge on that. And yet, what a person does on their property has a huge impact on the 30,000 people who may be downwind of them. It’s an unusual situation: In a hurricane, if you have a hurricane-rated roof and your neighbor doesn’t, and theirs blows off, you feel sorry for your neighbor but it’s probably not going to harm your property much. In a wildfire, what your neighbor has done with the wood, or how they treat vegetation, has a significant impact on your home and whether your family is going to survive. It’s a fundamentally different kind of event than some of the other disasters we look at.
Do you have any advice for community leaders who might want to consider creating buffer zones or something similar to what you’re doing in Paradise?
Start today. You have to think about these things with some urgency, but they’re not something people think about until it happens. Paradise, for many decades, did not have a single escaped wildfire make it into the community. Then, overnight, the community is essentially wiped out. But in so many places, these events are foreseeable; we’re just not wired to think about them or prepare for them.
Buffers around communities make a lot of sense, even from a road network standpoint. Even from a trash pickup standpoint. You don’t think about this, but if your community is really strung out, making it a little more thoughtfully laid out also makes it more economically viable to provide services to people. Some things we look for now are long roads that don’t have any connections — that were one-way in and no way out. I don’t think [the traffic jams and deaths in] Paradise would have happened with what we know now, but I kind of think [authorities] did know better beforehand. It just wasn’t economically viable at the time; they didn’t think it was a big deal, but they built the roads anyway. We can be doing a lot of things smarter.
A war of attrition is now turning in opponents’ favor.
A solar developer’s defeat in Massachusetts last week reveals just how much stronger project opponents are on the battlefield after the de facto repeal of the Inflation Reduction Act.
Last week, solar developer PureSky pulled five projects under development around the western Massachusetts town of Shutesbury. PureSky’s facilities had been in the works for years and would together represent what the developer has claimed would be one of the state’s largest solar projects thus far. In a statement, the company laid blame on “broader policy and regulatory headwinds,” including the state’s existing renewables incentives not keeping pace with rising costs and “federal policy updates,” which PureSky said were “making it harder to finance projects like those proposed near Shutesbury.”
But tucked in its press release was an admission from the company’s vice president of development Derek Moretz: this was also about the town, which had enacted a bylaw significantly restricting solar development that the company was until recently fighting vigorously in court.
“There are very few areas in the Commonwealth that are feasible to reach its clean energy goals,” Moretz stated. “We respect the Town’s conservation go als, but it is clear that systemic reforms are needed for Massachusetts to source its own energy.”
This stems from a story that probably sounds familiar: after proposing the projects, PureSky began reckoning with a burgeoning opposition campaign centered around nature conservation. Led by a fresh opposition group, Smart Solar Shutesbury, activists successfully pushed the town to drastically curtail development in 2023, pointing to the amount of forest acreage that would potentially be cleared in order to construct the projects. The town had previously not permitted facilities larger than 15 acres, but the fresh change went further, essentially banning battery storage and solar projects in most areas.
When this first happened, the state Attorney General’s office actually had PureSky’s back, challenging the legality of the bylaw that would block construction. And PureSky filed a lawsuit that was, until recently, ongoing with no signs of stopping. But last week, shortly after the Treasury Department unveiled its rules for implementing Trump’s new tax and spending law, which basically repealed the Inflation Reduction Act, PureSky settled with the town and dropped the lawsuit – and the projects went away along with the court fight.
What does this tell us? Well, things out in the country must be getting quite bleak for solar developers in areas with strident and locked-in opposition that could be costly to fight. Where before project developers might have been able to stomach the struggle, money talks – and the dollars are starting to tell executives to lay down their arms.
The picture gets worse on the macro level: On Monday, the Solar Energy Industries Association released a report declaring that federal policy changes brought about by phasing out federal tax incentives would put the U.S. at risk of losing upwards of 55 gigawatts of solar project development by 2030, representing a loss of more than 20 percent of the project pipeline.
But the trade group said most of that total – 44 gigawatts – was linked specifically to the Trump administration’s decision to halt federal permitting for renewable energy facilities, a decision that may impact generation out west but has little-to-know bearing on most large solar projects because those are almost always on private land.
Heatmap Pro can tell us how much is at stake here. To give you a sense of perspective, across the U.S., over 81 gigawatts worth of renewable energy projects are being contested right now, with non-Western states – the Northeast, South and Midwest – making up almost 60% of that potential capacity.
If historical trends hold, you’d expect a staggering 49% of those projects to be canceled. That would be on top of the totals SEIA suggests could be at risk from new Trump permitting policies.
I suspect the rate of cancellations in the face of project opposition will increase. And if this policy landscape is helping activists kill projects in blue states in desperate need of power, like Massachusetts, then the future may be more difficult to swallow than we can imagine at the moment.
And more on the week’s most important conflicts around renewables.
1. Wells County, Indiana – One of the nation’s most at-risk solar projects may now be prompting a full on moratorium.
2. Clark County, Ohio – Another Ohio county has significantly restricted renewable energy development, this time with big political implications.
3. Daviess County, Kentucky – NextEra’s having some problems getting past this county’s setbacks.
4. Columbia County, Georgia – Sometimes the wealthy will just say no to a solar farm.
5. Ottawa County, Michigan – A proposed battery storage facility in the Mitten State looks like it is about to test the state’s new permitting primacy law.