Today, while my car was in the garage, I picnicked among the long grass on the riverbank at Corbridge and caught up with Saturday’s Guardian Review. As well as enjoying watching a very hairy caterpillar add the flourish of its own signature to the page, I found myself initially pleased, then provoked by Steven Poole’s consideration of the current ‘fashion’ for ‘nature writing’ – a category of creative non-fiction he suggests is ‘a solidly bourgeois form of escapism’, offering an idealised and xenophobic view of the countryside and what grows and roams there. His tone rings with familiar critical one-upmanship – just another aspect perhaps of old ideas about power and hierarchy contemporary authors are attempting to unravel? Environmental challenges have opened a door onto the exciting possibility of radically re-interpreting historical narratives about class and gender. Poole asks ‘who should really be in charge?’ This is surely the wrong question, which can only lead to yet another unhelpful answer.
In his article Poole imagines a largely urban readership seduced and distracted from their usual concerns by these books – the texts themselves substitutes for nature. People who live in the countryside like to read about it too! And aren’t we all in this together, asking questions about what constitutes ‘the natural’ and where we fit in amongst it? Trying to figure out how to limit the damage for ourselves and future generations? Surely the time for looking at things in terms of male/female, working/middle/upper class, urban/rural is past – such divisions a luxury we can no longer afford?
By now we’ve seen enough evidence to acknowledge the interdependence of living organisms. This is simply pragmatic, rather than what Poole, rather sneerily, calls a ‘flirt with panpsychism’. Whatever happens from hereon in, whether we live in the city or the country, there is no doubt that we are implicated. On Radio 4, Monty Don’s Shared Planet has been offering a very balanced consideration of where things currently stand with regard to the pressures on species and space. I’ve really appreciated his calm, measured tones – a pointed contrast to the quickfire delivery of most presenters.
Poole picks up on the implications of Otherness in relation to plant and animal species – seen as either ‘native’ or ‘invasive’ – and gives it a political spin, as if nature writers were no better than fascists, intent on keeping out ‘illegal immigrants’; his critique tending to be more rhetoric than fact. In another enlightening radio series, looking at trees in particular, Richard Mabey made an attempt to redress the bad reputation of the sycamore, suggesting we should be grateful that such a robust, well-adapted species exists to fill up the gaps left by our failing elm and ash. Landscape is not static.
The impulse towards a Thoreau-type immersion in natural environments that Poole criticises as romantic and elitist is so widespread it seems to reflect a deeper need in society than one reserved for a privileged few. As the population approaches the 9/10 billion mark, it’s hardly surprising it’s not just writers who have an inkling for more silence, solitude and spaciousness, a corrective to the clamour of so much indiscriminate social and media input. However the writer concerning herself with ‘Nature’ has the potential to unearth welcome and necessary insights out in the field that will benefit us all in the midst of our current ‘transition’ conversations and choices.
And like the caterpillar making itself present to the argument, the contribution of the writer seemed to be made clear on the next page – where the poet David Constantine introduces his ‘Hero’ Albert Camus by saying:
I suppose most writers believe, with Camus, that ‘saying things badly increases the unhappiness of the world’. And that they are duty-bound, therefore, to say things accurately; that is, to tell the truth.
Fiction and poetry will help in this struggle (against the ‘hell’ of the world) by dis-illusioning; but also…by embodying a love of the earth and the enjoyment of its gifts and by making works which are fit to be seen in it; which is to say, by making and asserting beauty in the teeth of ‘a world that insults it’ (Camus)…an assertion of individual freedom…brings you into a recognition of common human suffering and of the common need to lessen it and enliven the lives of all.
This isn’t a definitive ‘answer’ but it is a way of living and working that does no harm – saying things well, saying things true – one I am profoundly appreciative of my fellow writers’ risking and sharing.
*
In searching for the links for this post, I found a very long thread of comments taking issue with Poole’s article online and a particularly persuasive counter-article from today’s Guardian by George Monbiot (who came in for a lot of stick on Saturday). He reminds us of the dangers of upsetting the delicate balance of the ecosystem:
Exotic invasive species are a straightforward ecological problem, wearily familiar to anyone trying to protect biodiversity. Some introduced creatures – such as brown hare, little owl, field poppy, corncockle and pheasant’s eye in Britain – do no harm to their new homes, and are cherished and defended by nature lovers. Others, such as cane toads, mink, rats, rhododendron, kudzu vine or tree-killing fungi, can quickly simplify a complex ecosystem, wiping out many of its endemic animals and plants. They have characteristics (for example, being omnivorous, light-excluding, toxic or inedible to any native carnivore or herbivore) that allow them to tear an ecosystem to shreds. These aren’t cultural constructions. They are biological facts.
Someone said the days here are long but the weeks are short. That’s a good way of describing the strange timelessness a community of writers and artists slip into together free from the distractions of the supposedly real world.
Last night we stood on the deck looking at a sky so clear the stars seemed almost near enough to touch. How old was the light we were seeing? Owls screeched among the birches and rowans. The beginning of autumn’s chill percolated through the air. A perfect moment to take home.
We live in eternity while we live in time. It is only by imagination that we know this.
Botanical 