08-24-2002, 08:36 AM
Lance's post below, and his line that the peaks in the rain had "a muted, stately beauty of their own"--great, Lance, most people would just bitch about the rain--reminded me of some of the nature writing I've read over the years. Here's a few suggestions.
Begin in Maine. Although not exactly "nature writing," E.B. White's One Man's Meat, a collection of essays about his time living away from New York City, is a joy. Find, if you haven't read it, his essay "Once More to the Lake"; it may be the best essay ever written.
Move down the coast and read Walden again or read it for the first time. Unfortunately, too many people think it's a simplistic collection of aphorisms--march to a different drummer sort of thing--but it's America's great sacred work, and it's wildy funny, too. My favorite line: "I was determined to know beans." Another book from Thoreau is Cape Cod, which details his walking trip along the coastline of the Cape.
Further south, Virginia provides the setting for Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. This one of the few classics of nature writing included in the Modern Library's 100 greatest works of non-fiction.
Next, if you ever go to Disney, bring along Ill Nature by essayist and novelist Joy Williams, a writer who consciously employs a very confrontational, acerbic style. No writer I can think of attacks the reader with such force. Although not a nature writer, Carl Hiassen, writer of detective novels and reporter, enjoys attacking Disney more than anyone. And, his books are laugh out loud funny.
For the trip inland, take along two books of essays, The Star Thrower by Loren Eisley and Lives of the Cell by Lewis Thomas.
Next, Wisconsin. Why is this book so good? Ask yourself when you finish A Sand County Almanac by Also Leopold, again, one of the true classics of American nature writing.
Wyoming, next, for Gretel Erhlich's The Solitude of Open Spaces. Erhlich is a remarkable writer of clear vision and beautiful prose. Her description of a butterfly: "It looked like a cathedral taking flight." Entire books are worth reading for lines like this one.
Head to Utah. Begin with Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey. I hate to call Abbey an iconoclast because iconoclasm distinguishes all these writers, but Abbey's voice is a powerful one. Note the very strong connection between Abbey and Thoreau. Add Refuge by Terry Tempest Wiiliams, which is both a look at The Great Salt Lake and the history of her family.
For the trip far to the north, you might take along books of essays by John McPhee and Edward Hoagland. It really doesn't matter which ones; both are fine writers on a variety of subjects. Hardcore environmetalists may also want to pack Bill McKibben's The End of Nature, which I haven't read, but I have read many of his essays and enjoy his style.
Finally, perhaps my favorite is Arctic Dreams: Memory and Desire in a Northern Landscape by Barry Lopez. I can't quite believe that anyone wouldn't love this book. I gave it to a co-worker who has read it at least nine times, three times in the first week she had it. Knowing I wasn't going to get it back, I gave up and bought her a copy. It's that good. I've also included the subtitle with this book because, in essence, the conceptions of memory and desire dominate nature writing in general. But you've got to read some to know it.
John
P.S. I'm sorry, but I can't leave out the quirky The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen, and I've left out much.
Begin in Maine. Although not exactly "nature writing," E.B. White's One Man's Meat, a collection of essays about his time living away from New York City, is a joy. Find, if you haven't read it, his essay "Once More to the Lake"; it may be the best essay ever written.
Move down the coast and read Walden again or read it for the first time. Unfortunately, too many people think it's a simplistic collection of aphorisms--march to a different drummer sort of thing--but it's America's great sacred work, and it's wildy funny, too. My favorite line: "I was determined to know beans." Another book from Thoreau is Cape Cod, which details his walking trip along the coastline of the Cape.
Further south, Virginia provides the setting for Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. This one of the few classics of nature writing included in the Modern Library's 100 greatest works of non-fiction.
Next, if you ever go to Disney, bring along Ill Nature by essayist and novelist Joy Williams, a writer who consciously employs a very confrontational, acerbic style. No writer I can think of attacks the reader with such force. Although not a nature writer, Carl Hiassen, writer of detective novels and reporter, enjoys attacking Disney more than anyone. And, his books are laugh out loud funny.
For the trip inland, take along two books of essays, The Star Thrower by Loren Eisley and Lives of the Cell by Lewis Thomas.
Next, Wisconsin. Why is this book so good? Ask yourself when you finish A Sand County Almanac by Also Leopold, again, one of the true classics of American nature writing.
Wyoming, next, for Gretel Erhlich's The Solitude of Open Spaces. Erhlich is a remarkable writer of clear vision and beautiful prose. Her description of a butterfly: "It looked like a cathedral taking flight." Entire books are worth reading for lines like this one.
Head to Utah. Begin with Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey. I hate to call Abbey an iconoclast because iconoclasm distinguishes all these writers, but Abbey's voice is a powerful one. Note the very strong connection between Abbey and Thoreau. Add Refuge by Terry Tempest Wiiliams, which is both a look at The Great Salt Lake and the history of her family.
For the trip far to the north, you might take along books of essays by John McPhee and Edward Hoagland. It really doesn't matter which ones; both are fine writers on a variety of subjects. Hardcore environmetalists may also want to pack Bill McKibben's The End of Nature, which I haven't read, but I have read many of his essays and enjoy his style.
Finally, perhaps my favorite is Arctic Dreams: Memory and Desire in a Northern Landscape by Barry Lopez. I can't quite believe that anyone wouldn't love this book. I gave it to a co-worker who has read it at least nine times, three times in the first week she had it. Knowing I wasn't going to get it back, I gave up and bought her a copy. It's that good. I've also included the subtitle with this book because, in essence, the conceptions of memory and desire dominate nature writing in general. But you've got to read some to know it.
John
P.S. I'm sorry, but I can't leave out the quirky The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen, and I've left out much.