I’ve probably been a naturalist since I was a child. I vividly recall having conversations with snow-capped mountains at the age of five. The most alive moments of my childhood were spent outside, and in that sense, not much has changed. I no longer live in the foothills of the Himalayas. Instead, I live in the high desert in New Mexico. But nature is as strongly present in my life now as it was then—what is new is the awareness of how swiftly nature is changing. While I read widely, books rooted in the natural world have a way of making their way to me—and it’s a joy to recommend them to passionate readers.
I know I love a book if I’ve read it twice and actually consider reading it a third time.
The Child and the River, which has been described as a French Huckleberry Finn, appeals to me because it echoes, in a sense, how I was as a child. The protagonist dreams of racing outside and making his way to a river—when his father has explicitly asked him not to go there. But of course, the child gets to the river, and more, when his parents are out of town!
A new translation of an evocative, Huckleberry Finn–esque French bestseller about a young farmboy, the river where he is forbidden to play, and the adventures that ensue when he disobeys his family's wishes.
The Child and the River tells a simple but haunting tale. Pascalet, a boy growing up on a farm in the south of France, is permitted by his parents to play wherever he likes—only never by the river. Prohibition turns into temptation: Pascalet dreams of nothing so much as heading down to the river, and one day, with his parents away, he does. Wandering along the bank,…
Haskell is an evocative writer, and I especially love his first book because I can visualize him revisiting the same patch of forest and finding more and more richness in it.
In the depths of winter, his sense of humor and performative art sort of explode, which leads to an indelibly funny scene.
A biologist reveals the secret world hidden in a single square meter of old-growth forest--a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the Pen/E.O. Wilson Literary Science Writing Award
Look out for David Haskell's new book, The Songs of Tree: Stories From Nature's Great Connectors, coming in April of 2017
In this wholly original book, biologist David Haskell uses a one- square-meter patch of old-growth Tennessee forest as a window onto the entire natural world. Visiting it almost daily for one year to trace nature's path through the seasons, he brings the forest and its inhabitants to vivid life.
I’ll admit that the title is what initially drew me in.
Deep into the book, I loved how the young girl tries to forge a new way of being in the world, but something as simple as collecting insects turns into a messy fiasco.
The foreboding mood clasped me strongly the first time around, and the book is calling out to me to read it again.
Introduced by Hilton Als, in 'one of the best novels about adolescence in American literature' (New York Times) two siblings come of age in a mountainous wilderness ...
'One of the strangest and angriest novels of the twentieth century.' Lauren Groff 'An extraordinary, savage novel.' Olivia Laing 'I love this novel.' Patricia Lockwood
She would not feel safe until the beautiful animal was dead.
Ralph and Molly are inseparable siblings: united against the stupidity of daily routines, their prim mother and prissy older sisters, the world of adult authority. One summer, they are sent from their childhood home in suburban…
I sank into the book’s languid mood—Merwin’s early peripatetic and poetic life sometimes seems to have no beginning and no end. There is a lot of wandering in the book, but Merwin’s sensibility gets you through to the last page.
You come away with a strong sense of what it means to engage with poetry, mythology, and nature.
America today is a mobile society. Many of us travel abroad, and few of us live in the towns or cities where we were born. It wasn't always so. "Travel from America to Europe became a commonplace, an ordinary commodity, some time ago, but when I first went such departure was still surrounded with an atmosphere of adventure and improvisation, and my youth and inexperience and my all but complete lack of money heightened that vertiginous sensation," writes W. S. Merwin. Twenty–one, married and graduated from Princeton, the poet embarked on his first visit to Europe in 1948 when life…
Hesse isn’t randomly wandering all over the world. But he has thrown off the shackles of everyday life and spends his days meandering, walking, and pausing to take in what is worth taking in. Even sketching.
It’s a deeply philosophical book and is sadly out of print.
In 1920 Hermann Hesse published Wanderung (“Wandering”), a collection of prose-poems and vignettes accompanied in some editions by his own watercolor illustrations. Wandering is a quiet, meditative work quite distinct from the fiery Klingsor that appeared the same year. Subtitled “Notes and Sketches” in English translations, it’s essentially a literary travelogue of Hesse’s walks and reflections in nature, written during and after World War I. Published by S. Fischer in Berlin, Wanderung is Hesse’s love letter to the simple life of wanderers, a celebration of solitude and the small revelations that come from walking the roads and hills with no…
As a child in the foothills of the Himalayas, Priyanka Kumar was entranced by forest-like orchards of luscious fruit—especially apples. This richness seemed worlds away from the cardboard apples lining supermarket shelves in the United States. Yet on a small patch of woods near her home in Santa Fe, Kumar discovered a wild apple tree—and the seeds of a quest were planted.
In The Light Between Apple Trees, Kumar takes us on a dazzling journey to rediscover feral apples, unearthing their rich history and a new way to foster our relationship with nature. This lyrical odyssey will forever change how you look at an “apple a day.” She shows how—if we follow untamed paths—the tang and texture of an apple can lead us back to the wild.
