Books like Listening Point — picked by fans

Tracing the thread of mystery and meaning through our lives can be so hard! Here’s a trick of the memoir trade: The world has a tendency to give us the metaphors we most need.

When I first read Terry Tempest Williams’ book, I was amazed by the parallels she drew between threats to her beloved Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, her family history of breast cancer, and her soul’s experiences in the Mormon church. Now, I know the perfect images to illustrate our inner world are always in plain sight. This is beautiful and enduring.

As Roderick Nash is the scholarly historian of the term “wilderness” in the American mind, Gary Snyder is the sagacious philosopher of the term for contemporary America. I admire Snyder’s poetic style as much as his evocation of the meaning of “place”; i.e., how one can develop both a physical and a spiritual awareness of the wild around us and then transfer that awareness to a sense of one’s place in the larger country and then the planet itself.

From chapters such as “The Place, The Region, and the Commons” and “Survival and Sacrament,” I have gleaned what I can only term Snyder’s mystical appreciation of wilderness and its importance for the future of the human race. Snyder is truly the “High Priest” of how to “practice” the wild in one’s own life.

In John McPhee’s classic defense of environmental sanity and wilderness protection, the archdruid is David Brower, in his day among the planet’s most fervent environmentalists and defenders of nature.

Charles Fraser, a resort developer, labeled Brower a “druid”: i.e., “ a religious figure who sacrifices people and worships trees,” and I know of no other book that so starkly contrasts the urge to develop everything—even the Grand Canyon!—with the counter urge to preserve as much as possible of the wild before it is all gone.

I deeply appreciate McPhee’s format: a series of dialogues in which Brower and his three opponents extol their arguments fully and then engage in rigorous debate about their wildly contrasting values.

As I read M. Wylie Blanchet’s book, I myself was transported through time to one of the most magical and beautiful places in North America—the islands, bays, fjords, and estuaries of British Columbia.

In addition to being right on the water and immersed in the great forests, I was also, like her young children, at school, constantly learning new things about history, culture, ecology, philosophy, and even seamanship! The lively dialogue also made me feel like one of the family, conversing easily as we explored a land that was at that time, very sparsely populated by humanity.

Throughout the book, I noticed and enjoyed a theme of a rich cultural history that portrayed both the First People cultures as well as the fiercely independent and tough early Europeans who settled in select places along the coast. 

A sense of light-hearted serendipity in Fulghum’s book made me smile during every single essay in this book.

Naturally, the theme of children learning ran through the book, but I particularly enjoyed the more subtle theme of adults learning from children and childlike innocence, which was delightful and insightful. The short, concise essays were quite diverse as well and encompassed much more than just teaching stories.

I could pick the book up any time and enjoy any chapter all by itself. I loved that so many of the stories were focused on extraordinary insights about ordinary people that Fulghum encountered over time. I really enjoyed taking moments out of an often stressful life to laugh and smile with Fulghum’s essays! 

I felt like I was actually in the Alaskan wilds, ocean kayaking, hiking, camping, and exploring while reading Kim Heacox’s book. His descriptions, sensory imagery, and recounting of adventure and experiences both on and off the water made me feel like I was on the trip with him.

His interaction with wild animals was amazing and often was so exciting that it gave me chills. In addition, I enjoyed learning much about the amazing cultural and natural history of Alaska. The places, the people, and even the ancient past all came to life as I lost myself in this wonderful compilation of essays.

Throughout the book ran the poignant thread of human impact and change, which made me more aware and ready to vote for and write for change. 

Roderick Nash’s brilliantly argued and thoroughly researched book was the bedrock of a course I designed on American Environmental Literature while teaching humanities at a community college. As a published scholar, I deeply appreciate the logic of Nash’s arguments and the historical sweep of his narrative.

Nash chronicles the prevailing opinions of early “settlers” as they encountered and then began fulfilling the biblical injunction to “tame” the “new Eden” they had discovered: their reactions to the Native people, whom they readily labeled “savages” (i.e., not European civilized); the amazing and dangerous wildlife, especially in the American West; and the huge battles beginning in the 1960s to preserve what was then still untamed on the North American continent. 

I strongly believe that anyone who wishes to appreciate wilderness for its own sake—for the sheer beauty of what the natural world has created—should begin with this collection of Muir’s essays.

Written during his travels in the High Sierra, Yellowstone National Park, Yosemite, Utah’s red-rock wilderness, the old-growth forests of Oregon, and Alaska’s Glacier Bay, Muir revels in the awesome forces of nature that have created the astonishing landscapes that he has visited. 

In Rez Life, David Treuer, an Ojibwe from the Leech Lake Reservation, shows us the real-life consequences of historical events and policy. Through scholarship and anecdote, Treuer teaches readers what it really means to be Native American in a country that has tried, time and again, to erase them. Rez Life is not the history book rendition of past wrongs and tragic events. Instead, it is an articulate, expressive look at the people who live with the legacy of those past wrongs and tragic events. It shows readers the Native Americans they won’t see in history books—the ones that exist today, fighting to overcome the trauma thrust upon them.

This is a novel about loss, family, and reconciliation, and it moved me deeply. It’s set in Minnesota, where I spent about half my childhood, and it deals with personal and family histories, which I find quite compelling. In the novel, Noah’s father, Olaf Torr, lives under the weight of survivor’s guilt. Years earlier, thirty men went out on the ore boat, the Ragnorak, and only three returned. One was Olaf. As the novel begins, Olaf is dying, and he contacts Noah, from whom he’s estranged. But Noah still hasn’t forgiven Olaf for his alcoholism. Also, Noah and his wife, Natalie, are struggling with infertility issues. But Noah and Natalie come to see Olaf, who starts telling Noah what happened on that boat.