Richard Mabey's Nature Cure - part 'breath of fresh air', part draught whistling through an ill-fitting window (there are times when one wants to move out of its reach). That sums up my feelings about the book; some of the writing was marvellous and it was pure pleasure to read, and then there were points where the author gets in his own way, galumphing about the place and tripping himself up, but to be fair this is a very personal memoir, in part to do with recovery from serious illness - and I have tremendous sympathy for him there.
To the positives, and there are many in this account of how the author regains his imaginative relationship with the world beyond himself, his 'nature cure' for severe depression. His knowledge is vast, his reading wide, his appreciation of the sensuous aspects of the natural world intense and informed, his ability to render them in eloquent prose high. When he simply looks and listens and takes in what is before him, that experiential chain - from the observing to the thinking/feeling and on to their expression - is a rewarding path for a reader to follow. He describes perfect moments such as coming upon a white stag snoozing in a wash of bluebells, "as astonishing a sight as a unicorn", or he sees a common plant such as comfrey but notes its "starched linen, wine goblet flowers", and he reminds us that "that is the benediction of the wild, to see opportunity in the briefest of openings, the narrowest of windows".
Elsewhere, he can be peevish and superior, dissatisfied with the sights and sounds around him, wanting something more, something other, though he is self-aware enough to recognise these tendencies, and is happier when he suppresses them. I admire his honesty in revealing his very human flaws.
I heard a snatch of Richard Mabey on a radio programme this week in which he said "I'm not really a country person at all", and it is true that he comes across more as 'foreign observer' than 'native' one, if I can put it that way, the outsider trying to look in, but still his feel for the natural world is an appealing mixture of the scholarly and the intuitive. There's a lot about birds* in this book, and as someone who is a fearedy when it comes to most of those creatures (though I loved and admired William Fiennes's The Snow Geese), I could have done with a bit less, and more instead on plants, especially trees. But what you do get are wonderful passages about poetry and places and occasionally people, customs and ways - for instance, I now know not to build my wattle and daub house with willow, for it will sprout (though that image has its charm and makes me think of Yeats), and that "woods have ancient and mischievous rhythms all their own", I liked his reference to Christopher Smart's Jubilate Agno and his greater vision for mankind, "[to] tread all the measure upon the music".
In short, I liked the book very much indeed. How about you?
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*London readers may like to know that Richard Mabey will be talking about nightingales - and music - on the 15th. of April at Somerset House. Details here.
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The 'Books and Cakes' post for Nature Cure is now up. You'll find it here.
I'll need to look out for this. I recently read his 'Weeds' which is an excellent history of human relationships with plants.
Posted by: craftygreenpoet | 30 March 2013 at 09:43 AM
I'm only on page 44, and struggling ...
Posted by: Chris | 30 March 2013 at 09:59 AM
I loved his descriptions of the birds, particularly sharing in his delight of Red Kites in the Chilterns. I share your reservations about this book and in the end I didn't really warm to the theme. I felt that he couldn't really make up his mind as to whether he was writing a memoir or whether he was writing another book about nature and I felt it fell between both stools. His knowledge and reading is indeed significant, though his brief discourse on the origin of flint in chalk soil had me reaching for the nearest friendly geologist who gave me the correct explanation. I noted that his enthusiasm for eating young hop shoots appears to have diminished slightly since Food for Free where he is rather more enthusiastic about "poor mans asparagus".
Posted by: Dark Puss | 30 March 2013 at 10:29 AM
There are some people who, when they rotate into my orbit, drag me down. I deal with this social handicap by saying to myself “15 minutes and I’m off!” *
One of the features of their conversation is their excessive use of the personal pronoun, i.e. where you or I might say “I must wash the floor.” they would say “I must wash my floor.” (You can see where this is leading....!)
So my antennae were already twitching from the start. This book is peppered with “me” “myself” and “I”. Where I find these sort of people dreary beyond words ... you guessed it ... this book was simply dreary beyond words.
Yes, it is an autobiography but I have neither Cornflower’s compassion nor Dark Puss’s balanced view. Fortunately in the world of books, any kind of books, one has the option to simply close it. Thank goodness I wasn't on a long sailing passage with this as my limited reading matter! It would have gone straight overboard!
*
Just after I abandoned this book I picked up McCall Smith’s The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds in our local Oxfam shop. Well, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I ran across a word (on page 29) he used that I had never heard of: “heart-sink”. As he put it in the narrative “We all have people in our lives we don’t really choose as friends but with whom we’re, well, lumbered, I suppose. Heart-sink friends. Have you heard that expression?”
As they say in these parts “yer aye learnin’ !”
Posted by: Barbara MacLeod | 30 March 2013 at 11:10 AM
The term "heart-sink" in the phrase "heart-sink patient" has long been used in the medical profession.
Posted by: Dark Puss | 30 March 2013 at 11:20 AM
I, too, enjoyed this one with a few reservations. He did get tedious in places, but I found this one worth finishing. I loved his anticipation of the swifts, swallows, and martins returning. We share that anticipation every year with our purple martins. They were early this year, so we've been enjoying their predawn chorus since March 1. Knowing how much we look forward to our birds returning each year, I was especially moved with compassion for Mabey when he described his hearing loss and the great lengths he went to to find the right combination of hearing aids that returned to him his ability to hear them. I think this was the point in the book where I forgave him for some of his earlier peevishness.
Posted by: Susan in TX | 30 March 2013 at 12:20 PM
Barbara, I wasn't planning on leaving a comment but you have explained far more lucidly and politely why I gave this author half a dozen pages before he bored me to tears. Other people's depression does not make good company and I couldn't rake up enough compassion to stay the course. I could see that the act of writing might be cathartic but why inflict it on strangers!
But Cornflower has chosen the life-enhancing Enchanted April as a antidote!
Posted by: Mary | 30 March 2013 at 12:55 PM
Karen, because of your kind comments on my blog, I know you realize why I was not able to finish the book. However, I was struggling mightily through the few pages I did manage to read. I'd have to agree with Mary, Barbara and Chris on this one. However, I do hope to join all of you in discussing The Enchanted April. As Mary said, it should be a life-enhancing antidote.
Posted by: Julie Fredericksen | 30 March 2013 at 03:53 PM
This is the kind of book, and even more so the kind of person, which at best inspires guarded respect rather than affection or enjoyment. Part of the problem is that the attempt to blend together three separate themes doesn't always work neatly. There's the nature writing which is as others have said fine and sensitive; there's the depression and recovery narrative to which the most humane response is a sigh of sympathy; and then in the background there is the long tradition of English rural leftism, which is great for those whose pulses quicken at the mention of the Levellers, John Clare, and the mass trespass on Kinder Scout, but which antagonises or simply bores everyone else. It was a struggle to finish this one; the only thing that kept me going was the fact that at various points on the uphill track the clouds parted and we caught a fleeting but magnificent glimpse of the landscape below us.
Posted by: Mr Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:08 PM
I feel relieved to find that I wasn't the only one that struggled with reading this book. I got bored and distracted sometimes, and had to read the same chapters twice.But there are some parts I like in this book: the descriptions of the landscapes and geography and nature in East Anglia were so fascinating that I Googled the images while reading (it seems beautiful but a very wet area. Even Scotland is too wet for me). I felt sympathetic for the author's illness and anxiety, and also admire his honest and accurate accounts of them. I feel truly happy about his recovery and new life in a new place with a wonderful partner who shares the same passion about nature.Reading this book made me want to go out to the countryside or woods to look up the sky and smell the spring air and listen to the birds (we just need good weather though!)
Posted by: michi | 30 March 2013 at 10:13 PM
You've been in my thoughts so often this week, Julie, and I wish I were close enough to give you a real hug rather than this virtual one. I hope you're finding some comfort in your reading, as also of course in family and friends.
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:16 PM
Despite my 'quibbles' with this book, I'd very much like to read more of RM's writing, and his plant books would be a good place to start.
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:18 PM
I shan't hold it against you if you stop now, Chris!
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:18 PM
Good point about the book's falling between two stools, DP.
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:19 PM
"Heart-sink": very good way to put it!
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:20 PM
Onwards and upwards!
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:20 PM
Yes, that is indeed a poignant episode.
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:21 PM
I've never known you take so long over such a (relatively) short book, but I do agree that there are moments worth waiting for.
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:26 PM
I suppose in a way reading the book is like noticing signs of spring while yet in the grip of winter, but I'm glad you too found some rewarding parts to it, Michi.
Posted by: Cornflower | 30 March 2013 at 10:28 PM
I haven’t finished the book yet. I have about 100 pages to go. As some of the other commenters noted, the book is rambling hodgepodge of recovery, politics, history, ecology and conservationism. Bits and pieces of it are lovely, but as a whole…well, I haven’t read the whole book yet, but I don’t think getting to the end is going to improve my opinion. Like Michi, I googled East Anglia and the Chilterns to get an idea of the landscape.
Posted by: Ruthiella | 30 March 2013 at 11:04 PM
Well I did finish the book and like the others I had struggled to decided what kind of book it was. I liked Dark Puss' description as it did fall between the stools.
I started it while 'the blizzard of the winter' was blowing around the house. Hopefully it was winter's last hurrah. The signs of spring here are a few weeks/months away so it was rather nice to read the nature parts of the book about East Anglia, particularly their signs of spring.
I thought it was brave of him to talk about his illness and it was nice to end the book on a high note, he was well and moving on with his life.
Posted by: Anji | 31 March 2013 at 03:25 AM
Another struggler here. I persevered till two thirds through but finally capitulated when I began reading Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. This was a work to supplement a Lenten Contemplation group. That experience clarified all that was wrong for me with Nature Cure, her writing so vivid and engaging, so spare and irresistible. There was no distracting authorial presence that was the magic, though I acknowledge that the two books are from distinct genres. The clarity of her description held me and transported me to the northern Hemisphere with an ease that sadly the other 's did not. Probably was a hard act to follow!!
I agree incidentally with the "too many birds" comment. I found some innate resistance developing to following their exploits Dillard did restore my faith in Nature writing.
Posted by: Martina | 31 March 2013 at 05:04 AM
I can recommend Flora Brittanica and Beechcombings.
Posted by: Dark Puss | 31 March 2013 at 11:47 AM
Thankyou.
I was interested to learn that 'cuckoohood' is the Scottish name for cornflower - I'd never heard that before.
Posted by: Cornflower | 31 March 2013 at 10:04 PM
Don't feel you have to press on if it's a trial, Ruthiella.
Posted by: Cornflower | 31 March 2013 at 10:06 PM
Yes, I am glad he found a new relationship and a new home.
Posted by: Cornflower | 31 March 2013 at 10:07 PM
I haven't read Annie Dillard yet but I certainly want to do so.
Posted by: Cornflower | 31 March 2013 at 10:09 PM
I think that on balance I enjoyed this book however I also felt that it couldn't make it's mind up what it was. I did find some of the personal material rather jarring compared with the nature writing.
Posted by: Karoline | 01 April 2013 at 08:31 PM
On occasion his material is very personal - a little too much information for me at times.
Posted by: Cornflower | 02 April 2013 at 09:05 PM