What books are on your night stand?
The stack is tall and threatening to topple. Right now it has Richard Powers’s “Playground”; “A Council of Dolls,” by Mona Susan Power; “The Lost Journals of Sacajewea,” by Debra Magpie Earling; and “The Nutmeg’s Curse,” by Amitav Ghosh.
What’s your favorite book that no one else has heard of?
I am devoted to the storytelling of the late Brian Doyle, which is so lyrical and always full of the unexpected. I especially love “Martin Marten,” which is the intertwined stories of a human boy and a marten boy.
What books might we be surprised to find on your shelves?
Perhaps “Rest as Resistance: A Manifesto,” by Tricia Hersey. It is an important idea and a serious challenge for me, at which I consistently fail.
What’s the best book you’ve ever received as a gift?
Some years ago, I was given a copy of “Freckles,” by Gene Stratton Porter, my most formative childhood book. It’s an old edition, smelling like old books do, and the cover is a bit soft. It features courageous women scientists tromping around in the woods, learning about birds and butterflies and swamps. It was published in 1904 and has some problematic aspects, to be sure, but I was delighted to hold a copy in my hands.
What kind of reader were you as a child?
My family went to the library in our rural town faithfully every two weeks. I would come home with the maximum allowable number, checked out with my tattered library card. I read everything from Nancy Drew to Cherry Ames and the old-time naturalist John Burroughs. I think I read every “Childhood of Famous Americans” volume, especially the ones profiling Indigenous leaders — because otherwise we were invisible in the library.
When did you know that “Braiding Sweetgrass” had struck such a chord?
I experienced a flood of stories from folks who took the time to send a handwritten note, a handmade card, send me songs, seeds, salves and poetry. What I hear again and again is a deep longing to be in right relation with the natural world — and the willingness to act on it.
When did you know that its success would change your life?
The work of “Braiding Sweetgrass” in the world has changed my life, but most importantly it has changed readers — and they are changing the world. I think I felt the biggest awakening to its role when quotes were projected on buildings across the U.K. at COP 26, in Jenny Holzer’s art installation “Hurt Earth.”
A version of “The Serviceberry” was first published in a magazine. Why turn it into a book?
“The Serviceberry” as a slim volume arose at the inspiration of Chris Richards, my editor at Scribner. He had read the essay in Emergence magazine and was convinced that these ideas need to be in public conversation. He was quite persuasive that post-election, regardless of the outcome, we would need a vision of a different way forward. He invited me to add to the existing essay, which I enthusiastically expanded, in a rather short time frame so it could appear right after the election. It’s an invitation to question the values that underpin our current exploitative relation to the living world. Why do we tolerate an economy that actively destroys what we love?
I am grieving the deeply painful divide in our country. When I look for any sign of common ground I hope we might find it in the ground itself, in care of the land that sustains us all.
Tell us about a nature writer who deserves to be better known.
The poet-ornithologist J. Drew Lanham is a treasure. His books, “The Home Place: Memoirs of a Colored Man’s Love Affair With Nature” and “Sparrow Envy: Field Guide to Birds and Lesser Beasts,” reflect a sensibility to the natural world that is simultaneously scientific and deeply emotional.
What’s the last great book you read?
It’s hard to choose one, but Barbara Kingsolver’s “Demon Copperhead” rises to the top.
What’s the most interesting thing you learned from a book recently?
I was blown away by Zoë Schlanger’s “The Light Eaters,” about the intelligence of plants. I learned that there are tropical vines who change their shape, color and texture to match whatever plants they are growing with, undergoing camouflage change in real time. Scientists speculate that in some way, the vine could “see” its neighbors. Or maybe the change is caused by the chemical signals of microbes? Wild stuff.
You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?
Brian Doyle, Walt Whitman and Rachel Carson.
Do you have any books that are guilty pleasures?
Sometimes I just want to retreat to the village of Three Pines in Louise Penny’s brilliant series of Inspector Gamache mysteries. I get the thrill of a whodunit, visit the curious lives of beloved characters and the warm lights of the village. For such a peaceful place, there are an awful lot of murders.
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