THE OAK PAPERS

A daily journal in the company of an oak tree.

Canton, who teaches a masters course in “wild writing” at the University of Essex, is keen to locate the connections among literature, landscape, and the environment. But unlike his countryman Robert Macfarlane, Canton takes a more ethereal approach. In his latest book, he explores the strange sense of attachment he has to an 800-year-old tree known as the Honywood Oak on the Marks Hall Estate in northern Essex, in whose embrace he finds calm and contentment. The author reveres oaks above all, showcasing an appealing but excessively Romantic appreciation for these stately trees and ascribing to them significant powers and cognitive abilities. He gazes at old stumps and mourns felled oaks as if they were divine eminences, lending them a spiritual aura. Canton is highly observant, especially of bird species, and his descriptions are often lovely, but they also sometimes take on a purple hue. Within the umbra of the tree, inside the drip line, he is all giddy fascination, bewitched. While his enchantment is initially contagious, it becomes tiresome. Canton deals with the same tree for 120 consecutive pages, ruminating in a repetitive monologue before finally turning his gaze to another tree. The author is more engaging when he comes down from the canopy to relate the history of humanity’s relationship with oaks in shipbuilding and construction as well as literature and myth. When he confines himself to history and custom, the text is absorbing, with echoes of Walden. “Was there a time in some ancient prehistoric world when the creatures did not flee before us?” he asks. “Was there a time when humans did not strike fear and alarm into the natural world around them?” Canton is highly literate though rather at pains to show it. Eventually, even he begins to question his insistence on anthropomorphizing, which he does too often.

Canton’s enthusiasm is admirable, but his roots tend to tangle.