Observant, sensitive, lyrical, wise.
Perceptive collection by a Scottish poet and essayist whose work is just beginning to drift across the Atlantic.
Jamie observes closely, reflects, considers, wonders. She ruminates on darkness: Why do we consider it “bad” and unnatural? She spends a season with some peregrine falcons, listening to the female scream at the male until they mate, then scream for more. Jamie observes salmon struggling up the River Braan and tries to sneak a peak at the reclusive corncrake, a bird now living only in the Hebrides. She spends hours with jars of surgical specimens some 200 years old; she takes a whale-watching cruise and is dazzled. She powerfully mingles the personal and the natural, helping us realize that they are, of course, the same. “Fever,” which relates her husband’s near-fatal attack of pneumonia, includes a lovely passage describing a doctor listening through a stethoscope to his damaged lungs. In “Sabbath,” perhaps the strongest piece in this strong assembly, Jamie recognizes the value of a day of reflection and wonders if it would be possible or desirable to disassociate such days from religion. She recalls that on 9/11 she was scheduled to do a reading in the Lake District village of Grasmere, Wordsworth’s home for 51 years. She decided not to cancel, and many folks came, looking that day for the solace that only words can offer. Although the author is preternaturally alert to the flora and fauna around her, she considers herself a novice and routinely consults books and authorities of all sorts. But she’s not afraid to offer her opinions: In “Skylines,” she takes her telescope and climbs Edinburgh’s Carlton Hill, from which she sees—and interprets for us—the symbols that she discerns on the city roofs.
Observant, sensitive, lyrical, wise.Pub Date: April 1, 2007
ISBN: 1-55597-445-7
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Graywolf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2007
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
A vessel as enchanting as the symbolic and shimmering freight it carries.
A book of trees–both real and imagined–that taps some very deep roots of the human psyche.
Here are a handful of arboreal specimens full of divine wonder and aesthetic pleasure, those for which we have special affinities and that resonate on the atavistic level. They speak of our species’ first homes, of life, of good and evil, of the oracular. Bulgatz (More Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, 2000) paws around the earth from which these trees sprouted, discovering allegory, parable and metaphor in the process. He is a playful guide, sometimes speaking as a cherub, sometimes as a scholar discoursing on the cooperative relationship of the plant and animal kingdoms in the “Barnacle Goose Tree” and the “Vegetable Lamb of Tartary.” He introduces readers to the farcical folk of Chelm, into whose hands one day came a miraculous box of oranges (“It was a gift, the paper enclosed said, sent from ‘Harry and David, Fruiterers of the World.’ ”), and to the blessed Shmoo Pear, a tree that adapted perfectly to the Atkins diet. But the laughs are spaced out amongst the author’s deeper exploration of our desire to anthropomorphize trees. Far from a pathetic fallacy, Bulgatz sees within these stories–Philemon and Baucis, the Tree of Liberty, Yggdrasil, the forest-intoxicated Celts, the age of the sacred grove–a profound exercise of the imagination.
A vessel as enchanting as the symbolic and shimmering freight it carries.Pub Date: June 23, 2005
ISBN: 1-4134-8422-0
Page Count: -
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 23, 2010
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
Tales from a high-plains pothole by Janovy (Vermilion Sea, 1991, etc.), a man much smitten with the sound of his brain ticking. Secreted in the Nebraskan countryside is Dunwoody Pond. Its weedy, teeming waters serve as a vibrant life-science laboratory, a primal stew he hopes will enter his students' souls as well as their collecting nets. His students are an estimable bunch: Tami and her damselfly parasites; Bill and his leeches; Rich and his black beetles; Skip and his gill tissue suckers. They all get deeply, sweetly immersed in their creatures. It's Janovy who's the problem. He wants to know what inspires these young naturalists, but he tells us more about himself than about his charges. In the process, Janovy scurries all over the place in a free association that he clearly finds charming; but it comes across as Brownian motion—which is to say, directionless and tedious. Too often he writes, ``And that is the main point of this story, even though we have taken a short diversion.'' He can be painfully smug (asking, for instance, why anyone would choose to be a physical therapist when one could be a parasitologist); he comes out with presumptuous statements that are utter rot (``Every dead soldier's mother is convinced that it is right for her to bear the death of her child in obeyance to a commander-in- chief''); and he strains analogies with the best of them. Enduring the chapter ``Conversations at the Rock'' is as pleasurable as being locked in a closet with a logorrheic methedrine freak. The one time Janovy cuts sharp is in his chapter on cliff swallows—gentle, humorous, insightful, and without a single mention of himself, even obliquely. As a place, Dunwoody Pond may have lit the passions of an undergraduate clutch; as a book, it is a pompous embarrassment of sputters and fizzles.
Pub Date: Oct. 1, 1994
ISBN: 0-312-11456-7
Page Count: 304
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1994
BOOK REVIEW
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