Fiennes seems mightily preoccupied throughout his narrative, but he never articulates exactly with what. As a result, it’s...
A vaguely eccentric journey on the trail of the snow goose, from British newcomer Fiennes (Granta, TLS, the London Review of Books, etc.).
Recovering from an unspecified illness at his childhood home outside Oxford, the 26-year-old Fiennes finds himself taken with the local birds, in particular with their freedom that contrasts so sharply with his bed-bound state. The snow goose, with which he had some bookish acquaintance in his youth, strikes his fancy. Longing to be free of his confinement, Fiennes experiences some of the bird’s migratory restlessness and when released hops a plane to Texas, where the snow goose winters. There, he begins his travels with the bird—a journey that will take him all the way to its Baffin Island breeding ground. As Fiennes haltingly pushes north, up through the Dakotas and Manitoba, past Churchill and the Hudson Bay to Foxe Land, he fills his story with the bulging bag of tricks birds use to get where they’re going: their grand circadian and circannual rhythms, their sun and stellar compasses, their sense of magnetic fields. The author has a tendency to overportray his human traveling companions, people he meets along the way (a woman on a bus, a family he stays with), who aren’t as interesting as the space they command, but he can turn a lovely phrase: when he pulls a book from the shelf, “the books on either side of it leaned together like hands in prayer,” and a heron lifts off, “its wings making the whup-whup of someone walking in a sarong.” Meantime, the farther afield Fiennes goes, the more his thoughts drift from migration to homesickness and nostalgia. “My journey north with the snow geese was not quite the shout of freedom I had presupposed,” he concludes rather rapidly, anxious to get home long before we really get to know him or understand the discomfiting melancholy he wears like a hair shirt.
Fiennes seems mightily preoccupied throughout his narrative, but he never articulates exactly with what. As a result, it’s difficult to get a grip on anything here, and The Snow Geese makes no lasting impact.Pub Date: Feb. 19, 2002
ISBN: 0-375-50729-9
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2001
BOOK REVIEW
This is our life, these are our lighted seasons, and then we die. . . . In the meantime, in between time, we can see. . . we can work at making sense of (what) we see. . . to discover where we so incontrovertibly are. It's common sense; when you-move in, you try to learn the neighborhood." Dillard's "neighborhood" is hilly Virginia country where she lived alone, but essentially it is all those "shreds of creation" with which every human is surrounded, which she is trying to learn, to know — from finite variations to infinite possibilities of being and meaning. A tall order and Dillard doesn't quite fill it. She is too impatient to get about the soul's adventures to stay long with an egg-laying grasshopper, or other bits of flora and fauna, and her snatches from physics and biological/metaphysical studies are this side of frivolous. However, Ms. Dillard has a great deal going for her — in spite of some repetition of words and concepts, her prose is bright, fresh and occasionally emulates (not imitates) the Walden Master in a contemporary context: "Trees. . . extend impressively in both directions, . . . shearing rock and fanning air, doing their real business just out of reach." She has set herself no less a task than understanding emotionally, spiritually and intellectually the force of the creative extravagance of the universe in all its beauty and horhor ("There is a terrible innocence in the benumbed world of the lower animals, reducing life to a universal chomp.") Experience can be focused, and awareness sharpened, by a kind of meditative high. Thus this becomes somewhat exhausting reading, if taken in toto, but even if Dillard's reach exceeds her grasp, her sights are leagues higher than that of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea, regretfully (re her sex), the inevitable comparison.
Pub Date: March 13, 1974
ISBN: 0061233323
Page Count: -
Publisher: Harper's Magazine Press
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 1974
Simon (Jupiter's Travels, 1980) chronicles the David-and- Goliath struggle over the fate of a California river valley. Back in the mid-1960s, the Army Corps of Engineers targeted Round Valley in Northern California for inundation. The purpose was flood control on the Eel River, the corps claimed, thinly disguising their mission to send water south to the thirsty (and politically powerful) ranchers of the San Joaquin Valley. California's Department of Water Resources and the Metropolitan Water District, bureaucratic bullies used to getting their way, also liked the idea. The future looked bleak for the pretty, classically proportioned valley, with its cozy sense of place and sedate country pace. But Richard Wilson wasn't happy about the prospect of his farm lying under 300 feet of water, his valley just another notch on the corps's belt. So he engaged the behemoths in battle. It didn't hurt that Wilson had a hefty bankroll he could dip into whenever needed or that he could turn to friends like Dean Witter (yes, the investment house really is named after one person) and Ike Livermore, then-governor Reagan's close adviser. But why quibble? Wilson's cause was just and his instincts true—dams aren't worth their salt when it comes to flood control, as a presidential commission has just recently confirmed. In the end, after much blood, sweat, and tears (and a healthy dose of good luck), Wilson brought the arrogant agencies and bureaucracies to their knees. Simon's reporting of the fight is well paced for all its detail, although much of the deep background material could have been left on the editing floor without hurting the story. An immensely gratifying tale in which small-town America gives its comeuppance to a bloated, blustering federal agency with a self-appointed mission to subdue nature. (Photos, not seen) (Author tour)
Pub Date: Sept. 1, 1994
ISBN: 0-679-42822-4
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1994
BOOK REVIEW
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