In a world gripped by the relentless throes of climate breakdown, where headlines scream of unprecedented wildfires, vanishing ice caps, and species on the brink of extinction, it's increasingly apparent that our relationship with the natural world stands at a precarious crossroads. As writers and storytellers, we find ourselves tasked with a weighty responsibility—to lend our voices to the urgent narrative of environmental stewardship and ecological awareness.
Jonathan Franzen, in his foreword to Spark Birds, eloquently articulates the challenge of writing about nature in the face of such existential threats. He highlights the fundamental dilemma of crafting compelling narratives around non-human characters, whose motives and desires differ starkly from our own.
With an eye to the basic A-to-B structure of a story propelled by a sense of purpose along the axis of its plot, he considers the challenge of creating a dramatic narrative around creatures whose primary purpose is basic survival, creatures "driven by desires the opposite of personal" and free from "ethical ambivalence or regret" — those marvellous, maddening complexities that make for the human drama.
Franzen writes: "Absent heavy-duty anthropomorphizing or projection, a wild animal simply doesn't have the particularity of self, defined by its history and its wishes for the future, on which good storytelling depends. With a wild animal character, there is only ever a point A: the animal is what it is and was and always will be. For there to be a point B, a destination for a dramatic journey, only a human character will suffice. Narrative nature writing, at its most effective, places a person (often the author, writing in the first person) in some kind of unresolved relationship with the natural world, provides the character with unanswered questions or an unattained goal, however large or small, and then deploys universally shared emotions — hope, anger, longing, frustration, embarrassment, disappointment — to engage a reader in the journey. If the writing succeeds in heightening a reader's interest in the natural world, it does so indirectly."
Amidst this conundrum lies a profound opportunity—to weave tales that bridge the gap between humanity and the natural world, igniting empathy, understanding, and action.
As we embark on this literary journey, we confront another troubling reality: the steady erosion of nature's presence in our collective lexicon. Children's dictionaries, once teeming with the vibrant vocabulary of the outdoors—words like "catkin," "acorn," and "bluebell"—now bear the scars of our disconnection from the natural realm (seen acutely in the removal of such words from these dictionaries https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/13/oxford-junior-dictionary-replacement-natural-words). This linguistic impoverishment speaks volumes about our society's waning intimacy with the environment, foretelling a future where the very essence of nature slips from our grasp.
The implications of this decline are profound. When we strip language of its ability to evoke the sights, sounds, and sensations of the natural world, we risk severing the ties that bind us to our planet. We rob future generations of the linguistic tools needed to articulate their relationship with nature, relegating them to a world where concrete jungles replace verdant forests, and digital screens obscure the starlit sky.
Yet, in the face of this daunting reality, hope flickers like a lone beacon in the night. For every word erased from a dictionary, a writer pens a poem that sings of meandering streams and whispering leaves. For every tree felled in the name of progress, a novel takes root, weaving a tapestry of human resilience and ecological redemption. It is within these narratives—imbued with the raw beauty and unyielding spirit of the natural world—that we find solace, inspiration, and the courage to confront the challenges ahead.
So let us heed Franzen's call to arms, embracing the power of storytelling to illuminate the path towards a more sustainable future. Let us reclaim the lost words of nature, infusing our prose with the richness of the earth beneath our feet and the skies above our heads. And let us, as writers, stand as custodians of the environment, wielding our pens as swords against apathy and indifference.
For in the end, it is through our stories that we reclaim our connection to the land, and in doing so, rediscover the profound beauty and boundless wonder of the world around us.
About the author of this post
Emma Reynolds is a passionate advocate for environmental conservation and storytelling. Currently pursuing her degree in Creative Writing at Bath Spa university, Emma's love for nature and literature intertwines seamlessly in her work. She strives to use her writing to raise awareness about pressing environmental issues and spark positive change in the world. When she's not lost in the pages of a book or scribbling furiously in her notebook, you can find Emma exploring the great outdoors, seeking inspiration from the natural world she holds dear.
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