The term “nature writing” is a pretty nebulous one. As we saw here, we can barely give a concise definition to what nature itself is, let alone how we go writing about it. Barry Lopez acknowledges the difficulty to refine a definition, but suggests that its most significant traits are threefold: “1) an assumption that “landscape” – every element and nuance of the physical world, from a snowstorm passing through, to line and shadow in a woody draw, to the whinny of a horse – is integral, not incidental to the story; 2) a thematic focus on the relationship of human culture to place or, more generally, of culture to nature; and 3) a heightened sensitivity to issues of justice and spirituality” (Lopez). Though as we’ll see, others have suggested there are more elements. Looking at the prehistory of what we define under the nature writing umbrella, it appears we can’t even define where nature writing began exactly, though the genre grows and changes with our growing and changing understanding of the environments that surround us.
Prentiss and Wilkins argue that there could be many starting points for nature writing, perhaps beginning even before the written word with creation stories, myths, and the tales of aboriginal peoples across the globe. They also suggest that a starting point could’ve been with the ancient Chinese river-and-mountains-tradition of poetry with T’ao Ch’ien and Hsieh Ling-yün, or it could’ve started with Greek philosophers such as Aristotle, whose influence stretched far and wide. Nicolaus Copernicus, Galileo Galilei, and Carolus Linnaeus are other names suggested, though throughout multiple sources I read, many sourced Gilbert White and his The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne as the beginning of nature writing as we see it (Prentiss and Wilkins). They follow up this discussion the proposed origins of nature writing with the different narratives that one could possibly take including: natural history, pastoral narratives, adventure narratives, environmental writing, wilderness and preservation narratives, agrarian narratives, science and nature narratives, environmental justice narratives, climate change narratives, and postcolonial narratives, which we’ll discuss while analyzing the different elements of nature writing overall. David Landis Barnhill breaks down the key features of nature writing into ten elements: 1. Accounts of Nature; 2. Accounts of Personal Experience in Nature; 3. the Social Experience in Nature; 4. Philosophy of Nature; 5. Ecological Psychology; 6. Language, Knowledge, and their Relationship to the Natural World; 7. Philosophy of the Human; 8. Ecosocial Philosophy; 9. Praxis; and 10. Spirituality (Barnhill).
With Accounts of Nature, we include descriptions of nature scenes and expand into scientific accounts, such as with the natural history of a species or place or general scientific theories (Barnhill). Natural history is the scientific study of flora and fauna, though with more of a focus on observation and popular form rather than through experiment and academic form. While old-school natural history focused on observing and cataloguing natural phenomena foreign to the writer (Prentiss and Wilkins), with Charles Darwin being one of the most well-known of these, it has been in sharp decline. However, with our understanding of nature through scientific knowledge and technology ever evolving, the need for natural histories by professionals and amateurs in the field alike will remain important. Personal Experience in Nature, whether that be on your own or with any variety of other people (Barnhill), further affect our relationship with writing about nature. We see this in pastoral and adventure narratives. Both narratives are defined by getting away from the city, but they vary in intensity. Pastoral narratives don’t necessarily mean hanging out with sheep and shepherds, but with how one (during the time of their heyday a majority of these “ones” were male and less likely to deal in scientific detail but have more of a Romantic philosophy) fit into the natural landscape (Prentiss and Wilkins). Pastorals were also known as rambles, and if they were the type of short excursions that Henry David Thoreau went on, then those who wrote adventure narratives were explorers like Lewis and Clark (Prentiss and Wilkins). Both these genres of nature writing, despite their old roots, still have action today anytime you write about your family’s lazy afternoon Sunday drive on the backroads of Southwestern Ontario or journal your days hiking in an unfamiliar backcountry. The Social Experience of Nature brings in how communities, either contemporary or historical, related to nature (Barnhill). This element is perhaps most clear in environmental writing, of which wilderness and preservation narratives, agrarian narratives, science and nature narratives, environmental justice narratives and climate change narratives are examples of. The definition of environmental writing is pretty straightforward: writing that is concerned with human’s impact on the environment, with the examples listed above looking at different aspects of that impact. These Social Experiences of Nature can also be communities outside the majority (for which we’d look at postcolonial narratives, including stories written by First Nations and People of Colour) or the imaginary ones we see in speculative fiction (Barnhill). Ecofiction is literature that is nature- and environmentally-oriented, accommodating human communities’ relationships with natural settings (Levin). One delightful genre example I discovered through my research was solarpunk (Solar Punk), an offshoot of steampunk or cyberpunk that envisions a world, not post-apocalyptic and barren, but optimistic towards the future of environmental concerns and envisions a positive future for humanity.
Of course “nature” has more than one meaning. We’re of course looking at the great outside and what we, humans, deem as separate from civilization, that which is “natural” and not artificial and man-made, but that quick definition raises many questions. Are humans not animals as well, and part of nature? If humans are as much nature as say, a tree or a moose, why are the societies we place ourselves in “unnatural” or “nurtured” rather than seen as organically grown over time like an anthill is? (Borghini). Separating ourselves into civilizations opposed to “the wilderness” also presupposes the land we attempt to conquer and control was not previously inhabited and cultivated by other peoples (Prentiss and Wilkins). Is not everything we make, even if it’s something we deem as “man-made” (like plastic) still of the earth? With the last seven elements Barnhill defines, things get a little more abstract. Three of those elements have to do with aspects of philosophy. Ecosophy (short for ecophilosophy or ecological philosophy) “emphasizes the importance of action and individual beliefs” in terms of the environment (Ecosophy) With the Philosophy of Nature we look at the reality of what nature is, where it stands in the hierarchy of being (does it have subject-hood? Is it sacred?), and in considering nature’s value and what our responsibilities are to the natural world (Barnhill). Deep ecology for example is an environmental philosophy and social movement that sees all living beings as having intrinsic value regardless of what utility they hold for humans, and that we must radically change our relationship with nature to reflect that (Madsen). We can see this in the debate between animal welfare vs. animal rights. With the Philosophy of Human, we look at that second definition of nature: that which defines an essence of a thing, in this case, humanity. How do we go about describing what human nature is and what our essential relationship with our environment and other people is, and what is the value and ethics of those people and social groups (Barnhill)? We look at the biophilia hypothesis as one suggestion to that relationship, in that it suggests humans have an innate need to seek connections with nature (Biophilia Hypothesis). We might even discuss how concepts such as gender (ecofeminism) and sexuality (queer ecology) can be related to nature and reimagined through non-patriarchal, non-heterosexist, non-binary lenses. With Ecosocial Philosophy, we combine aspects of all the other elements to reflect “on the nature, extent, and causes of negative human impact on the natural world – as well as speculations on the ecosocial ideal” (Barnhill). With ecocentrism (as opposed to anthropocentrism) we see an ecological political philosophy term centered on value systems focused on nature, and “holds that ecological collections such as ecosystems, habitats, species, and populations are the central objects of environmental concern” (DesJardins). These ideas force us to shift our way of thinking off of merely ourselves and how the impact of the declining environmental health of our planet will affect nature as a whole.
Moving past philosophy, Barnhill pushes on to look at those elements that relate to psychology (listed fifth) and, perhaps most important considering the topic at hand, our use of language and knowledge in relation to nature (listed sixth). Ecological Psychology asks us to describe how we relate human consciousness to the natural world and look how we are “aware of, ha[ve] knowledge of, and respond[. . .] to nature, looking how we intuitively commune with nature and identify a “sense of place” and “sense of planet” (Barnhill). To me, this speaks towards that feeling of humility you get when you finally reach the peak of your hike and stand out over a vista. You may acknowledge that right now, you’re looking out over such an infinitesimally small part of the world overall, and yet as far as your eyes see, you see trees. It speaks towards how such a heavy weight feels lifted off my chest once both the urban and agrarian landscapes melt into rolling hills and placid lakes, and how so much of my sense of self (for better or for worse) is linked to my hometown, as well as to Algonquin Park. With how we relate language and knowledge to the natural world, we look at different forms of knowledge of nature, and how the nature of language relates to it, as well as analyzing how we should and should not use language, and what the ideal form of knowledge of nature might be (Barnhill). As discussed above when looking at the different aspects of philosophy in relation to nature, we see many binaries and oppositions in how we talk about it. We see “culture vs. nature,” “wilderness vs. civilization,” “natural vs. artificial,” but creating these binaries only separates what is all a part of one planet, and in the case of wilderness vs. civilization, suggests that there is a correct way to make society and that is against nature rather than with it. I can’t help but see these and think about how gender binaries and the roles we place with them have equally restricted us. Consider for example the language used in Lorraine Anderson’s introduction to Sisters of the Earth, a collection of women’s prose and poetry about nature:
Although I’ve concluded there is no such thing as a women’s view of nature, I do think there is a feminine way of being in relationship with nature. This way of caring rather than controlling; it seeks harmony rather than mastery; it is characterized by humility rather than arrogance, by appreciation rather than inquisitiveness. It’s available to both men and women, but it hasn’t been exercised much in the history of Western civilization.
Anderson xvii
What are the connotations of the “feminine way of being in relationship with nature” being caring, harmonizing, humble, and appreciating as opposed to controlling, mastering, arrogant, and inquisitive and therefore masculine? What implications is Anderson suggesting about gender? We can understand the heart of what Anderson is saying here, that we should live with, and be a part of nature, but by gendering it, we set women and men in opposition, set traits for those genders, and suggest that only those two ways of being exist. While all these eco- words may seem silly, by looking at the elements of nature writing, we truly see how connected nature is to all aspects of our being, and how using language to place ourselves in the least, separate from, and at worst, above, nature deludes us into thinking we aren’t a part of it.
Finally, we land on Barnhill’s last two elements: Praxis and Spirituality. Praxis looks into how we respond to “the experiences, ideas, and values outlined in the previous elements[,]” and looks at how we may resist environmental destruction and injustice or work towards the ideal at both an individual and social level (Barnhill). Many historical and contemporary movements have responded to the human impact on nature in different ways. The Deep Green Resistance, for example,is a group whose “task is to create a life-centered resistance movement that will dismantle industrial civilization by any means necessary” including militant resistance (Guiding Principles of Deep Green Resistance), though their suggestion of gender as “not natural, not a choice, and not a feeling” and “is a structure of women’s oppression” suggests to me they do not think kindly of those not on one particular end of the gender spectrum. The Conservation Movement looks to protect the environment and work towards sustainable living. Specifically in Canada, it began in the early 1900s, as “conservationists aimed to slow the rapid depletion of Canadian resources in favour of more regulated management” (Hummel). These are just two handpicked examples of mountains of groups and movements. In looking at Spirituality in nature writing, we include not only
traditional beliefs (e.g., Christianity, Buddhism) and more general difficult-to-define “nature spirituality.” It is related to other elements, since it involves a certain state of mind and emotions (ecopsychology) and religious view of nature (philosophy), and it usually strongly impacts the social and political dimensions. Depictions of personal experience often manifest the spiritual perspective of the author.
Barnhill
Think about how this quote from the Christian Bible may impact Christian views of animals other than themselves: “then God said, ‘let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground’” (Genesis 1:26). This suggests that humans are above, and hold dominion over, all other creatures. If a follower of Christianity were to take this idea to its logical extreme, they would see no problem with the cruelty, suffering, or abuse of animals at their hands because they “rule over” them. It certainly would be a lie to say religion and spirituality hold no sway in how humans as a society interact with each other on an individual, social, and political level. Of course, not everyone follows what their holy text says to a literal sense, as we see with one of my role models, Ester S. Keyser:
If people ask if I’m a Christian, I say, “yes,” but I am not sure that my concept of being a Christian would satisfy others. My spiritual beliefs attempt to transcend the egocentric character of man-centred religion. The God who is the Power to human-kind is the same Power to the wolves, the loons and the pines. Algonquin has helped me understand this reality.
Keyser and Keyser 249
Together, we’ve now looked at a (very) truncated history of nature writing and have dissected Barnhill’s ten elements that go into nature writing. Many aspects of these foundations, if not all, will find their way into your own attempts at the genre, and merge and blend in a way wholly distinctive to you. Nature writing places self and place, science and feeling, the community and the personal, thoughts and facts, resisting and holding true to your ideals and beliefs all on equal footing. Nature is tangible, something we can experience, hold, taste, and smell, but also something situated in our cores of being. Frequently, the lines between nature writing, travel writing, science writing, and memoir blur into a paste of white, brown, green, and blue. We also see how nature writing can be powerful and disrupt the norm with key figures like Rick Bass, Terry Tempest Williams, Richard Nelson, William deBuys, and chief among them Rachel Carson, who made government and industry defensive, and both worked to discredit her (Lopez). The genre can only continue to grow and flow along this massive highway of intersections and interchanges, travelling to new people, places, and ideas never previously considered.
Works Cited
Anderson, Lorraine. “Introduction to Anthology .” Anderson, Lorraine. Sisters of the Earth: Women’s Prose and Poetry About Nature. New York: Vintage, 2003. xv-xvii. Print.
Barnhill, David Landis. “Ten Elements in Natural Writing.” n.d. uwosh.edu. PDF. 31 August 2020.
“Biophilia Hypothesis.” 2014. Encycopaedia Britannica. Web. 2 September 2020.
Borghini, Andrea. “The Idea of Nature.” 2 February 2019. Thoughco. Print. 2 September 2020.
DesJardins, Joseph R. “Biocentrism.” 15 December 2013. Britannica. Web. 2 September 2020.
“Ecosophy.” 29 August 2020. encyclopedia.com. Web. 2 September 2020.
“Genesis 1:26.” n.d. Bible Hub. Web. 2 September 2020.
“Guiding Principles of Deep Green Resistance.” n.d. Deep Green Reistance. Web. 2 September 2020.
Hummel, Monte. “Environmental and Conservation Movements.” 18 July 2016. The Canadian Encyclopedia. Web. 2 September 2020.
Keyser, Esther S. and John S. Keyser. Paddling My Own Canoe: The Story of Algonquin Park’s First Female Guide. Whitney: The Friends of Algonquin Park, 2005. Print.
Levin, Jonathan. “Contemporary Ecofiction.” Eby, Clare Virgnia and Benjamin Reiss. The Cambridge History of the American Novel. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. 1122-1136. Web.
Lopez, Barry. “Nature Writing, Introduction by Barry Lopez.” n.d. lopezbooks. Web. 31 August 2020.
Madsen, Peter. “Deep ecology .” 30 December 2013. Britannica. Web. 2 September 2020.
Prentiss, Sean and Joe Wilkins. Enviromental and Nature Writing A Writer’s Guide and Anthology. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019. Print.
“Solar Punk.” n.d. TVTropes. Web. 2 September 2020.