Silent Spring: Like Joan Didion for STEM Majors

Published in 1962, *Silent Spring* was released into a world in which cultural forces were colliding in unprecedented ways. Challenged at every turn over the last decade as discrete groups of broke out of the homogenous, America's monolithic society that favored those who fit into the dominant ideology of white patriarchal capitalism and disfavored others. Civil rights movements shook the status quo at its very foundation as suffrage movements for African Americans, LGBTQ+ groups, women, and American Indians all gained or lost steam variously over the previous decade (and continuing until today). The Walton family opened their first store, marking the private sector's first steps in the slow march toward the runaway shareholder capitalism that's tearing our country apart today. And all this laced with the Cold War's latent threat of total nuclear annihilation.

The dominant ideology of white patriarchal capitalism was challenged by the liberation and fractionalization of discrete groups: African Americans, LGBTQ groups, women, and American Indians all stood up for their individual rights—to varying degrees of success, it has to be said— [add walmart and the first steps in the slow march toward runaway shareholder capitalism?]

Among the movements that gained traction in the 1960s was the environmental movement. The negative impacts that human beings have on the environment around us were studied, documented, and even considered obvious by some, but the general public was yet to glean just what kind of impact man and his chemicals can have on the careful balances devised by mother nature in her various ecosystems.

Rachel Carson, already a household name thanks to her books about ocean life, recognized the threat that synthetic pesticides posed to these ecosystems and determined that the public needed to know. After failing to find someone else to write about it, a friend and editor suggested that she do it herself. She did, and thus, Silent Spring.

Silent Spring’s Methodically Made Case

Carson's thesis is ostensibly simple: the widespread overuse of synthetic pesticides is not only needlessly disrupting ecosystems nationwide, but will also have unforetellable consequences on the health of everyday Americans who didn't consent to be exposed to these chemicals (and for that matter, neither did the animals).

The first two thirds of the book recount in a fact-of-the-matter fashion the facts of various scientific studies alongside anecdotal evidence from the likes of ornithological, ecological, and entomological figures and organizations. While methodically building her case that the chemicals are disrupting just about every natural pattern in the ecosystems they come into contact with, from soil to waterways to trees to skies, she also builds into the argument a moral question:

The question is whether any civilization can wage relentless war on life without destroying itself, and without losing the right to be called civilized. ... By acquiescing in an act that can cause such suffering to a living creature, who among us is not diminished as a human being?

A question which undoubtedly we can all still ask ourselves about all manner of atrocity that takes place on Earth today.

From here, with the deleterious effects of the chemicals established, Carson moves on to the effects in human beings. This topic is where the harshest criticism is leveled at Silent Spring. Carson pulls no punches in her forecast of what the widespread use of pesticides will do to human beings, and even goes so far as to imply that it might be too late even to stop all but the most consequential of long-term effects. Though the worst and even some of the more moderate consequences Carson foretold of did not come to pass, the world is no doubt better off for any reduction in the unfettered enthusiasm with which extremely potent chemical pesticide were being spread in the 1960s.

Though Carson hints at it throughout, she never makes a direct accusation of corruption playing a part in the enthusiastic uptake by federal, state, and local government entities. The connection is right there for the reader to make—it isn't difficult to imagine a chemical company executive greasing the palm of a state official with campaign donation promises in exchange for large contracts to implement and supply widespread chemical application programs. But Carson never comes right out and says it, just leaves it for the reader to infer. One has to assume she didn't have the proof-positive evidence she would have needed to defend herself in a libel case should she have found herself in court. And considering the unified campaign chemical companies undertook to attempt to stop the publishing of the book in the first place, there's no doubt that she would have.

In Between the Lines of the Foretelling

*Silent Spring* made a case that needed to be made when it was written, though it is an argument that by today's standards seems quaint and obvious. While the book's foretelling of the dire consequences that were in store for humans fall short, the modern reader, especially the layperson, can still learn a lot about how chemicals interact with ecosystems both discrete and holistic, and the way they interact with the human body. Whatever the case, there's no doubt that bringing the detrimental effects of the overuse of chemicals into the public consciousness was a net good for both society and the natural world.

Old Sentences: From Braid’s “East End Hollows”

What dreams do you have? Are they electric, coursing your mind and body until you achieve them? Or are they alive, pulsing gently in the background to the beat of your heart?

The longest dream I can remember calling my own is to live in the mountains and write novels and have lots of dogs. Though, to be fair, that's just a dream that's cribbed from the lives of many other writers. Not visionary, by any means, but it's still one I like to call my own.

But it's the kind of dream that I think I'll be disappointed if I don't achieve exactly by some point in my life. It's more like a sketch of a lifestyle that I hope my future adheres to in a rough way. The elements of the image I hold in my mind's eye when I think about this dream are physical manifestations (or at the least signs of physical manifestations for all the semiotics nerds out there) of elements of a lifestyle I want to be leading. The freedom of working independently, a piece of land and a home to call my own, a way to adopt and foster a lot of dogs.

It's definitely the kind of dream that's a little more aspirational north star than it is mission-critical to my happiness. It's always there, and I can always look to it when I'm thinking about big decisions in my life. I can always ask myself, does this take me closer to or further away from that platonic ideal of a lifestyle?

Dreams are a funny thing. When we're kids, we dream of all sorts of things. But in adulthood, when was the last time you were encouraged to dream about something?

I'd bet that house on the mountain and all those dogs along with it that as adults, we're discouraged from dreaming more than we're encouraged...

"Yeah you take those dreams and throw them out the window."

…and I’m guessing that was on the writer’s mind when they penned those lyrics.

Old Sentences: From Annie Dillard’s “Living Like Weasels”

The sentence is ten words long. It contains two punctuation marks, and ends with a full stop. It appears in the essay "Living Like Weasels" in Teaching a Stone to Talk, written by Annie Dillard. The text that I own was published by Perennial Library in 1988.

I would like to learn, or remember, how to live.

This short sentence is the opening of one of the essay's longer paragraphs, one of the meatier paragraphs. It's one of those sentences that eases the reader into a paragraph, nice and easy to read, short and to the point. Despite it's brevity, it contains multitudes.

The two-word interjection in the sentence -- "or remember" -- brings a dimensionality to the sentence that expands outward along the lines of the entire essay. At its heart, the essay does not deign to instruct us in how to find the thing we want to live for. Instead, it simply instructs us, that once we've found that thing, grab onto it and don't let go, as the weasel grabs onto prey and doesn't let go for anything, even to save its own life.

That interjection suggests the possibility that we all knew how to live like this, at some point in the murky past. Long ago. But we've since forgotten, most of us, and need to be open to being either reminded or learned by the natural world in how we do it.

With this simple declaration, "I would like to...," the author opens herself up to that which the natural world might teach her. It's such a simple and direct line of thought, one we have all the time, yet one that, in most modern environments we find ourselves in, we're discouraged from voicing. In the face of so many screens vying for our attention, it seems almost an act of rebellion to say, "I would like to do this thing," -- a thing which has not been recommended by the algorithm, an activity which does not produce data for harvesting, perhaps even something altogether unproductive. A simple but profound expression of want, desire, need, that, should we clamp down on it with the abandon of a hungry weasel, can carry us into territory all our own.

Dillard suggests that we look to nature, and instinctual living guided by necessity, for a way to live. She keeps her focus narrow in this short essay, and does not suggest how to find your calling in life. But she does suggest a clue as to how to live once you've found it: clamped onto the soft spot, like the weasel's jaws around the neck, unyielding and allowing it to carry it where it would.

DEI & Outdoor Recreation

One of the qualities of literature most dear to me is its ability to exercise the muscles we use to empathize. It’s a way for the reader to imagine themselves in someone else’s shoes. “The Lady and the Crux” was a way for me to put myself in the shoes of a climber who’s black. I had to do some research to find out what it was like, and hopefully my research made for a story that allows you to imagine what it’s like.

In lieu of a book review this month, I’m sharing some of the resources that helped me learn more about the challenges people of color face in outdoor recreation. It’s a space that’s dominated by white faces, and it’s—everyone who enjoys getting into the outdoors for a little fun, from climbing to hiking to camping and everything in between—to do the work to make sure it’s an inclusive and equal space that cultivates diversity rather than discourages it.

Melanin Base Camp

Melanin Base Camp’s mission is to increase the visibility of black, indigenous, and people of color in the outdoors. You can follow the conversation with their hashtag #diversifyoutdoors or check out their Guide to Outdoor Allyship as a good introduction to how to be an ally.

Kai Lightner: Open Your Eyes to the Reality of Black Lives

Kai Lightner is an accomplished competition and outdoor climber who’s been at it since he was six years old. In this essay in Rock and Ice he discusses the daily challenges he faces as a Black man. He starts with a powerful list of things Black people have to think about on a daily basis. He finishes the list with this:

In light of George Floyd, I now must add:

Inspect the bills in your wallet—in search of counterfeits.

The list of things I need to remember during normal activities each day keeps increasing at a mentally exhausting rate. My mother gave me this list as I grew up, but as an adult I keep adding to it.

He goes on to talk about how these things affect the way he has to carry himself in the world, and some things we as individuals can do to be better in the future.

Within Reach

The women’s climbing organization Flash Foxy produced the documentary Within Reach about some of their work to not only increasing representation of women in climbing, but to increase visibility and fight back against sexism in climbing. I love this quote:

If you’re going to make change, it makes sense to start in the places you know.

I think it’s a great prompt to ask ourselves the real question that we all need to grapple with if we want to see change in the world: “What am I doing to create change in the spaces and places that I know?”

Mood Music

Haruki Murakami has a bit of a mythical origin story: he is a long-time owner of a jazz bar in Japan, and one day when he was at a baseball game the idea simply popped into his head that he could write a novel. Since, he has done so to critical and reader acclaim. After Dark is Haruki Murakami’s eleventh novel, written and published in 2004 in Japan, translated into English by Jay Rubin in 2007. Short, strong, and open-ended, it comes well into his career, at a point where Murakami has perfected his knack for atmospheric scene setting. 

Short, strong, and open-ended, it comes well into his career, at a point where Murakami has perfected his knack for atmospheric scene setting.

The ambience, atmosphere, and imagery of the scenes in After Dark are what struck me most about the book (it even inspired me to write my own short story in the same style). Music and sound, and even sometimes the absence of sound, play a huge part in this. Even in the Denny’s restaurant where the story begins, the music is noted and though it seems preposterous to think of an American Denny’s playing anything akin to Percy Faith and His Orchestra’s “Go Away Little Girl” or indeed anything at all besides low-volume muzak (maybe this is different in Japan.), it doesn’t really matter. We’re in the hours after midnight where the world can take on a different tone, different sights and smells and sounds that make up their own world separate from that of the waking hours. 

They step outside. The street is as busy as ever despite the time. Electronic sounds from teh game center. Shouts of karaoke club barkers. Motorcycle engines roaring. Three young men sit on the pavement outside a shuttered shop doing nothing in particular. When Mari and the woman pass by, the three look up and follow them with their eyes, probably wondering about this odd couple, but saying nothing, just staring. The shutter is covered with spray-painted graffiti. 

What I love about this passage is that the imagery is covered in short, staccato sentences that convey the look and sound of the street that Mari walks down, but also takes a moment to watch the three young men, whose actions impart a certain feel, a dramatic tension, to the scene that brings together and unites the sensory images that are provided. It gives a complete picture of the scene, not just the way it looks and smells and sounds, but also the way it feels, and the way the characters feel in it. 

The way the scene is written gives the reader a complete picture, not just the way it looks and smells and sounds, but also the way it feels, and the way the characters feel in it.

Another passage:

Mari thanks him and from the counter she picks up a book of the bar’s matches, which she stuffs into her jacket pocket. She climbs down from the stool. The sound of the needle tracing the record groove. The languorous, sensual music of Duke Ellington. Music for the middle of the night. 

This puts such a strong image in my mind: Mari standing next to the stool, hand in a pocket fingering the book of matches, the turntable behind the bar, and the quiet, middle-of-the-night feel that the music. Murakami is a master of this, and these little tableaus appear throughout the book to give the reader strong images that are solid reminders of the middle-of-the-night feeling that pervades the characters and their world. 

Lastly: 

Shirakawa’s office. Naked from the waist up, Shirakawa is lying on the floor, doing sit-ups on a yoga mat. His shirt and tie are hung up on the back of his chair, his glasses and watch are lined up on his desk. [...] A scarlatti cantata sung by Brian Asawa flows from the portable CD player on his desk. Its leisurely tempo feels mismatched to the strenuousness of the exercise, but Shirakawa is subtly controlling his movements in time with the music. 

Music is an important part of how Murakami builds his late night world, and he uses it here to differentiate this character from the rest of them: not only in what kind of music Shirakawa listens to (classical versus jazz and rock) but also how he listens (privately in his headphones versus with others in bars and restaurants). It’s a deliberate choice to make music a part of the book, and using it as a tool to not only set scenes and create an atmosphere, Murakami smartly uses it to characterize the people that inhabit the world. Slick.

A story of love’s many forms, beset by the specter of death

Just Above My Head was published in 1979 and written in Baldwin’s later life, after his permanent emigration to the South of France and transition from literary civil rights leader to prominent gay rights voice. The expansive novel spends its time generously on the intimate, casting only sideways glances at the social and political upheaval amidst which the characters grasp at the meaning of family and love—what we do learn of the Korean War, desegregation in the American South, and the dynamics of power, money, and fame, we learn through the way these things make the characters feel, the personal experiences they go through as a result, and how they shape the characters over the course of the novel’s thirty year time span. 

The places where Just Above My Head shines most wholeheartedly are the intensely personal moments.

Hall Montana recounts, as the novel’s narrator, the events of the lives of himself, his brother, and a cast of their friends and family. From the time they are children in Harlem to Hall’s own middle age, the characters are learning what love means to them in the world they find themselves in. The places where the book shines most wholeheartedly are the intensely personal moments, when society falls away and two characters find themselves discovering something about their relationship to each other—most often how the love between them has blossomed, retracted, or transformed. Think hushed tones in a dark Harlem night club, exuberant reunions on New York City streets, whispers of passion between the sheets. 

The story begins in the present, at a family gathering where Hall’s son, in a quiet moment alone with his father, questions him about his uncle. While Hall reveals here and elsewhere that Arthur is dead, his cause of death is withheld, giving Hall’s recounting a target to aim and the story a sense of urgency. The book plods through their lives toward Arthur’s death, the specter of it raised from time to time when Hall reminds us that he’s recounting the story from a place in time where Arthur has already passed. Baldwin moves with an ungraceful pace through the places and people the characters encounter, but the prose meditates in the intimate moments between the friends and family along the way. The writing iis careful and beautiful and compassionate in these intimate passages, which are plentiful, but can be trying and inconsistent in the spaces in between. 

Baldwin labors in these moments, draws out the tension and release of emotionally charged moments with compassion for his characters

In his fiction, Baldwin is at his best in these moments, and he knows it. He labors in them, draws out the tension and release of emotionally charged moments with compassion for his characters. In an early scene in which a friend of Arthur’s, one he’s begun a relationship with, reveals that he’s slept with someone else, Baldwin doesn’t shy away from letting us sit with the emotions of the scene. He brings the tension that’s built up for the reader by their foreknowledge of the events and prescient knowledge of what’s about to happen to bear with spare descriptions of the room, the city outside the window, the blocking of the characters, to make room for the careful attention he pays to the words they say to each other, the way they touch each other, and their own inner thoughts. While the benign passages in between these moments can suffer for it, along with the critical analysis of his work as lacking political and sociological teeth, the special moments between lovers, friends, and family and Baldwin’s masterful grasping of what makes them precious, is what we read Baldwin for. And Just Above My Head doesn’t lack for these moments.

Power and the people that use it in medieval times

Ken Follet’s 1989 epic novel The Pillars of the Earth is set in medieval England and takes place during a time of political upheaval. Over the course of the main characters’ lifetime, the shifting balance of power in the political realm is mirrored in the personal, individual struggles of Prior Philip to reinvigorate a priory, Tom Builder to provide for his family, and William Hamleigh to dominate those less rich than he. 

Every character in the book finds themselves opposite another on the balance of power

Almost every character in the book finds themselves opposite another on the balance of power. Within the church hierarchy, Prior Philip selflessly labors to obtain and retain resources to build a cathedral in Kingsbridge, while Bishop Waleran exercises unsavory cunning to manipulate Philip and others to his own ends. Tom Builder’s son and stepson play out a classic rivalry between brains and brawn that grows, along with the two boys, in complexity and cruelty. Aliena dedicates her life to thwarting William Hamleigh, usurper to her father’s earldom, with hard work and compassion and drive, hoping against hope that her righteous mission will triumph over William’s brutal efforts to shore up his tenuous grasp on the earldom inherited from his father. These power dynamics that range from childhood rivalries to gambits for the royal throne ebb and flow throughout the book, and thanks to the careful development of the characters and generous access to their inner thoughts, the reader feels deeply both the highs and lows that the characters experience. 

These power dynamics that range from childhood rivalries to gambits for the royal throne ebb and flow throughout the book

The world that Follett builds in the book matches the depth and breadth of the characters he places in it. The characters visit a wide variety of towns, cities, villages, and wildernesses across a wide swath of Europe, meeting people of many persuasions and vocations. The reader sees how conditions and tastes and attitudes differ by class and culture. The expansive and detailed world makes the perfect setting for the ambitious narrative, filled with ambitious characters, to make its way to the satisfying conclusion that awaits the reader at the end.