The
invitation appeared in my inbox some weeks ago. The very week, in fact, that I
had been grappling with questions about how to represent the land-as-character
in my fiction, how to give it a voice that was pre-historic, pre-linguistic,
while still using words (and not, as a friend put it, sound like a yoghurt
weaving vegan fundamentalist). The email offered a conference on the ‘new
nature writing’ hosted by Bath Spa University and the opportunity for me to explore this unfamiliar new frontier. It
was a classic case of synchronicity – serendipity indeed.
The conference didn’t disappoint. It was a fascinating (exciting even) day of discussion amongst a small group of thirty-odd writers, activists, artists, journalists and poets concerned with how to leverage their combined and considerable talent and their obsession(s) with nature to tackle the urgent issues of climate change and environmental degradation.
As I drove through the summer lanes on my journey there, it hadn’t occurred to me that I might actually be drawn in to a community of writers, inspired by their integrity.
We had Richard Kerridge’s brilliant introduction to the new nature writing’s scuffles with the Romantic sublime, localism and scientific discourse. Brett Westwood of the BBC Natural History unit urged us to eschew jargon and embrace complexity with new languages designed to engage and ‘reach out to the heart’ of audiences. John Vidal spoke to the importance of the new nature writer’s position ‘outside looking outside,’ beyond the industrial and commercial interests that have and continue to ‘corrupt' nature, as well as the mega-NGOs that are supposed to serve it. A seriously smart operator, it would be easy to dismiss Vidal on first meeting as a buffoon, an entertaining relic from the school of ‘60s journalism, but that would be a big mistake. He knows what he's talking about. Melanie Challenger was, I thought, unduly hard on herself and her achievements as she talked of the difficulties and pitfalls of ‘making a difference’ while Paul Evans silenced the room and gladdened our hearts with a moving and lyrical meditation on an ancient, local yew tree. He deserves his reputation as one of the most enthralling writers of our times.
The conference didn’t disappoint. It was a fascinating (exciting even) day of discussion amongst a small group of thirty-odd writers, activists, artists, journalists and poets concerned with how to leverage their combined and considerable talent and their obsession(s) with nature to tackle the urgent issues of climate change and environmental degradation.
As I drove through the summer lanes on my journey there, it hadn’t occurred to me that I might actually be drawn in to a community of writers, inspired by their integrity.
We had Richard Kerridge’s brilliant introduction to the new nature writing’s scuffles with the Romantic sublime, localism and scientific discourse. Brett Westwood of the BBC Natural History unit urged us to eschew jargon and embrace complexity with new languages designed to engage and ‘reach out to the heart’ of audiences. John Vidal spoke to the importance of the new nature writer’s position ‘outside looking outside,’ beyond the industrial and commercial interests that have and continue to ‘corrupt' nature, as well as the mega-NGOs that are supposed to serve it. A seriously smart operator, it would be easy to dismiss Vidal on first meeting as a buffoon, an entertaining relic from the school of ‘60s journalism, but that would be a big mistake. He knows what he's talking about. Melanie Challenger was, I thought, unduly hard on herself and her achievements as she talked of the difficulties and pitfalls of ‘making a difference’ while Paul Evans silenced the room and gladdened our hearts with a moving and lyrical meditation on an ancient, local yew tree. He deserves his reputation as one of the most enthralling writers of our times.
The question of language was central to all of our
discussions – how to name things, how to use that naming to enchant and reach
out and advocate for the environment. What is critical here – and evidenced so
wonderfully by Paul Evans’ reading – is the importance of communicating the
particularity of one’s experience, of speaking with a unique voice, inhabiting authenticity.
But what was also critical was this question of how writers can ‘make a difference.’ Coming at this as a complete novice, it seemed to me that the new nature writers, like so many people with very specific expertise, were so involved in tying themselves up in philosophical and idealist knots that they fail to see the ‘difference’ that they can make as staged, specific, small and of necessity short term. It seemed to me it was about expectations and I wanted to cry out to them and say, that the idea of ‘making a difference’ was way too big an idea. Speak to any successful campaigner or advocate and they will tell you that their targets are very particular, often small-scale, approached with the recognition that achieving those targets will enable them to step up and move on to bigger and bigger things over time. Unsatisfactory and frustrating as this can be, particularly to the idealist, it can offer a genuinely radical and achievable change agenda that is sustainable in the long term.
But what was also critical was this question of how writers can ‘make a difference.’ Coming at this as a complete novice, it seemed to me that the new nature writers, like so many people with very specific expertise, were so involved in tying themselves up in philosophical and idealist knots that they fail to see the ‘difference’ that they can make as staged, specific, small and of necessity short term. It seemed to me it was about expectations and I wanted to cry out to them and say, that the idea of ‘making a difference’ was way too big an idea. Speak to any successful campaigner or advocate and they will tell you that their targets are very particular, often small-scale, approached with the recognition that achieving those targets will enable them to step up and move on to bigger and bigger things over time. Unsatisfactory and frustrating as this can be, particularly to the idealist, it can offer a genuinely radical and achievable change agenda that is sustainable in the long term.
I was left with so much to think about, from the nature of personal
responsibility in an age of environmental emergency, to the idea that the
practice of being a ‘new nature writer’ must just be a complete and utter bloody
blast – all that tramping about in ancient woodlands, slapping around on wet
sand at low tide, lying prone in long summer grass hoping for a sighting of the Lesser Speckled Tit Warbler.
My encounter with the new nature writers left me enriched and with my eyes wide open to the nature we have now, as well as the nature that’s to come. I went on my way as a member of a new network to which I hope I can find something worth contributing. I also left feeling relief, that here was a group of genuinely decent, grounded individuals with a passion for the world around them and an extraordinary gift to convey that in some of the most brilliant prose I have heard for some time. For once, here was a series of readings that had me actively listening from beginning to end. And not a yoghurt weaving vegan fundamentalist in sight.
My encounter with the new nature writers left me enriched and with my eyes wide open to the nature we have now, as well as the nature that’s to come. I went on my way as a member of a new network to which I hope I can find something worth contributing. I also left feeling relief, that here was a group of genuinely decent, grounded individuals with a passion for the world around them and an extraordinary gift to convey that in some of the most brilliant prose I have heard for some time. For once, here was a series of readings that had me actively listening from beginning to end. And not a yoghurt weaving vegan fundamentalist in sight.
