Going rogue with Robert Macfarlane

It's usually around March or April every year that I start craving for green. This is when I start planning mini-getaways: as far from the city as possible, usually to remote UK villages with only one pub and, if I'm lucky, a shop. It's normally a really strong feeling as is, but after reading The Wild Places by Robert Macfarlane, the feeling has tripled to never-before-seen heights, to the point were I almost feel desperation.

And I guess that's exactly what you'd expect from one of the most well-known and established nature writers. Robert has written several books on travel, adventure and landscape - this was the first book of his that I picked up. He also collaborated on two films and one of his books is currently being turned into songs. He is often mentioned alongside Barry Lopez, the author of Arctic Dreams (my next read), a book for which he won the National Book Award.

The Wild Places describes Robert's search for the remaining wild, hidden gems in the UK. But the most fascinating aspect of the book is how his definition of 'wild' shifts throughout the narrative. He starts out describing it as we would do so too, presumably: a place where no cars are to be seen, no roads to be crossed, where humans haven't built houses or erected lamp posts or opened a Londis corner shop. And he does, in the first third of the book, travel to these places: on Ynys Ennli (The Island in the Currents in Welsh), he sleeps under the stars imagining the monks who braved the currents to travel to this faraway point, between around AD 500 and 1000. In the valley of Coruisk on the Isle of Skye, he bathes in the untouched loch and gazes up at the sky as it merges with land.

But as he travels more and writes down his thoughts, he comes to appreciate the wild at its smallest - from grand-scale, hidden corners of the world he comes to appreciate his own backyard as a place that is somehow also wild. This journey from grandiose to minuscule is what really hooked me, because he makes the inaccessible - the places I can only dream of - accessible.

The book is broken down into sections about individual travels, and no two are the same: from Island to Moor, to Storm Beach to Saltmarsh. All natural wonders in their own rights, and as he travels alone or with friends, he writes about their geography, flora and fauna so vividly we can almost smell the sea air or shiver with the cold that chills him to the bone at night.

Robert's writing is subtle, beautiful and insightful. He translates natural imagery and relates it to everyday concerns; he shows the bad and the good of human efforts, mourns the losses of the truly wild but points out what we still have. And although we're clearly doing more bad for the planet than good, there is still so much for us to grasp - and that's the positive message of The Wild Places.

It breaks my heart that I am tied to the rail network in terms of what areas I can reach. The UK has so many fantastically beautiful national parks, moors, valleys and peaks to explore, but as I haven't been practicing my driving, I can't get further than my millennial rail card can reach. Thanks to Robert, I know how to appreciate even the little wildness I'm allowed within the limits of London, too - but I have to admit I would give my left arm sometimes to be able to leave the city behind for good.

I'm really glad I discovered Robert's book, and with him a whole network of nature writers whose work he mentions and that I will be reading through. Back when I read Kings of the Yukon by Adam Weymouth I knew I wanted more of that. Now, here it is.

9/10

A toast to Maurice Hannigan

I feel so strongly about this wonderful debut by Anne Griffin that I am struggling not to simply jump to the 'Overall...' section and send you on your way to read it.

I am mad though. Mad that in When All is Said, Anne has written exactly the kind of book that I hope to write some day. Quiet. Reserved. Uniquely, simply structured, yet powerful enough to make your eyes wet several times throughout.

84-year-old Maurice Hannigan is sitting in a bar. Over the course of one short evening, he will raise five toasts - stout, whisky, stout, whisky, whisky - for the five people who have shaped his life most powerfully. Five people, five internal monologues, connected in telling his own story as well as those around him. And all linked by a single, rather valuable gold coin.

What did I like about it?

This simple set-up leads to liberated, free storytelling, the kind that reads like an adventure story - even though it is simply the life of an Irish farmer from a poor family, rising through the ranks, getting married, fathering a child and experiencing all the complications of life that come with it. This is where the book's power lies: making the simple into something beautiful. The returning motif of the gold coin, from the way he obtained it in the first place to what happens to it in the end, adds to this adventure-like feeling though, touching on the inexplicable and repetitive patterns of life and satisfyingly showing us that what goes around does often come around.

Maurice's voice is clear, consistent and free of melancholy or sentimentality. He recounts his life as his own worst judge, pointing out the times he wishes he'd done something differently or now recognizes that he had done wrong. Above everything else, he's great at pointing out small struggles that only an observant eye could spot, but things we all encounter from time to time: "Each time, I swear to myself that this time will be different, that I'll make the effort. That I'll ask about your job and what you're working on. And I promise myself I'll listen to you with my whole body and every ounce of concentration in me ... But as soon as you walk in the door sure it's like a bolt closes over my mouth."

Every character he paints a picture of - all those subject to a toast - comes across strong and interesting, and despite the short chapters, their relationship with Maurice and relevance to the story are crystal clear by the end of each section.

What was I not massively fond of?

Of course, there is always the risk of making a slightly mysterious sister in an asylum into a cliché. Anne doesn't let it slip for the most part. Maybe her 'sparkle, sparkle' "catchphrase" (with many quotation marks) has been done before, which could have been left off, but that might be personal preference.

Perhaps the only section I would have done differently is that of when the five toasts are finished. Maurice is staying at the hotel - at the honeymoon suite, no less - but before he heads up to the room, he takes a slightly wobbly dance outside, in the rain, which felt a little forced, perhaps. I'm not sure he strikes me as the type of person who dances.

Perhaps I would have cut it short, even - after all, the ending is implied throughout. I have a feeling you've guessed it even by reading this review. Perhaps I would have left him at the bar, leaving him to enjoy the final moments of his story alone, undisturbed.

Overall...

Some reviews, even the blurb, make Maurice seem almost mean. I don't see meanness though. I see a man looking back on his life, nursing regrets but also taking note of the beautiful things; a man who has struggled to express his emotions, but who was understood by those around him.

At only 264 pages, this book is short - which only adds to its value. It is carefully crafted, well-written, never over the top, never pouting or bragging. It's a quiet, beautiful experience that will lift you up (and as previously stated, might make you weep in public places).

When All is Said is a true gem.

9/10