The author, most recently, of “The Overstory” was from an early age a “fan of awe”: “I liked reading about diatoms and stars, things from four hundred million years ago or a hundred thousand years from now.”
What’s the last great book you read?
Robert Macfarlane’s “Underland: A Deep Time Journey.” Macfarlane has been on a decade-and-a-half-long journey to restore us to presence and mindfulness of place. This latest volume, extending his peerless, lyrical attention to the subterranean, is profound in every sense of the word. It changed the way that I think about the deep, hidden roots of our life on this planet.
Is there a classic book you never got around to reading until recently?
Donald Culross Peattie’s “A Natural History of North American Trees.” It is composed of two volumes that used to be classics and are now almost entirely forgotten. I had never even heard about it until I was deep into research for my novel about trees. His intense and lyrical way of writing about living things, now frowned upon, could very happily be revived. “Where the deer bound, where the trout rise, where your horse stops to slather a drink from icy water while the sun is warm on the back of your neck, where every breath you draw is exhilaration — that is where the aspens grow.”
What do you read when you’re working on a book? And what kind of reading do you avoid while writing?
Research for any given novel is bottomless, and it invariably creates a pleasure that feeds on itself. For “The Overstory,” I read over 120 books on trees — cultural, aesthetic, botanical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical, etc. I had to take breaks and force myself back to contemporary fiction now and then, which I needed to do simply so that I didn’t drift too far from what novels were doing and what readers expect from fiction these days.
What’s the most interesting thing you learned from a book recently?
I give daily thanks for Robin Wall Kimmerer for being a font of endless knowledge, both mental and spiritual. From her book “Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses,” I learned that mosses range in height in a ratio comparable to that between a blueberry bush and a redwood. They can be 98 percent desiccated for more than 40 years and still come back to life. A single rock might be covered in dozens of species, where the casual eye sees only one. How many invisible miracles do we breeze right past? I think of her every time I go out into the world for a walk.
What’s your favorite book no one else has heard of?
At the moment, “Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss,” by Margaret Renkl. It’s a compact glory, crosscutting between consummate family memoir and keenly observed backyard natural history. Renkl’s deft juxtapositions close up the gap between humans and nonhumans and revive our lost kinship with other living things. I hope lots of people will discover it when it’s published this summer.
What moves you most in a work of literature?
The bending of certainty, the surrender of ironclad temperament and the surprise capacity of otherwise completely predictable human beings to forgive each other and counter the unforgiving world with a “Nevertheless.”
Which genres do you especially enjoy reading?
I love novels that are obsessed with the “erotics of knowledge,” books that understand how ideas are not the opposite of feelings but rather their intense distillation. A. S. Byatt’s “Possession,” Ann Patchett’s “State of Wonder,” Barbara Kingsolver’s recent “Unsheltered,” and Nell Freudenberger’s forthcoming “Lost and Wanted” all are marvelous depictions of the direct link between the body’s cravings and the passions of the mind.
How do you like to read? Paper or electronic? One book at a time or simultaneously? Morning or night?
I like to keep one work of fiction and one of nonfiction going at once, and I’ll use them to triangulate against each other to conjure up some third space. Paper, electronic and audio each have their affordances, and all have their time and season. I read all day long, in every posture and room of the house, and I even take books outside with me in order to sit with them at special spots along the trails and rivers near home.
How do you organize your books?
In my house, I have one large bookshelf devoted to trees and their allies. Another smaller case is filled with books about the Smokies, where I live. A bookshelf by my bed holds all the books that I hope will help me with my current novel in progress. All the other overflowing shelves in this place have no discernible ordering system. Somehow, I can still barely manage to find what I need.
What book might people be surprised to find on your shelves?
A fair amount of my library would take some explaining. I just did a cursory search and found, very close to each other, Thomas Moore’s “Soul Mates,” Alexander and Ann Shulgin’s “PiHKAL: A Chemical Love Story,” and a boxed edition of the complete “The Adventures of Tintin,” in Dutch. I swear there’s a reason for everything.
What’s the best book you’ve ever received as a gift?
“Magnificent Trees of the New York Botanical Garden,” given to me by a most generous reader after one of my public readings. But at five pounds and over a foot high, it was tough to squeeze it into my carry-on.
What kind of reader were you as a child? Which childhood books and authors stick with you most?
From a very early age, I was a fan of awe. I liked reading about diatoms and stars, things from four hundred million years ago or a hundred thousand years from now, life in sand dunes or tidal pools, under the ice or on the tops of mountains. I liked stories about places that only the stubborn or ingenious searcher could find, or stories about imaginary things that became real when you drew them well or said the forgotten phrase or squinted the right way.
If you could require the president to read one book, what would it be?
I understand that the president does not care much for books. But for those in the administration or Congress who have any true desire to do well by this country and this planet in this most crucial moment, please try Bill McKibben’s forthcoming book, “Falter: Has the Human Game Begun to Play Itself Out?”
You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?
Rabindranath Tagore, John Muir and Rachel Carson. I would sit back and listen while the three of them filled the room with astonishment, alarm and life.
What do you plan to read next?
Diana Beresford-Kroeger’s brand-new book, “To Speak for the Trees: My Life’s Journey From Ancient Celtic Wisdom to a Healing Vision of the Forest,” to be published this fall. To read her is to be revived by the best kind of animism.
Whom would you want to write your life story?
Marilynne Robinson is one of the most expansive and generous writers who ever lived. She is capable of forgiving everyone and seeing something compelling, even numinous, in things that the rest of the world might otherwise pass over as banal. In her hands, even my life might come across as momentous and worth pardoning.B:
六合财经彩图奇人偷码【张】【胜】【兴】【奋】【的】【看】【着】，【眼】【前】【说】【话】【的】【人】。 【他】【还】【以】【为】【今】【天】，【他】【第】【一】【趟】【出】【车】【我】【会】【没】【有】【人】【坐】【呢】。 【没】【有】【想】【到】【居】【然】【还】【有】【胆】【大】【的】【人】，【他】【兴】【奋】【得】【连】【忙】【道】：“【我】【要】【上】【车】【不】【论】【到】【达】【牌】【子】【上】【写】【的】【哪】【个】【地】【方】，【都】【是】【两】【枚】【铜】【币】！” “【哦】，【两】【枚】【铜】【币】，【这】【么】【便】【宜】？”【众】【人】【听】【见】【两】【人】【谈】【话】【立】【即】【凑】【上】【前】【来】。 【在】【风】【灵】【城】，【马】【车】【起】【步】【价】【都】【得】【十】【铜】【币】。
【第】【四】【百】【章】、【小】【故】【事】（【三】【百】【零】【三】【十】【五】） 【说】【到】【最】【后】，【林】【西】【的】【声】【音】【不】【知】【不】【觉】【地】【低】【了】【下】【去】，【露】【出】【了】【一】【副】【小】【孩】【子】【看】【到】【别】【的】【小】【朋】【友】【拥】【有】【了】【自】【己】【所】【没】【有】【的】【东】【西】【的】【失】【落】。 【郑】【玫】【淑】【的】【声】【音】【从】【身】【后】【传】【来】，【毫】【无】【意】【外】【地】【钻】【进】【了】【林】【西】【的】【耳】【朵】【里】。 “【你】，【你】【说】【下】【面】【站】【着】【的】【那】【个】【人】【是】【谁】？” 【林】【西】【的】【语】【气】【里】【带】【着】【无】【法】【掩】【饰】【的】【颤】【抖】。 【外】
“【让】【我】【怎】【么】【帮】【你】？”【不】【管】【玄】【清】【子】【说】【的】【是】【真】【是】【假】，【这】【个】【忙】，【我】【是】【都】【要】【帮】【的】！ “【我】【知】【道】【后】【卿】【被】【封】【印】【在】【哪】【里】，【你】【现】【在】【就】【去】【那】【里】，【帮】【我】【做】【一】【些】【事】【儿】！” 【话】【毕】，【玄】【清】【子】【前】【头】【带】【路】。 【没】【多】【久】，【我】【们】【来】【到】【了】【一】【个】【隐】【蔽】【的】【山】【洞】【口】。【值】【得】【说】【明】【的】【是】，【这】【个】【山】【洞】【口】【有】【一】【扇】【铁】【门】，【铁】【门】【关】【上】【的】，【上】【面】【还】【别】【贴】【着】【黄】【色】【的】【封】【条】，【封】【条】【上】【写】
【豪】【登】【城】【各】【城】【区】【的】【塔】【楼】【式】【建】【筑】，【是】【除】【城】【墙】【望】【楼】【外】，【城】【内】【最】【高】【的】【建】【筑】。【其】【视】【野】【之】【广】，【不】【仅】【能】【将】【自】【己】【所】【在】【的】【城】【区】【囊】【括】，【还】【能】【辐】【射】【到】【相】【邻】【城】【区】【的】【一】【小】【半】【区】【域】。【而】【这】【样】【的】【塔】【楼】【无】【一】【例】【外】【的】【掌】【空】【在】【豪】【登】【城】【驻】【军】【的】【手】【中】。 【城】【南】【一】【共】【有】5【座】【这】【样】【的】【塔】【楼】。【从】【地】【图】【上】【看】，【城】【卫】【营】【的】【那】【一】【座】【塔】【楼】【恰】【好】【位】【于】【整】【座】【城】【的】【南】【北】【中】【轴】【线】【上】，【与】【城】【北】【城】六合财经彩图奇人偷码【夜】【色】【冰】【凉】【如】【水】，【前】【方】【一】【白】【色】【身】【影】【掠】【过】【树】【冠】【已】【不】【见】【踪】【影】，【黑】【衣】【蒙】【面】【人】【紧】【跟】【其】【后】【隐】【入】【树】【冠】【中】，【月】【亮】【跳】【出】【云】【层】【照】【亮】【四】【周】，【这】【里】【正】【是】【西】【城】【郊】【外】，【林】【林】【总】【总】【分】【布】【着】【数】【家】【庄】【园】。 【刚】【才】【的】【白】【色】【身】【影】【就】【消】【失】【在】【眼】【前】【的】【高】【墙】【大】【院】【内】。 【黑】【衣】【蒙】【面】【人】【身】【材】【瘦】【弱】，【武】【功】【不】【弱】【转】【眼】【已】【飞】【身】【跳】【入】【院】【内】，【前】【面】【几】【间】【房】【屋】【黑】【灯】【瞎】【火】【不】【像】【有】【人】，【黑】【色】【身】
【黑】【暗】【神】【从】【深】【渊】【之】【下】【爬】【了】【上】【来】，【他】【的】【身】【体】【填】【满】【了】【天】【地】【之】【间】，【吴】【昊】【的】【头】【仰】【起】，【冷】【冷】【地】【看】【着】【凶】【恶】【的】【神】【明】，【他】【何】【尝】【不】【想】【将】【对】【方】【千】【刀】【万】【剐】【呢】？ 【方】【子】【萱】【遭】【遇】【的】【一】【切】，【都】【是】【这】【家】【伙】【造】【成】【的】【啊】。 【五】【彩】【的】【光】【芒】【在】【吴】【昊】【身】【体】【中】【愈】【发】【明】【亮】，【像】【是】【一】【颗】【小】【型】【太】【阳】，【竟】【然】【隐】【隐】【驱】【散】【着】【四】【周】【的】【黑】【暗】，【很】【快】【他】【身】【体】【的】【每】【一】【个】【部】【位】【都】【变】【成】【了】【五】【彩】【色】，
【王】【家】【大】【院】 【这】【一】【夜】【她】【又】【惊】【又】【惧】，【疲】【累】【非】【凡】。 【他】【一】【动】【不】【动】【地】【坐】【着】，【低】【眼】【注】【视】【着】【她】【状】【似】【恬】【静】【的】【脸】【庞】。 【一】【看】【见】【那】【触】【目】【的】【撞】【伤】，【他】【心】【头】【的】【火】【苗】【就】【隐】【隐】【在】【跳】。 【带】【回】【的】【地】【衣】【物】【泥】【血】【混】【合】，【他】【几】【乎】【可】【以】【想】【象】【得】【出】【她】【之】【前】【是】【怎】【样】【艰】【险】。 【撑】【在】【床】【边】【的】【手】【不】【由】【自】【主】【地】【攥】【了】【攥】。 【还】【好】，【她】【没】【大】【碍】。 【否】【则】…… 【她】【仿】
【如】【果】【不】【是】【云】【初】【和】【万】【凌】【这】【两】【个】【意】【外】，【破】【坏】【了】【原】【本】【该】【走】【的】【剧】【情】，【恐】【怕】【他】【们】【会】【一】【辈】【子】【陷】【在】【那】【个】【幻】【境】【中】…… 【到】【最】【后】‘【公】【主】’‘【将】【军】’【身】【死】，【就】【算】【是】【两】【人】【还】【能】【回】【来】，【恐】【怕】【也】【早】【已】【被】【影】【响】【了】【心】【智】，【再】【也】【不】【能】【恢】【复】【正】【常】。 【毕】【竟】…… 【幻】【境】【中】【的】【身】【份】【人】【物】，【一】【切】【的】【一】【切】【都】【是】【这】【么】【真】【实】，【怎】【么】【可】【能】【会】【把】【两】【人】【从】【小】【青】【梅】【竹】【马】，【情】【意】【结】