On Animals by Susan Orlean: A review

The essays that comprise Susan Orlean's latest book were written over a period of more than twenty-five years. They all appeared first in The New Yorker and those who have been readers of that magazine over that time may recognize some of them. My memory in its present state is such that even if I had read them before, I likely would not have recognized them. And some of them are pretty memorable.

For example, there is the one about Keiko, the captive killer whale who starred in the movie "Free Willy." The essay is about efforts to free Keiko and it begins like this: "It was a hell of a time to be in Iceland, where the wind never huffs or puffs but simply blows your house down." How can you not be captivated by such a beginning?

This book isn't only about big and famous animals, however. There are chickens here, and rabbits, pigeons, pandas, tigers, lions, donkeys, mules, and oxen. And that's probably not a complete list.

One of my personal favorites was the essay about keeping backyard chickens. I was especially delighted to learn that this famous writer for an urban publication did this for I am not unfamiliar with the pleasure of having chickens around. Those who think of them as stupid, ditzy creatures have never spent much time with them. They each have their own unique personalities and they arrange themselves in definitive social structures. The chicken yard is not all that dissimilar to human society.

Another of the essays deals with a backyard in New Jersey where a woman kept twenty-three - twenty-three! - pet tigers. The remarkable thing (in addition to all those tigers) is that her neighbors had no idea they were there until one of them escaped.

There is not a dull essay in this collection. I read straight through rather than skipping around because the clever arrangement of the pieces helped to lead the reader from each essay into the next one.

Orlean has a knack for pulling the reader in with her first sentence. It's a knack honed over all those years of writing for The New Yorker. She also has a gift for exploring the human connection to all of the animals about which she writes. She makes clear that it is false to think of these as human-animal relationships; in fact, we are all animals and we are all in this together. One planet for all of us and what we do to that planet affects all.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

Search This Blog