Thoughts from wild places

DAVID QUAMMEN dwells a little, in his introduction to The Boilerplate Rhino (Touchstone), on the nature of the editors at Outside magazine for whom he wrote a column for 15 years. Here is what he has to say: During that period, the saintly editors of Outside allowed me unimaginable freedom to explore a wide range of peculiar theories, remote places, bizzare facts, and unpopular opinions, and to depart distantly from conventional nature writing, of which I have never much cared to be either a reader or an author. The editors, for their part, did not want conventional nature writing either - no sensitive descriptions of wildflowers or babbling brooks, no sylvan dithyrambs, no hushed piety in the presence of Mr. Woodchuck and Mrs Deer. They let me monger scandal about the secret life of spoon worms. They let me say tasteless things about bedbugs. They let me digress into history and culture. They let me discuss the latest scientific thinking on monogamy, earthquake prediction, and (these were three separate topics, by the way, not a logical triad) penises. They let me dabble in literary criticism, deliver eulogies when I felt moved to, rant about the end of life as we know it. They let me be silly one month and Jeremiah the next. The only stipulated requirements (well, implicitly stipulated) were that each essay, no matter how aberrant, should contain at least a passing mention of an animal, a scientist, or a tree ; and that I meet each monthly deadline with something.

The editors at The Hindu are as forbearing as Quammen's editors as anyone who has written a column for this paper will bear witness. There may be those who disagree with this sort of policy, but as one who has benefited from it, I can think of no better way to produce a weekly piece than to be given free rein to say whatever one is moved to say without let or hindrance. There have been weeks when books have only been dealt with glancingly as I have rambled or ranted on about some pet peeve or obsession.

No matter, the patient editors at The Hindu have put up with every excess and I can only hope the end result has been worth it.

But this is not a column about columnists, rather it is about one of our greatest writers on nature, so I will cut to the chase. Quammen has featured here before, so he needs no introduction beyond the fact that The Boilerplate Rhino only serves to extend and enhance a reputation first established through books like Wild Thoughts from Wild Places, The Song of the Dodo, the Flight of the Iguana and Natural Acts. All these collections of essays on natural history were first rate and in this, his latest effort, his genius at making the natural world compelling shows no signs of flagging.

We have a lovely essay on rattlesnakes, and other poisonous snakes the author was partial to (but naturally!) although I was pleased to note he is not so comfortable with spiders which I do not mind. Other pieces deal with nutmegs and the enchanting island on which they originated, a passion for trilobites, some thoughts on durians, the fruit that tastes like onion ice-cream (rather predictably I hated it, the only time I have tasted it), a mesmerising meditation on the various diseases that can attack you in the tropics (the author endeared himself to me by advocating that the best way to travel in our parts is to forget the warnings of doomsayers) and around 20 other pieces that show his range of interests.

There is not a single dud piece in the collection, and that is a small miracle given that the output of even the best columnists is bound to be uneven.

The introduction gives us the reason why all the pieces are so good - they were reworked specifically for this volume. It is a tip many publishers would do well to remember - instant books made up of the output of celebrity columnists are usually tired and dated because they have not been revised for book publication.

My favourite pieces in this volume were somewhat literary in nature (pun wholly unintended). The reason they feature is because the author writes novels as well (four at last count, although I have not read any of them, so

I cannot tell you how good they are). What I can vouch for is the excellence of his literary essays. The best among them is the one entitled "Half Blinded Poets and Birds" which reviews the connection between nature and the work of writers and poets like Jim Harrison and Robert Penn Warren.

The latter was something of a guru to young Quammen, and he pays fulsome tribute to the master in the piece. He also quotes a poem by him "Grackle, Goodbye" of which he says this - "If I were allowed just a single sheet of paper to take with me into some desolate exile, 'Grackles, Goodbye' would be printed on it".

It is, as you would imagine, a masterpiece, and the best way I can think to close this week's piece:

Black of grackles glints purple as, 
wheeling in sun-glare
The flock splays away to pepper the 
blueness of distance 
Soon they are lost in the trackless- 
ness of air
I watch them go. I stand in my 
trance.
Another year gone
Grackles, goodbye! The sky will be 
vacant and lonely 

Till again I hear your horde's rusty 
creak high above
Confirming the year's turn and the 
fact that only, only
In the name of Death do we learn the true name of Love. 

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