I thought for sure that I'd absolutely love this one given its accolades and my fondness for Meadowland: The Private Life of an English Field.

However, to my disappointment, I found it to be rather meandering. The narrative seemed to lack a clear direction, and I struggled to stay engaged.

Despite my initial expectations, I just couldn't connect with this book on a deeper level. It failed to capture my imagination and hold my attention.

Perhaps it was the writing style or the subject matter that didn't resonate with me. Whatever the reason, it was a letdown considering the high praise it had received.

I'm still glad I gave it a try, but unfortunately, it wasn't the book for me.

Still thinking about this one...

It's more like 4.5 stars. I'm truly amazed at how she can write so eloquently on all things, whether they are big or small. She delves into the profound topics of life and death, and yet also manages to bring to light the tiniest of details like microbes and grasshoppers. Her words have a magical quality that makes me stop and take notice of the nature that surrounds me every day. I find myself looking at the world with new eyes, seeing the beauty and complexity that I may have previously overlooked. This book has not only entertained me but also made me more aware of the wonders of the natural world. I highly recommend it to anyone who has an interest in nature or simply enjoys a well-written book.

What I strive to achieve is not merely to learn the names of the fragments of creation that thrive in this valley. Instead, it is to remain receptive to their meanings, which means attempting to impress upon myself, at all times, the most powerful force of their very existence. I desire to have as many things as possible, presented and visible in my mind, in a complex and intricate manner.

Then, perhaps I could sit on the hill by the burnt books, where the starlings soar overhead, and see not only the starlings, the grassy field, the quarried rock, the vine-covered woods, Hollins Pond, and the distant mountains. But also, simultaneously, the barbs of feathers, the springtails in the soil, the crystals in the rock, the streaming chloroplasts, the pulsing rotifers, and the shape of the air within the pines.

Moreover, if I attempt to focus my attention on quantum physics, if I endeavor to keep pace with astronomy and cosmology, and truly believe in all of it, I might ultimately be able to envision the landscape of the universe. Why not?

This is my favorite type of nonfiction book, acutely observant of nature and reflective regarding its significance. I read portions aloud from "Seeing" to my husband, and he was astonished by the facility of expression as well. I myself am not a "via negativa" thinker, but I relished her perspective. It made me long to go exploring. I read "An American Childhood" prior to this one, and I can perceive how her reading interests at that time served her well in this work.

9/9/2023 UPDATE: I made up my mind to take my time and push through this book. Even though her writing and philosophical jargon are still extremely difficult to understand, I have actually developed a newfound respect for her as an individual, and I have a certain liking for the subject matter. I increased the star rating to 1-1/2 stars, which rounds up to 2. Nevertheless, it's still a bit too philosophical for my taste.

Annie Dillard is truly very intelligent when it comes to all aspects related to nature and literature. I really love her method of "researching" in the field: sitting motionless, calmly and quietly, for hours on end, just hoping to chance upon something unusual happening in nature... and she usually does. That's essentially what this book is all about, as she spends time at Tinker Creek.

Then, her mind wanders to more peculiar things. For example, when the beetle bug is sucking out the brains of a frog, does the frog start to feel a tug before its brain is completely drained? When the tide changes, if you sit still enough, is it possible that you could actually feel the slight pull in your lungs? She definitely has a unique perspective on the world around her.

She did mention a book that sounded quite interesting, "The Strange Lives of Familiar Insects" by Edwin Way Teale (1962). On page 168, Annie claimed that she couldn't live without this book. I'm glad to say that I bought a copy and look forward to reading it next year.

END OF UPDATE

2023 - ‘70’s Immersion Reading Challenge

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard (1974 1st ed.) 271 pages.

SETTING: Tinker Creek, Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia

This so-called "memoir" is partly a reflection of the author's memories of the passing seasons while living on Tinker Creek, but it's mostly her philosophical musings on various things related to nature as she witnessed it. This book is listed as a must-read in the 1000 Books To Read Before You Die by James Mustich (2018). Really?

By page 9, I was left wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into.

"After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagances, flinging intricacies and colossi down eons of emptiness, heaping profusions on profligacies with ever-fresh vigor."

What does that even mean?

She seemed to have an obsession with strange and odd facts and the deaths of insects. The praying mantis that chews off the male's head while remaining sexually intertwined for hours, even without its head. Or the giant water bug that sucks the life out of frogs. The cicadas that live for 13 years underground, sucking on roots before finally emerging into the light of day.

Now, all of that is very interesting, but it was such a tiny part of her writing. Literally, I could hardly understand anything she was trying to convey amidst all that pompous writing. Unfortunately, I just couldn't finish it. I gave her a chance up to 103 pages to change her style, but she didn't, so I closed the book for good.

I thought this was a memoir. I really don't like philosophical writing at all! I prefer things to be clear and straightforward. I don't like reading in riddles and I won't waste my time with convoluted language.

Only regret, I read it too fast.

Regrettably, I perused it at such a rapid pace.

Looking back, I wish I had taken more time to savor every word, every detail.

The opportunity to fully understand and appreciate what was written slipped through my fingers.

Now, I am left with a sense of dissatisfaction and a longing to go back and read it again, this time more deliberately.

Perhaps then, I would have gained a deeper understanding and been able to truly absorb the essence of the text.

But for now, all I can do is lament my hasty reading and hope that in the future, I will be more patient and take the time to read with care.

This book delved deep into the realm of nature. The author, a woman with an in-depth knowledge of the Bible and Koran, boasted an extensive vocabulary and remarkable intelligence, particularly in the field of science.

It seemed as if she had no job, as the entire book chronicled her daily wanderings in the woods for countless hours. She enlightened me with several interesting facts. For instance, she detailed how bamboo torture truly functions.

Her section on fecundity was captivating. She pointed out that while humans are undisturbed by plant fecundity (perhaps because we regard plants as food), we are severely troubled by the fecundity of animals (including insects).

God was also a frequent topic of discussion. In one part, she posed the question, “Are we barnacles to God?” implying whether we are just billions of indistinguishable creatures in the eyes of God, with no individual significance.

She extensively covered disgusting insects and dedicated an entire section to parasites, discussing some truly revolting stuff. One fascinating point she raised was how moths molt to become smaller and smaller when facing a food shortage, desperately attempting to reduce their body mass to nil.

She also had an intriguing section on whether the world is a monster or if humans are freaks. She believed that humans do not belong in this world because of their emotions and inclination to assist one another. She argued that giving humans (and animals like dogs and dolphins) feelings is what is cruel, contrary to the common belief that death is the cruelest thing.

Two-thirds of the way through the book, I was shocked to discover that she smokes. Given her deep connection to nature and life, I had assumed she would not deliberately poison her body.

Her section on how people who were formerly blind due to cataracts perceive the world after cataract removal was very interesting. She also related a horrific tale about a Polyphemus moth and numerous other disturbing things about insects and parasites.

I learned from her that Muslims are prohibited from having representational art as it is considered blasphemous, but they do not strictly adhere to this rule. Instead, they only forbid sculpture because it casts a shadow.

She also said that beasts and children possess a special courage as they are unaware that death is approaching. Sometimes, she wished she could regain that state. She truly believed in God and admired Him, as well as anyone who could create all these diverse creatures and landscapes. She asserted that neither you nor I could even begin to be as creative.

While the book mostly revolved around her walks in the woods, which could be rather boring at times, it also contained some profound insights.

Annie Dillard's work is truly an amazing and inspiring piece of literature.

It may not be to everyone's taste, given the lack of a traditional plot or storyline and her passionate ramblings about the natural world, both from a scientific and experiential perspective. However, she exudes an all-encompassing love for everything. Seriously, everything! You can sense this love in her words and metaphors, as well as in her daily excursions to the creek and its surroundings. She is always on the lookout for something new, content to simply sit, wait, and observe, becoming one with and a part of everything that surrounds her.

I firmly believe that we can all learn from her example. I, for one, was motivated to seek more, to ponder more deeply, to consider the things that are often overlooked, and to recognize the aspects of life that I may have been ignoring. We can take her idea of having to take things into account and deal with them once we become aware of them, just as she does with the microscopic pond creatures.

This book is well worth the read. It will open your eyes to the world's abundance, the magnificent chaos of creation and life, the unfathomable creativity that is inherent in the world, and the many simple ways in which we can navigate through it and interact with it.

I can easily relate to her ambitious yet realistic sentiment: "I would like to see it all, to understand it, but I must start somewhere."

Her quotes, such as "Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery," "If the landscape reveals one certainty, it is that the extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation," "Nature will try anything once," "I am more alive than all the world," "The creator... churns out the intricate texture of least works that is the world with a spendthrift genius and an extravagance of care," "The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is the possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek," "Evolution loves death more than it loves you or me," and "I am a fugitive and a vagabond, a sojourner seeking signs," add depth and richness to her work and further emphasize her unique perspective on life and the world around us.

Although this book is promoted as environmental literature, it actually places more emphasis on theology than on nature. Annie Dillard delves into theodicy, which is the effort to understand how death and horror fit into a world governed by a merciful God. She utilizes nature as a starting point for this subject, and her remarkable descriptions and use of literary devices are truly awe-inspiring. Dillard is indeed a master of the English language, and it was invigorating to read the work of such a talented writer.

However, while I found the writing pleasurable, I felt that her ethics were somewhat wanting. Although she presents this work as non-fiction, it is really just creative non-fiction. Many of the experiences she describes in the text either never occurred or happened to someone else. Additionally, compared to other "nature writers," she is extremely anthropocentric and overly melodramatic to the point of being nauseating. Edward Abbey may not have the same ability to manipulate words with such panache as Dillard, but he is definitely a more engaging read.

So first of all, I truly loved 95% of this book.

Its language is magical and it evokes a sense of wonder. Dillard does an outstanding job of narrating her own journey through her eyes as she witnesses the created world.

However, I can't help but wonder if maybe she wasn't in the greatest mental health when she wrote this. (FB people, the moth essay we had to read in lit comes from this book.)

There's something about the Thoreau-way of viewing nature that I don't quite like, but I'm not sure exactly what it is. Perhaps it's their insistence on extracting meaning from nature by pursuing it and seizing its virtues, rather than becoming so knowledgeable and familiar with nature that the meaning naturally reveals itself to you.

As a scientist myself, some of the facts she presents bother me due to their inaccuracy. But overall, she does a great job of describing created life and inspiring a sense of wonder.

Despite these criticisms, I did indeed like the book, and if and when I write one, it will likely bear some resemblance in form and content.

What's wrong with me?

She has won the Pulitzer. Here, there is a deluge of stars, and the topic is among my favorites, yet I can't move forward. Yesterday, I didn't even complete a page. I went back to reread a paragraph four times and suddenly woke up when the book fell from my hands.

At times, I also like it. For example, when she talks about the frog and the giant water bug, or the thrush or the sharks. But then she always philosophizes more and more, she elaborates in a baroque way and likes it a lot.

In 352 pages (excluding the title page, copyright, afterword, "Other Years Later", and Bibliographical Note), there are 738 "as".

So, at least 2 similes or metaphors per page.

Moreover: "The moonlight is dismal, full and bloodless. It does not transmit the elfish splendor of light that is almost touching and completely dreamed of."

Or: "A single cell trembles in the embrace of the wind; it swells and bursts, boils in a bubble; a dark clot begins to pulsate. Soon something perfect will be born. Something new rides the wind, something in a swift and fleeting flight that I will probably lose."

Probably, it is a valuable book, but I can't handle it. It is one of the few books I have abandoned.

(In the afterword, she herself writes: "I'm afraid I have sinned due to the defects of youth: a love for grand sentences, and the idea that a grand sentence wasn't closed until it was even grander. Some parts seem frivolous." And I understand that maybe it's not me who has something wrong.)

Edit: She won the Pulitzer in the essay section. Essay section??

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is an outstanding book that is a must-read for all nature enthusiasts. In my experience, Dillard's connection with the natural world is truly one-of-a-kind. Her fascination with it is a complex blend of love and revulsion, and she examines both aspects with great scrutiny. Each chapter delves into some characteristic or reaction to nature that appears to be universal, such as complexity or perception, and Dillard offers a unique, and refreshingly unscientific, perspective on all of them.

There are numerous excellent passages in the book, but one in particular really struck a chord with me:

What I aim to do is not simply to learn the names of the various elements of creation that thrive in this valley, but rather to keep myself receptive to their meanings. This means constantly impressing upon myself the most powerful possible sense of their very reality. I desire to have as many things as possible, in as multiply and intricately detailed a way as possible, present and visible in my mind. Then, perhaps, I could sit on the hill by the burnt books, where the starlings fly overhead, and see not only the starlings, the grassy field, the quarried rock, the vine-covered woods, Hollins Pond, and the mountains in the distance, but also, simultaneously, the barbs of the feathers, the springtails in the soil, the crystals in the rock, the chloroplasts streaming, the rotifers pulsing, and the shape of the air within the pines. And, if I strive to keep my focus on quantum physics, if I attempt to stay abreast of astronomy and cosmology, and truly believe it all, I might ultimately be able to envision the landscape of the universe. Why not?

Update from 2009: I read this approximately a year ago, yet I find myself constantly reflecting on it, especially when I am reading. \\"You know, this is just like in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek...\\"

My favorite chapter in Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is The Horns of the Alter. It contains all of the elements that made this a good read.

The descriptions of the snakes, the bugs and the parasites are all fascinating. It takes some mighty fine writing to make parasites interesting. Dillard's vivid portrayal brings these often overlooked and sometimes reviled creatures to life.

Earlier in the book, Dillard spends several pages discussing the hunting habits of the apex predators of the bug world, praying mantises. Although I am one of the people in this world who "turns from insects with loathing" (her words), I have always had a very soft spot for the praying mantis.

I recall as a small child the first time I saw one. He had himself propped up on the window screen outside of my childhood home. He was huge and bright green, and I remember my mother telling me that it was against the law to harm a praying mantis because they were so beneficial to people because they consumed so many other bugs. I accepted this without comment; I was drawn to this bug with legal protection. (Of course I later learned that legal protection of praying mantises was in a similar category as the Easter Bunny.)

I love the way mantises turn their head just like a person and they look right at you, straight on, and you know they are looking at you, unlike say a house fly, whose eyes you cannot gaze into. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek reminded me of my prior admiration of the Mantis and encouraged me to do some research on them as I read. This research revealed to me the existence of the Orchid Mantis. This is a gorgeous pink specimen that blends himself in perfectly to the orchid flower. Something I would now like very much to see one day.

This is what I read for in my middle age, to learn and to see the world through someone else’s eyes. This book achieves the Emersonian ideal of the transparent eyeball. Dillard is a master at observing and describing. By so doing she allows the reader to make up her own mind about that which we get to see through her eyes. It is through her words that we are able to experience the wonder and beauty of the natural world in a new and profound way.