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Empty Spaces
From the acclaimed, boundary-breaking author of NISHGA comes a hypnotic and mystifying exploration of land and legacy.
Reimagining James Fenimore Cooper’s nineteenth-century text The Last of the Mohicans from the contemporary perspective of an urban Nisga’a person whose relationship to land and traditional knowledge was severed by colonial violence, Jordan Abel explores what it means to be Indigenous without access to familial territory and complicates popular understandings about Indigenous storytelling. Engaging the land through fiction and metaphor, the successive chapters of Empty Spaces move toward an eerie, looping, and atmospheric rendering of place that evolves despite the violent and reckless histories of North America. The result is a bold and profound new vision of history that decenters human perception and forgoes Westernized ways of seeing.
Jordan Abel’s extraordinary debut work of fiction grows out of his groundbreaking visual compositions in NISHGA , which integrated descriptions of the landscape from Cooper’s settler classic into his father's traditional Nisga'a artwork. In Empty Spaces , Abel reinscribes those words on the page itself, subjecting them to bold rewritings and inviting us to come to a crucial that the land knows everything that can and will happen, even as our world lurches toward uncertainty.
Reimagining James Fenimore Cooper’s nineteenth-century text The Last of the Mohicans from the contemporary perspective of an urban Nisga’a person whose relationship to land and traditional knowledge was severed by colonial violence, Jordan Abel explores what it means to be Indigenous without access to familial territory and complicates popular understandings about Indigenous storytelling. Engaging the land through fiction and metaphor, the successive chapters of Empty Spaces move toward an eerie, looping, and atmospheric rendering of place that evolves despite the violent and reckless histories of North America. The result is a bold and profound new vision of history that decenters human perception and forgoes Westernized ways of seeing.
Jordan Abel’s extraordinary debut work of fiction grows out of his groundbreaking visual compositions in NISHGA , which integrated descriptions of the landscape from Cooper’s settler classic into his father's traditional Nisga'a artwork. In Empty Spaces , Abel reinscribes those words on the page itself, subjecting them to bold rewritings and inviting us to come to a crucial that the land knows everything that can and will happen, even as our world lurches toward uncertainty.
223 pages, Kindle Edition
Published August 29, 2023
24 people are currently reading
836 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews
August 11, 2024
Written in 1826 of what is now upstate New York, James Fenimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans “became perceived fact, not fiction, and the basis for the coalescence of U.S. American nationalism,” commented Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz. The criticism adds that it offered a narrative that was “instrumental in nullifying the guilt related to genocide.” On the other coast of the North American continent, the Pacific Northwest similarly suffers from the settler colonial description of its wildness and emptiness, as terra nullius awaiting settlement and alluring romanticized recognition.
Drawing on the repetitive landscape description from The Last of the Mohicans, Jordan Abel rewrites and reclaims Indigenous presence of his homeland, Vancouver, BC. Countering the colonial impulse to perceive land as empty spaces to be “civilized” by capital, Abel ruminates on his own difficulty of articulating his relationship with Vancouver, not the human-dominant city but the land from which melancholy senses of belonging and dispossession are derived. Being a queer urban Indigenous person disorients the naturalized relationship between Indigenous people and nature at the same time as it destabilizes the (hetero)normative binary of (industrial) culture and nature. From within this disoriented/disorienting connection with Vancouver, Abel asks: “What does it mean to have a relationship with the land? How do we begin to talk about the land without centering ourselves and our human ways of knowing?”
To evade the gravity of character and plot that easily obscures the central role of the landscape in Indigenous being, Abel turns to process-based conceptual writing. The writer “[returns] to the same sentences every day, finding them in a new light, seeing them from new angles” not previously seen. This practice plays with sentences as “geographical spaces” that Abel “could return to, linger on, walk through again and again” (Abel, “On Land, Belonging, and Dispossession”).
The reader’s raw contact with this experimental rhythmic writing technique feels like looking into a kaleidoscope (I imagined Leonard Cohen reading the words to me, in the same deep and lyrical voice and pace he used in Everybody Knows). The images—of a silvery wind, light, broken bodies, blood, mounds of black earth and other rocks, a tumbling in the air, a street that connects to other streets, at city limits, and across the beach between the river and the forest—appear in fractals that assemble and reassemble as you turn the kaleidoscope clockwise and then counterclockwise. Each turn is a chapter’s end and another’s start. The new chapter catches the previous one’s tail and traces backward, remixing the sentences and churning out subtly different light under which to re-examine the same scenery over and over. The cycles of scenes roll slowly from nature to the city, one step forward, half a step back, and a quarter of a step sideways, deterritorializing any remaining boundaries between things, phenomena, and longings.
Contrary to a linear and mythical “transition” from natural to built environments, Abel’s rumination of the two places captures the inherently intertwining relationship between them, a relationship that is charged with colonial and capitalist expansion but refuses being summarized by the tale of inevitable progress. The city composes its own melody of homelessness, unemployment, overconsumption.
“For every cheek pressed against the side of a concrete tower. Some cheeks are pressed against warm carpets in the apartment blocks. Some fingers are split open by sharp knives. Beneath the broken clouds, there are bodies down on the streets and in the parks and curled up between concrete towers. Beneath the broken clouds is a steep set of stairs leading down into the centre of the city. Blood and dirt and swirling rain. Heaps of garbage overlooking the highway.”
There is no triumphant dominance of the capital in either the city or nature. At this moment, a place is allowed once to be a place, not a commodity, not a memorial, not a scalable area for any prescribed purpose (work, leisure, reproduction etc.), not one person or one group’s home but home to any body—all of these require place to be a space that has some vague or clear boundary, some symbolic meanings, or some quality to be determined empty of full. But because there is no dominance, there is no enemy. There are losses, dispossession, and melancholy, but they are all part of a larger exchange and connection strung together by light, tomorrow, and horizon.
Drawing on the repetitive landscape description from The Last of the Mohicans, Jordan Abel rewrites and reclaims Indigenous presence of his homeland, Vancouver, BC. Countering the colonial impulse to perceive land as empty spaces to be “civilized” by capital, Abel ruminates on his own difficulty of articulating his relationship with Vancouver, not the human-dominant city but the land from which melancholy senses of belonging and dispossession are derived. Being a queer urban Indigenous person disorients the naturalized relationship between Indigenous people and nature at the same time as it destabilizes the (hetero)normative binary of (industrial) culture and nature. From within this disoriented/disorienting connection with Vancouver, Abel asks: “What does it mean to have a relationship with the land? How do we begin to talk about the land without centering ourselves and our human ways of knowing?”
To evade the gravity of character and plot that easily obscures the central role of the landscape in Indigenous being, Abel turns to process-based conceptual writing. The writer “[returns] to the same sentences every day, finding them in a new light, seeing them from new angles” not previously seen. This practice plays with sentences as “geographical spaces” that Abel “could return to, linger on, walk through again and again” (Abel, “On Land, Belonging, and Dispossession”).
The reader’s raw contact with this experimental rhythmic writing technique feels like looking into a kaleidoscope (I imagined Leonard Cohen reading the words to me, in the same deep and lyrical voice and pace he used in Everybody Knows). The images—of a silvery wind, light, broken bodies, blood, mounds of black earth and other rocks, a tumbling in the air, a street that connects to other streets, at city limits, and across the beach between the river and the forest—appear in fractals that assemble and reassemble as you turn the kaleidoscope clockwise and then counterclockwise. Each turn is a chapter’s end and another’s start. The new chapter catches the previous one’s tail and traces backward, remixing the sentences and churning out subtly different light under which to re-examine the same scenery over and over. The cycles of scenes roll slowly from nature to the city, one step forward, half a step back, and a quarter of a step sideways, deterritorializing any remaining boundaries between things, phenomena, and longings.
Contrary to a linear and mythical “transition” from natural to built environments, Abel’s rumination of the two places captures the inherently intertwining relationship between them, a relationship that is charged with colonial and capitalist expansion but refuses being summarized by the tale of inevitable progress. The city composes its own melody of homelessness, unemployment, overconsumption.
“For every cheek pressed against the side of a concrete tower. Some cheeks are pressed against warm carpets in the apartment blocks. Some fingers are split open by sharp knives. Beneath the broken clouds, there are bodies down on the streets and in the parks and curled up between concrete towers. Beneath the broken clouds is a steep set of stairs leading down into the centre of the city. Blood and dirt and swirling rain. Heaps of garbage overlooking the highway.”
There is no triumphant dominance of the capital in either the city or nature. At this moment, a place is allowed once to be a place, not a commodity, not a memorial, not a scalable area for any prescribed purpose (work, leisure, reproduction etc.), not one person or one group’s home but home to any body—all of these require place to be a space that has some vague or clear boundary, some symbolic meanings, or some quality to be determined empty of full. But because there is no dominance, there is no enemy. There are losses, dispossession, and melancholy, but they are all part of a larger exchange and connection strung together by light, tomorrow, and horizon.
September 7, 2023
Reading this book is a meditative practice, Abel shows us how this practice never works until we see how small we are in the context of nature.
September 19, 2023
This isn’t a book I ever would have picked up on my own, but I received it in a book box from McNally Robinson and so I read it. I can’t say it was good or bad. It kind of belies comparison. Even picking a rating feels wrong somehow.
It was almost more poem than book. I’ve seen others call it meditative or hypnotic and I can definitely see where they’re coming from. Depending on the day and moment I was reading it, this could be either a positive or negative feature of the book. I did find it to be longer than it needed to be, almost beleaguering the point - at about 60-75% of the way through I was definitely dragging, before becoming engrossed again in the prose and narrative nearer to the end.
I didn’t particularly enjoy this book. And yet, I am happy to have experienced reading it.
It was almost more poem than book. I’ve seen others call it meditative or hypnotic and I can definitely see where they’re coming from. Depending on the day and moment I was reading it, this could be either a positive or negative feature of the book. I did find it to be longer than it needed to be, almost beleaguering the point - at about 60-75% of the way through I was definitely dragging, before becoming engrossed again in the prose and narrative nearer to the end.
I didn’t particularly enjoy this book. And yet, I am happy to have experienced reading it.
August 9, 2024
not the slay that i thought it was going to be
November 27, 2024
This is a very unique book, but unfortunately it just didn’t move me, which is one of the main things I consider in a rating. Empty Spaces is unlike anything I’ve read before, and the scope and design - no characters and arching over what feels like centuries - is quite remarkable. However, the repetition and surface-level descriptions of the physical nature were tiring. I listened to it as an audiobook and started to imagine I was at a museum watching one of those looping videos with random shots of nature where there’s an ominous roar in the background but nothing actually happens. Except this one with more “broken bones” and “pools of evaporating blood”. This book felt removed from human experience. Things exist without humans to experience them.
August 21, 2023
Jordan Abel once again smashes the confines of genre to bring us a beautiful book that reads like a sonata.
April 1, 2025
After hearing Jordan Abel speak in person -- both reading from and discussing Empty Spaces -- I felt an immediate sense of waste in the way I live my life. Maybe it was the calm cast over the room as he read, or the exchanges of warmth and respect between him and the interviewer, Matthew James Weigel, that hit. There’s always something deeply moving about witnessing genuine connections between brilliant, kind men, and it’s something I long to see more of on display in public.
Those two things are lacking in my life: calm and love. Any moment that moves me deeply, regardless of its profoundness, seems to be short-lived of late. My brain seems to behave as if it's permanently in decay from spending most of my free time online. I simply forget everything that is profound and should stick in exchange for the immediacy of my phone.
Jordan Abel's words are the beauty which after reading them weeks later rekindled the realization from that evening. I truly am wasting life away and will continue to distance myself from calm and love the more I choose to pick up this screen and latch my existence to half a foot in front of my sightline.
Abel’s writing undoes notions of value or transaction between the things we encounter in reality or even dreams. Bones, bark, bodies, boulders, the depths of bodies of water (oh to read all manners of bodies in this book) -- they all exist without comparison, without the desire for one over the other. And if there were ever a curriculum for breaking phone addiction, this book would be required reading. It commands the kind of attention we've allowed to slip away to them, giving back more meaning than most of us ever thought possible right here, just beyond their reach: a room, a window, a building, a tree, a hill, a sky, a light et. al.
Those two things are lacking in my life: calm and love. Any moment that moves me deeply, regardless of its profoundness, seems to be short-lived of late. My brain seems to behave as if it's permanently in decay from spending most of my free time online. I simply forget everything that is profound and should stick in exchange for the immediacy of my phone.
Jordan Abel's words are the beauty which after reading them weeks later rekindled the realization from that evening. I truly am wasting life away and will continue to distance myself from calm and love the more I choose to pick up this screen and latch my existence to half a foot in front of my sightline.
Abel’s writing undoes notions of value or transaction between the things we encounter in reality or even dreams. Bones, bark, bodies, boulders, the depths of bodies of water (oh to read all manners of bodies in this book) -- they all exist without comparison, without the desire for one over the other. And if there were ever a curriculum for breaking phone addiction, this book would be required reading. It commands the kind of attention we've allowed to slip away to them, giving back more meaning than most of us ever thought possible right here, just beyond their reach: a room, a window, a building, a tree, a hill, a sky, a light et. al.
March 12, 2025
I don’t like to abandon books. I wanted to enjoy this as the author has a background in perspective I want to learn more about sadly, I must have a more traditional idea of what engages me in literature.
I require characters. I need to experience the humanity I am a part of. If I wanted to explore the natural world and all its cycles and repetition and chaos and beauty and horror, I would go out on the land and witness it myself.
I may try to read this again someday, but, for now, I was just on engaged, and I have to continue.
I require characters. I need to experience the humanity I am a part of. If I wanted to explore the natural world and all its cycles and repetition and chaos and beauty and horror, I would go out on the land and witness it myself.
I may try to read this again someday, but, for now, I was just on engaged, and I have to continue.
August 4, 2024
Stream of consciousness poetry, very cyclical and repetitive. I read a third of the book and then stopped.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 2, 2024
I did my best lollll love you Jordan!!!
December 10, 2023
Tournoyant, répétitif, désincarné, vibrant, tectonique. Dans la lignée de Gertrude Stein et Jamaica Kincaid.
October 9, 2024
Ethereal and meditative. A linear read this is not! Only take on if you are in the mood for this journey.
March 3, 2025
Strong concept. I am always one for experimentative, meditative writing on the state of existence, on the world, nature, and humanity.
This was too much for me however. I skimmed through great sections, the reptition making it hard for me to anchor and keep reading.
I kept thinking that I would have loved this style of writing if broken up with spaces, mini vignettes of scenes, or anything to give me a break from the relentless onslaught of repetitive, short sentences... no matter how beautiful those sentences were. In fact, this reminds me of an earlier writing project I had which was a long, stream of consiousness series of "And..." sentences. I gave up on writing it. Even the writing felt too repetitive. This author used the "If..." sentences. Ach.
Nonetheless, a few memorable passages:
"If the west is to be made, then bodies must float down these rivers. If the west is here at all, it is caught up somewhere in the intersecting voices that cut softly through the silence."
"From the western shores that are barely visible in the heat of the afternoon comes a silence that burns like fire. From the northern end. From mountain to mountain. From the western bank of the lake. From eye. From body. From witness. From the fire that sees itself. From the dizzying heights. From the narrow sheets. From truth. From weakness. From speaking. From flame. From the air pouring across the waste waters. From light. From margin. From earth. From broken summits and broken sky."
"If the bodies hang in the trees and above the firepits. If a broken line branches into the west. If the light between leaves is just moonlight. If the outline of the woods at dusk disappears into the night. If there is, in fact, a forest. If there are ripples. If there is fear. If the blood runs like a river. If bark is peeled from a tree. If slow, intermingling drifts of sounds and scents float through the air. If reflections are made from the moonlight. If there is breath and fire and flesh and hunger and land."
"The stars light up a trail of memories. But memory has not come yet and the wildfire spreads over all the smashed bodies in the sunset. Which bodies hang in the air? The morning approaches beyond the splinters of glass. The current flows into the dark parts of the river. The river disappears into the swirling garbage."
This was too much for me however. I skimmed through great sections, the reptition making it hard for me to anchor and keep reading.
I kept thinking that I would have loved this style of writing if broken up with spaces, mini vignettes of scenes, or anything to give me a break from the relentless onslaught of repetitive, short sentences... no matter how beautiful those sentences were. In fact, this reminds me of an earlier writing project I had which was a long, stream of consiousness series of "And..." sentences. I gave up on writing it. Even the writing felt too repetitive. This author used the "If..." sentences. Ach.
Nonetheless, a few memorable passages:
"If the west is to be made, then bodies must float down these rivers. If the west is here at all, it is caught up somewhere in the intersecting voices that cut softly through the silence."
"From the western shores that are barely visible in the heat of the afternoon comes a silence that burns like fire. From the northern end. From mountain to mountain. From the western bank of the lake. From eye. From body. From witness. From the fire that sees itself. From the dizzying heights. From the narrow sheets. From truth. From weakness. From speaking. From flame. From the air pouring across the waste waters. From light. From margin. From earth. From broken summits and broken sky."
"If the bodies hang in the trees and above the firepits. If a broken line branches into the west. If the light between leaves is just moonlight. If the outline of the woods at dusk disappears into the night. If there is, in fact, a forest. If there are ripples. If there is fear. If the blood runs like a river. If bark is peeled from a tree. If slow, intermingling drifts of sounds and scents float through the air. If reflections are made from the moonlight. If there is breath and fire and flesh and hunger and land."
"The stars light up a trail of memories. But memory has not come yet and the wildfire spreads over all the smashed bodies in the sunset. Which bodies hang in the air? The morning approaches beyond the splinters of glass. The current flows into the dark parts of the river. The river disappears into the swirling garbage."
March 14, 2025
The experience of reading Empty Spaces is unlike any other. It’s hard to explain. I would describe the structure as a long stream of consciousness poem but that doesn’t even begin to cover it. The closest I can come is that it is like walking a path you’ve been on many times before. So, it has a rhythm you’re familiar with and you begin to recognize the trees and the bends and how the light filters through - and every time you come back to the path it’s the same and yet small changes happen and layers and fragments alter your experience.
Each page of Abel’s meditation on the world (meditation is the closest word I can get to) repeats the same phrases and fragments and sensory images. They pile up throughout the work and you keep revisiting them page after page until some of the images are like you’ve known them forever. Words like “fingers” and “claws” and “antlers” and “bodies” and “forest” are used consistently and yet their use changes with each placement. The incremental repetition of certain phrases slightly altered deepens your understanding of Abel’s world and offers a feeling of walking a path that so many others have walked before.
At certain points the structure shifts to post a series of questions and after so many waves of fragments the questions bring out a sense of urgency - which is a really compelling technique Abel uses.
It’s a work that you can’t rush - you need to follow it at its pace. So slow down and enjoy.
Each page of Abel’s meditation on the world (meditation is the closest word I can get to) repeats the same phrases and fragments and sensory images. They pile up throughout the work and you keep revisiting them page after page until some of the images are like you’ve known them forever. Words like “fingers” and “claws” and “antlers” and “bodies” and “forest” are used consistently and yet their use changes with each placement. The incremental repetition of certain phrases slightly altered deepens your understanding of Abel’s world and offers a feeling of walking a path that so many others have walked before.
At certain points the structure shifts to post a series of questions and after so many waves of fragments the questions bring out a sense of urgency - which is a really compelling technique Abel uses.
It’s a work that you can’t rush - you need to follow it at its pace. So slow down and enjoy.
September 15, 2023
From the acclaimed, boundary-breaking author of NISHGA comes a hypnotic and mystifying exploration of land and legacy.
Reimagining James Fenimore Cooper’s nineteenth-century text The Last of the Mohicans from the contemporary perspective of an urban Nisga’a person whose relationship to land and traditional knowledge was severed by colonial violence, Jordan Abel explores what it means to be Indigenous without access to familial territory and complicates popular understandings about Indigenous storytelling. Engaging the land through fiction and metaphor, the successive chapters of Empty Spaces move toward an eerie, looping, and atmospheric rendering of place that evolves despite the violent and reckless histories of North America. The result is a bold and profound new vision of history that decenters human perception and forgoes Westernized ways of seeing.
----
This is such a wonderfully written story that is descriptive, creative, and eloquent.
The author shows us our earth and land through his eyes and helps the reader envision the land as a living and loving organism that we must cherish and care for.
With an open mind and heart, the readers of this beautiful master piece can gain such wisdom and insight.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Reimagining James Fenimore Cooper’s nineteenth-century text The Last of the Mohicans from the contemporary perspective of an urban Nisga’a person whose relationship to land and traditional knowledge was severed by colonial violence, Jordan Abel explores what it means to be Indigenous without access to familial territory and complicates popular understandings about Indigenous storytelling. Engaging the land through fiction and metaphor, the successive chapters of Empty Spaces move toward an eerie, looping, and atmospheric rendering of place that evolves despite the violent and reckless histories of North America. The result is a bold and profound new vision of history that decenters human perception and forgoes Westernized ways of seeing.
----
This is such a wonderfully written story that is descriptive, creative, and eloquent.
The author shows us our earth and land through his eyes and helps the reader envision the land as a living and loving organism that we must cherish and care for.
With an open mind and heart, the readers of this beautiful master piece can gain such wisdom and insight.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
January 9, 2025
I like literature. I like poetry. But a seven hour poem is just too much for me. No matter how beautiful a painting is, I'm not going to stare at it for seven uninterrupted hours, and unfortunately that's what this felt like to me.
I see several people commenting that the audio version is probably better, but that's what I used and I'm quite certain it was not better. At first I didn't know about its repetitive nature and I thought there was something wrong with my book or my earphones because it seemed to be going back again and again, but no. That's how it's written. If I ever hear the phrase "the scent of roses" again I will probably scream.
I see several people commenting that the audio version is probably better, but that's what I used and I'm quite certain it was not better. At first I didn't know about its repetitive nature and I thought there was something wrong with my book or my earphones because it seemed to be going back again and again, but no. That's how it's written. If I ever hear the phrase "the scent of roses" again I will probably scream.
August 17, 2023
I was lucky enough to win an ARC (advanced readers copy) from the Goodreads giveaway and just want to thank Goodreads and penguin random house Canada for the chance of winning a copy.
This book is a beautifully written and was a fantastic read. I loved the flow of words and how the author described the land and everything in a very detailed manner. I loved this entire book it was a good read for sure.
This book is a beautifully written and was a fantastic read. I loved the flow of words and how the author described the land and everything in a very detailed manner. I loved this entire book it was a good read for sure.
dnf
April 6, 2025this wasn’t bad by any means, but this type of book just isn’t for me at all. the repetition and lack of paragraph breaks made my brain keep zoning out while my eyes were still moving, forcing me to go back and reread the pages i hadn’t comprehended. the lack of narrative would be interesting though, if i wasn’t too busy to really sit with and focus on a book that is so physically difficult for my brain to read right now. probably 2-3 star but i’m struggling with how to officially rate it
December 28, 2024
I liked the concept of this book and it's unique, poetic flow. I might have liked it more is it was about 35% this long, but there was potency to bring immersed in this work this long. The narrator seems to be the land or maybe what your senses would note over centuries. Sacredness of place in the context of the colonial arch.
February 7, 2024
didn’t really read it all the way thru tbh
had to read for class it was actually dogshit
Abel has a way with words but this is in no way a novel and it should not be as long as it is
should be a poetry collection or something
had to read for class it was actually dogshit
Abel has a way with words but this is in no way a novel and it should not be as long as it is
should be a poetry collection or something
April 2, 2024
not me finishing this book, closing it, standing up and muttering, “damn Abel, y’all really got me yet AGAIN.”
i don’t even really know what i meant by that but it’s true.
i’m going to need 2 full days with my thoughts to process reading this book & then i’m going to have to read it again.
i don’t even really know what i meant by that but it’s true.
i’m going to need 2 full days with my thoughts to process reading this book & then i’m going to have to read it again.
June 3, 2024
At times mindbending, disorienting, challenging, but always imaginatively expansive, Abel's writing contains multitudes and *Empty Spaces* is an experience like no other. Definitely read more than once and not at all like you might read other books.
February 13, 2025
My rating does not reflect the quality of the book, rather my interest in it. A very provocative portrayal of our treatment of the environment, written very poetically. Beautifully narrated, but not a character story for my tastes
August 11, 2023
This was a great read front to back, definitely recommend it!
Read
November 19, 2023DNF at 40%
December 13, 2023
Difficult read. No paragraphs. Did not finish.
March 19, 2024
With more time and re-readings this will go to 5 stars. Currently 4.5.
May 14, 2024
It’s a book. It’s a voice. It’s a body. It’s a meditation. It’s a masterpiece.
November 26, 2024
This book is a tribute to the land. I imagined it as "Planet Earth" but in a book format. I think I would have preferred this as an audio book.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews