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Ars Botanica
Written as letters to his unborn child, Tim Taranto’s Ars Botanica describes the infinite pleasures of falling in love — the small discoveries of each other's otherness, the crush of desire, the frightening closeness — and the terrifying impossibility of losing someone. Through examinations of the ways in which various cultures and religions carry grief, Taranto discovers the emotional instincts that shape his own mourning. He seeks solace in the natural elements of our world, divining meaning from the Iowa fields that stretch around him, the stones he collects, the plants he discovers on walks through the woods. His letters, then, are the honest wanderings of someone earnestly seeking meaning and belonging, ultimately resulting in a field guide for love, grief, and celebrating life. At times astonishingly personal and even painful, Ars Botanica is also playfully funny, a rich hybrid of memoir, poetry, and illustration that delightfully defies categorization.
" Ars Botanica is a gorgeous a memoir in letters to a phantom addressee, an introduction to life on this planet, a primer for how to live, a meditation on family. It also winds up being a beautiful and highly personal field guide to the natural world. It’s one of the most wrenching and honest accounts of falling in and out of love, of moving through a season of grief, that I’ve ever read."
—Karen Russell, author of Swamplandia!
Tim Taranto is a writer, visual artist, and poet from New York. His work has been featured in Buzzfeed, FSG’s Works in Progress, Harper’s, The Iowa Review, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, The Paris Review Daily, The Rumpus, and The Saint Ann’s Review. Tim is a graduate of Cornell University and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.
" Ars Botanica is a gorgeous a memoir in letters to a phantom addressee, an introduction to life on this planet, a primer for how to live, a meditation on family. It also winds up being a beautiful and highly personal field guide to the natural world. It’s one of the most wrenching and honest accounts of falling in and out of love, of moving through a season of grief, that I’ve ever read."
—Karen Russell, author of Swamplandia!
Tim Taranto is a writer, visual artist, and poet from New York. His work has been featured in Buzzfeed, FSG’s Works in Progress, Harper’s, The Iowa Review, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, The Paris Review Daily, The Rumpus, and The Saint Ann’s Review. Tim is a graduate of Cornell University and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.
185 pages, Paperback
Published July 25, 2017
11 people are currently reading
447 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 35 reviews
September 27, 2017
I found this book, luckily, at a great indie bookstore in West Philadelphia, and read it all in one sitting, on a ferry crossing Lake Michigan. Difficult to express how much I love it: the luminous clarity of the writing, the book's profound emotional life, the graceful illustrations (also made by the author), the hopefulness and broken-hearted-ness and deep humanity. I also realized I've read very, very few (any??) books about abortion from a male perspective - and I mean books that don't judge or take a political stance but take up the subject in such an intimate, real, and personal way. As other reviewers have written, this is a book about lovers and an abortion and a break-up... and about love in the largest sense, about illness, growing up/older, sorrow, and art. The fact that it is ultimately healing... or moving in that direction... does not diminish the deep sadness at the heart of the book, and yet the sadness itself is redemptive because it's so fully human and so beautifully rendered and shared. I recently read a Sarah Manguso piece in which she says people should write/make art in order to keep others from despair. This is a book to help you feel less alone.
January 23, 2019
Three complaints, and then the book's saving grace.
First, I flagged this guy as an Iowa Writers Workshop alum by page 2--and that was before the setting was identified as Iowa. So much fussy description.
Second, he's doing too much. The book has illustrations, lots of quotes from poetry, chapters paired with flora and fauna, and then the narration switches between third person and epistolary narration. It's... a lot. At times, the effect is to be engrossing, like you can just sink into the excess like an overstuffed sofa, but mostly it feels like one or two gimmicks too many.
Third, I never really understood why this loss--a fairly early-term abortion by a woman he was in love with, but only had been seeing for a short period--hit him so profoundly. It's one thing for a couple to have named their fetus and then to lose it one way or another; it's entirely another for him to do so unilaterally after the abortion (and, perhaps more to the point, to write an entire memoir about it, in the form of letters to the child). It's an extreme reaction, and I never understood its roots well enough to totally hop on board. (In this sense, it's like all the melodramatic 19th century novels where the protagonists are raving lunatics, except that it's non-fiction).
All that said, the author so clearly was in the throes of grief, and so clearly communicated that in many ways, that the book has a strong, beating emotional heart. It's not easy, at all, to actually show, and not tell, ones own emotions, especially in the absence of real action. That's a feat.
First, I flagged this guy as an Iowa Writers Workshop alum by page 2--and that was before the setting was identified as Iowa. So much fussy description.
Second, he's doing too much. The book has illustrations, lots of quotes from poetry, chapters paired with flora and fauna, and then the narration switches between third person and epistolary narration. It's... a lot. At times, the effect is to be engrossing, like you can just sink into the excess like an overstuffed sofa, but mostly it feels like one or two gimmicks too many.
Third, I never really understood why this loss--a fairly early-term abortion by a woman he was in love with, but only had been seeing for a short period--hit him so profoundly. It's one thing for a couple to have named their fetus and then to lose it one way or another; it's entirely another for him to do so unilaterally after the abortion (and, perhaps more to the point, to write an entire memoir about it, in the form of letters to the child). It's an extreme reaction, and I never understood its roots well enough to totally hop on board. (In this sense, it's like all the melodramatic 19th century novels where the protagonists are raving lunatics, except that it's non-fiction).
All that said, the author so clearly was in the throes of grief, and so clearly communicated that in many ways, that the book has a strong, beating emotional heart. It's not easy, at all, to actually show, and not tell, ones own emotions, especially in the absence of real action. That's a feat.
February 7, 2017
A proper review might include any number of things, but along the way I nearly forgot I was reading the book so I might as well just give in and say that this story made me cry and laugh, it made me wonder about religion and plants, it made me want to go outside and fall in love with nature. If only for a moment.
October 24, 2018
This book was not for me. The voice of the author I found annoying and too narcissistic for me to feel empathy. I would rather have read a book written by the girlfriend than the author. I gave it two stars as I liked the way it was setup. But I could barely finish this without rolling my eyes at the authors actions.
March 12, 2019
Right now, even after nearly ten years, this books speaks to me. No blame, just loss and the infinite space it occupies in your life.
July 14, 2017
Beautifully written memoir of love lost. Poetic and sad but also funny and wry.
August 24, 2017
Ars Botanica
A Field Guide to Loss
By Tim Taranto
Reviewed by Jay Gilbertson
I’m still spellbound. This small book full of drawings and poems and a deep story, knocked me over. Author Taranto took two very painful experiences and wove them together into a way forward. This is the first time I can ever recall reading about the man’s side of things, the male viewpoint, the raw pain and sorrow and hope of choosing to end a pregnancy and then, sadly, a relationship. Think of this book as a toolbox.
Hope is what Taranto leaves you with, like a lone ray of sunshine through a dark hole. One thing to understand, to keep in mind as you embark on this journey of love and loss, this book isn’t about judgement. It’s one man’s innermost thoughts, a life-map, full of wisdom and kindness. This is how it began.
“Before I met her I was living. I was a composite of tastes and habits…And then your mother began leaving packages on my porch filled with food she’d prepared and slow dancing with me to Hank Williams…I was filled with a warm repose, how a houseplant must feel when moved to a sunny sill.”
Through letters to his never-to-be-born child he named Catalpa, this love story unfolds and shapes into something tangible and important and vibrant and alive. It moves through a summer.
“When she communicated her desire to terminate the pregnancy, I was with her, it was what I wanted too. When she communicated her desire to terminate the relationship, I pulled my hat over my eyes and sank into her sofa. Maybe like seeing the world on the morning after you died, I was part of a new reality I could not imagine belonging to; I was afraid to move.”
Author Taranto finds his way through his many layers of grief by sharing his life with Catalpa.
“I harvested catalpa flowers until I filled an entire paper grocery sack. To this day, I can’t think of many places I’d rather be than sitting across from her, eyes closed, head bowed, chest slowly rising as she breathes a bouquet of catalpas.”
Though this is a memoir, one person’s recollection of how things happened both to and with him, I have to wonder. Did he give up too easily on the relationship or was the reality of their mutual decision to end their pregnancy simply too much for them to bear? Though truly sad, it is important to realize that we all experience life in a myriad of ways and this story unveils a side rarely seen.
Earlier I had mentioned wisdom. Throughout the book there are sentences that shine with it.
“And to that I say that’s about the long and short of it. You’re not in love until you are, you don’t want to die until you feel like you already have, and you don’t know the Divine until you see its hand in all things.”
He ends with this, “That something lasts forever does not make it a thing of beauty, does not measure its worth. But just that it happened at all, even for a little while…”
Every day, we make choices and do our best to find ways to cope with the consequences. Perhaps if we joined forces and allowed a space of nonjudgement, our path forward would not be uphill.
• Perfect gift
• #1 for Book Clubs
• What is your hill?
A Field Guide to Loss
By Tim Taranto
Reviewed by Jay Gilbertson
I’m still spellbound. This small book full of drawings and poems and a deep story, knocked me over. Author Taranto took two very painful experiences and wove them together into a way forward. This is the first time I can ever recall reading about the man’s side of things, the male viewpoint, the raw pain and sorrow and hope of choosing to end a pregnancy and then, sadly, a relationship. Think of this book as a toolbox.
Hope is what Taranto leaves you with, like a lone ray of sunshine through a dark hole. One thing to understand, to keep in mind as you embark on this journey of love and loss, this book isn’t about judgement. It’s one man’s innermost thoughts, a life-map, full of wisdom and kindness. This is how it began.
“Before I met her I was living. I was a composite of tastes and habits…And then your mother began leaving packages on my porch filled with food she’d prepared and slow dancing with me to Hank Williams…I was filled with a warm repose, how a houseplant must feel when moved to a sunny sill.”
Through letters to his never-to-be-born child he named Catalpa, this love story unfolds and shapes into something tangible and important and vibrant and alive. It moves through a summer.
“When she communicated her desire to terminate the pregnancy, I was with her, it was what I wanted too. When she communicated her desire to terminate the relationship, I pulled my hat over my eyes and sank into her sofa. Maybe like seeing the world on the morning after you died, I was part of a new reality I could not imagine belonging to; I was afraid to move.”
Author Taranto finds his way through his many layers of grief by sharing his life with Catalpa.
“I harvested catalpa flowers until I filled an entire paper grocery sack. To this day, I can’t think of many places I’d rather be than sitting across from her, eyes closed, head bowed, chest slowly rising as she breathes a bouquet of catalpas.”
Though this is a memoir, one person’s recollection of how things happened both to and with him, I have to wonder. Did he give up too easily on the relationship or was the reality of their mutual decision to end their pregnancy simply too much for them to bear? Though truly sad, it is important to realize that we all experience life in a myriad of ways and this story unveils a side rarely seen.
Earlier I had mentioned wisdom. Throughout the book there are sentences that shine with it.
“And to that I say that’s about the long and short of it. You’re not in love until you are, you don’t want to die until you feel like you already have, and you don’t know the Divine until you see its hand in all things.”
He ends with this, “That something lasts forever does not make it a thing of beauty, does not measure its worth. But just that it happened at all, even for a little while…”
Every day, we make choices and do our best to find ways to cope with the consequences. Perhaps if we joined forces and allowed a space of nonjudgement, our path forward would not be uphill.
• Perfect gift
• #1 for Book Clubs
• What is your hill?
December 2, 2018
I think this book found me at the perfect time, after more than a year of continuous loss and carrying people and ideals and my past much longer than I had needed to get across the river, growing more tired and weak and uncertain through each day. And now, as I've been letting things go, resting them on shrines of my own making through my art, this little book, written by a man I met in a game shop (one of my few completely safe and unmarred places), articulates what I've been feeling. And further, it shows me a way through. Tim Taranto writes his mourning not romantically, but unabashedly. He weaves multiple stories of loss--his hair, his relationship, his unborn child--as truthfully as he can so that he can lay them down wholly. His alopecia is complete, universal. His relationship had an end. There is no partial abortion. The only way to match the pain of each is to recognize the totality of each, and to let go with both hands.
It might be a bit premature for me to review this book right after reading the last 100 pages in one sitting, but I wanted to capture how I felt in this moment, like taking a full breath after surfacing from too long under water. I'll probably have to read this one again, when I'm faced with another loss, or if I can't get through letting go on my own and need some more help. But one thing I know, definitively, is that this one is important to me.
It might be a bit premature for me to review this book right after reading the last 100 pages in one sitting, but I wanted to capture how I felt in this moment, like taking a full breath after surfacing from too long under water. I'll probably have to read this one again, when I'm faced with another loss, or if I can't get through letting go on my own and need some more help. But one thing I know, definitively, is that this one is important to me.
January 5, 2023
I wanted to like this book more than I actually did. It has a beautiful cover, nice paper, contains illustrations, botanical theme, etc, all of which I enjoyed. The story however, felt drawn out and lacking depth. I’m unclear if it was actually the author’s own experience, or a fictional book. Either way, it left out too much at the beginning, of the main character’s falling in love, barely contained anything about why they decided to abort the child, (e.g. if he actually wanted to do that at the time or just went along with his girlfriend’s suggestion), and then just droned on in an “I’m lonely, poor me” sort of way. It annoyed me how the botanical illustrations were sometimes accurate, but usually of something else, often not clearly understandable how this object represented the species or significance to the author. And why not illustrate a Catalpa tree or blossoms, or the night blooming cereus, or other species mentioned? It just felt a bit too random for my taste; I wanted it to tie together better.
December 7, 2017
I read this memoir in just two days (and many long subway rides) because I could not bear to put it down. This incredibly unique memoir is composed of poems, quotes, drawings, and essays that narrate the author’s story of an extraordinarily special love and two wrenching losses over the course of a single summer. Though loss is hardly foreign territory for the memoir genre, Mr. Taranto’s exploration of those dark waters is handled with a deftness and ingenuity that make the topic feel brand new. He writes with such simplicity and grace for himself and those around him that you find that summer, with its blissed-out magic and sudden plunge into irrevocable sorrows, lingering with you long after you turn the final page.
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April 14, 2025"Ars Botanica" es un libro profundamente conmovedor, donde la naturaleza se convierte en una metáfora viva de las emociones humanas. A través de una prosa delicada y poética, el autor nos invita a explorar el poder de las plantas no solo como seres vivos, sino como símbolos de crecimiento, resiliencia y, sobre todo, sanación. Cada página evoca la sensación de caminar por un jardín secreto donde las heridas emocionales encuentran un eco y una cura en el lenguaje silencioso de las hojas y las raíces. Leer "Ars Botanica" es sumergirse en un ritual íntimo de renovación, recordándonos que, al igual que las plantas, los seres humanos también podemos encontrar la luz tras las tormentas.
May 27, 2017
An intimate and moving autobiographical account of the author's letters to his unborn child. Not only does the book capture the feeling of the slow realization and coming to terms with the loss of a romantic partner, but it also reminds one of the power of love and connection that can form with a child that was never known. It is a heavy and simultaneously uplifting collection of letters, poems, and photographs. I feel privileged and grateful to have been allowed such a close look into Taranto's life and the various difficult moments within it. "Ars Botanica" is, in its foundation, a book about each of us, about what we are capable of enduring no matter how difficult it may seem.
June 12, 2018
What a strange and beautiful beast of a book. The book is a mix of memoir, poetry, field guide and drawings. The spine of the book lies in a series of letters to the potentiality of the fetus he and his girlfriend aborted. He names the figure Catalpa.
Taranto writes to Catalpa about the year surrounding his near existence, of being in love and of grieving the end of that relationship. Emotionally raw, there are moments when the writing is heartbreaking. Yet, there's something wondrous in it's execution. The combination of genres and emotional honesty created something I hadn't encountered before.
Taranto writes to Catalpa about the year surrounding his near existence, of being in love and of grieving the end of that relationship. Emotionally raw, there are moments when the writing is heartbreaking. Yet, there's something wondrous in it's execution. The combination of genres and emotional honesty created something I hadn't encountered before.
October 12, 2017
This book offered beautiful descriptions of love and loss, with chapters separated by drawn flowers. It's a petite book, but brimming with so many topics for discussion: Grief, genetic screening, regret, falling out of love, alopecia, beginnings that end almost immediately, and the question of whether it's possible for something that's temporary to last nonetheless. The abortion topic is certainly worthy of discussion, especially since the narrator treats the subject with such compassion and care.
I admired the book and will be interested to see how it strikes other readers.
I admired the book and will be interested to see how it strikes other readers.
June 20, 2018
From the first page, this memoir takes hold and does not let go. Taranto thoughtfully captures the pain of a lost relationship in brutal honesty; yet, manages to weave in beautifully crafted passages that reflect the love he carries in his heart. The text keeps you on your toes as we pop back and forth in time, learning about the author before, during, and after his loss. I could not put this book down. The book's presentation--cover and illustrations--set it apart. Waiting for more from this author!
January 15, 2018
I'm very biased because I had a class with Tim at school. So I went into the book knowing him as well as any student knows a professor and I fell in love. This book is a testament to Tim's voice, his eclectic mix of interests and just the fascinating life he's lead. But most of all, I just loved this thoughtful rumination on grief. This book just clicked for me and I'm happy I read it.
August 22, 2022
You know the kind of writing that is immediately clearly someone’s MFA project? This was SO self-important and simultaneously so hollow. The formatting gimmicks add nothing of substance, and the distractingly obnoxious narrator doesn’t even bother to meaningfully characterize the woman at the heart of the story. Like i truly have NO sense of this woman the book is allegedly about.
July 14, 2024
I enjoyed reading about Tim's experiences falling in love, dealing with his disease, the loss of his future daughter, and the loss of his love. I'm not huge into poetry so some of the poems between chapters weren't really my thing. Hearing his story made me consider things in my own life that I may lose and reminded me to be grateful.
August 27, 2017
This memoir, and poetic botanical exploration of grief and loss was so poignant, so beautiful, so wonderful and sad. I am at a loss for words. I am so glad that I purchased this book for my personal library, as I'll be visiting it again.
December 30, 2017
Absolutely compelling. The most spell-binding, haunting, and honest book I've ever read. Tarranto weaves a narrative of love and loss that leaves you feeling both sad and entranced. Gorgeous nature motifs add even more beautiful reflection to the pages. I would recommend to anyone.
September 26, 2019
A heartbreaking story. A collection of letters from a very confused, broken man to his aborted child. He goes between telling stories to the child about what the child is missing now that they are dead...to talking to it as if it is experiencing another life somewhere else.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 16, 2020
Exquisite writing. Extremely generous. Really intimate. I'm not sure I've ever read anything that let me in as much as this book did. It felt like a conversation with a friend, a friend I really liked. I'm sorry it's over, I'm going to miss hearing what it has to say.
December 30, 2017
Loss, grief, emptiness filled with found objects, birds, fossils, flowers
February 16, 2018
fuck.
why can't more books be like this book?
why can't more books be like this book?
August 15, 2019
Loved this with my whole heart. Put words to feelings I’ve had and been unable to express. Grateful.
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May 1, 2020I had mixed feelings about this I can't quite name, but the Iowaness made me ache for the Central Time Zone.
May 5, 2020
This book was just something I wanted to sit with forever. I loved the way the letters were in-between the chapters and the lil drawings. I just loved so much about this. Thank you for this.
August 21, 2022
Beautiful. Poignant.
May 23, 2023
It will break your heart in the most beautiful way possible. I don’t understand why it’s not more well-known.
September 23, 2024
beautifully and dreamily written
Displaying 1 - 30 of 35 reviews