An ambitious and lovely project, to interweave personal essay and nature writing, but too clumsily done for me to enjoy. Each essay is named after a natural phenomenon (plant, animal, typhoon) and makes a facile connection from that to a time in the author's life. The associations are bizarre and contrived. Moving to a new school made the author want to be like a vampire squid because she too wanted to hide? Flamingos have long legs, like the author's, and she spent nights out dancing in college on those long legs, and currently worries for the safety of young girls? I don't understand the point of juxtaposing such disparate subjects. Am I, as a human, supposed to feel more connected to the natural world because the mouths of ribbon eels hang open like human babies' mouths (or at least, the author's human baby's mouth)? Or am I supposed to be moved to wonder by the unfathomable alienness of other species, because in learning less than I wanted to know about ribbon eels and more than I wanted to know about the author's early months with her infant, all the differences between those phenomena are called to mind? Am I supposed to be charmed into such ecstasies by the sheer whimsy of it all that my rational brain shuts down? I think what it comes down to is that neither her personal experiences nor the natural phenomena were explored with anywhere near enough detail to immerse me. The little tidbits about interesting creatures only left me wanting to learn more--which would great, if that was a feeling left by a nature book upon its conclusion, but I was left wanting to learn more about the animal while instead having to read boring facts about her personal life. --I'm NOT saying the the author's life is boring. Modern fiction has shown that any life can be riveting material. I'm saying the author writes about her life in a boring way. Generalized accounts of certain life periods, not at all rich in detail. An occasional lifeless anecdote. She's a poet, I understand, but I was surprised that there was nothing at the level of language to make up for the narrative deficiencies.
A small side complaint, but the casually dropped privilege grated at times. "Oh, the last time I was snorkeling in the South China Sea...". Lady. Please.
Yes, there is a phrase "childlike wonder" for a reason. There is something childlike about wonder: looking at the world as though you have never seen anything like it, as if you were just born. That does not mean that, in order to cultivate this childlike wonder, books need to *speak to the reader as though she is a child.* "These suckers contains [sic] about ten thousand sensory neurons that detect texture, shape, and, most of all, taste. How wild to have even just one sucker on the inside cup of our hands. Just one!" How wild, indeed.
This may have gotten two stars for being inoffensive, at least, except it was a little offensive. I am used to references, in other media, to practices I dislike but most people find acceptable--hunting octopuses, clipping pet bird's wings--and just have to shake it off, but this book is supposed to be ABOUT how wondrous octopuses and birds are. I guess I'm naive to be surprised when environmental writing doesn't seem attuned to animal rights. I only forced myself to finish this because it's so short, and yet it felt so long--thank God I'm finally done, and hungry for a better book. Pass the octopus.