I found Rachel
Carson’s Silent Spring both
interesting and easy to follow. I
was struck by the tension between the pleasing accessibility of the prose and
the constant indictment of humankind.
The book seemed crafted to draw as varied a readership as possible. In the Author’s Note, Carson says,
I
have not wished to burden the text with footnotes but I realize that many of my
readers will wish to pursue some of the subjects discussed. I have therefore included a list of my
principal sources of information, arranged by chapter and page, in an appendix
which will be found at the back of the book.
The extensive
research (all 54 pages of sources!) is kept tidily in the back, as not to deter
the general public. Carson’s book
is also aesthetically appealing, with each chapter graced by black and white
sketches. The organization and
presentation work symbiotically with Carson’s examples of nature, creating a
narrative almost uncomfortably understandable.
The
efforts to force the reader to comprehend begin immediately in the first
chapter, “A Fable for Tomorrow.”
These few pages image an idyllic scene in nature before launching into the
grim outcome of “a strange blight” (2).
Here, Carson outlines the main environmental changes that she explains
later. This rhetorical inventory works
to implicate the readers; if you, too, have noticed “a strange stillness” for
lack of birds, or neighbors’ farms experiencing “mysterious maladies” (2), you
will be more likely to submit to the text’s authority.
Throughout
the narrative, Carson chips away at the blinders we have maintained in both
witnessing and participating in humankind’s dictatorship over nature; these
blinders essentially render violence to nature permissible. Unlike Mary Austin, Carson makes the
strange familiar, even while mostly discussing the microscopic, the subsurface,
the seemingly inconsequential. She
preys on urban and suburban anxieties, illustrating the aesthetic damages we
have wrought through chemicals. An
example of this narrative strategy occurs in “Earth’s Green Mantle,” in which
she takes us to our roadsides.
Once attractive to tourists, much roadside vegetation was subjected to
chemical sprays. This regiment
turned the roadsides into a scorched, apocalyptic version of taking the scenic
route – “a sight to be endured” (71).
Carson points to the disappearance of nature’s delights, hinting at the
former glories of birdwatching, recreation, lounging, etc. to activate the
average person’s sympathy for nature’s future. Her technique is consciousness-raising at its most grounded
execution.
Caddie--I love your comparison with Austin: making the strange seem familiar. This is really the crux of the book: her landscapes are nothing short of gothic, and yet she tells us they are ours. By contrast. Austin tells us that her landscape will never be ours. If anything, we will have to try and earn it.
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