Re: pp.91-93 in Austin's The Land of Little Rain...
In this passage I see Austin participating in some of the same exploratory
concerns – the same uncomfortableness with terra
incognita – as many of the other North American nature writers we have read
(particularly Thoreau and Traill). Austin shares these writers' ambivalence about
nature’s remaining mysteries. I’m thinking in particular about the
mythological bottom (or bottomlessness) of Walden Pond, which both bothers and attracts Thoreau
in the same way that flowers blooming unseen seems to unsettle Traill.
On the one hand, for instance, Austin displays resistance to
the idea of nature unfolding in the absence of the human gaze: she is driven to
conjecture about the nature of the mysterious tulares (“It must be a happy
mystery” based on the song of the birds [92]) and overtly confesses that she “
wishes for…nearer speech from those the reedy fens have swallowed up” (93). I
also detect anxiety accumulating along with the birds within the reeds; the
gathering cacophony (from the specificity of “redwinged blackbirds” and “the
great blue heron” to “quacking hoards” of “strange and far-flown fowl” [92])
evokes the idea of a sort of conspiratorial natural convention – one from which
humans are excluded, driving a frustrating partition between man and nature.
On the other hand, Austin seems to embrace this mystery. The gorgeous lyricism of this passage, for example, elevates the secrets of the fens to matters worthy of poetic representation. Further, note the strangeness of this observation: “The
tulares are full of mystery and malaria. That is why we have meant to explore
them and have never done so” (92). One is tempted (perhaps even encouraged) to
gloss over this assertion with an assumption – surely Austin means to attribute
the wish to explore to the “mystery,”
and the non-exploration to the “malaria”?
– and yet the structure of the sentence is ambiguous. In one possible reading, the
“mystery” itself plays an equal part in her resistance to explore. This makes
some sense – mystery might imply danger, and therefore augment resistance – but
then the word “explore” necessitates mystery; one cannot “explore” what is not
unknown. So does Austin suggest that people have not explored the tulares
precisely because they are unexplored? Because the mystery itself is worth preserving?
This also puts me in mind of Thoreau’s
encounter with the loon; he revels in its mystery even as he wishes to find it
out. It seems that Austin shares a similar attitude toward these fens; she aims
to glorify and preserve “the secret of the tulares” (93), even as she is driven
to demonstrate a sort of knowledge about it.
- Sam
PS: On page 92, Austin asserts: “The tules grow
inconceivably thick…cattle, no, not any fish nor fowl can penetrate them,” but then she describes them in terms of
the birds that inhabit them. What is that about? Am I missing something, or did this trip anybody else up?
I think we need to distinguish between the tules (the reeds) and the tulares (the landscape marked by those reeds). To some extent, this comes from my knowledge of where mallards nest--very close to the water, next to the reeds, but usually not in the thick of them. I take your point regarding the mystery--note also how the "we" becomes the "you" in the very next sentence: it's less a statement of fact, in my opinion, than an injunction: don't explore it, don't even think of doing it. The knowledge the enacts for us is the realization that we don't know anything at all--which would make the text amenable to ecocritical analysis. I like how you bring in Thoreau's loon--but note, too, how the clear surface of the water is replaced by black pools and quagmires. This is not necessarily a sign of environmental decay, but an indication that this is not--as Thoreau's pond certainly was--a landscape close to home.
ReplyDelete