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A monumental novel about reimagining our place in the living world, by one of our most "prodigiously talented" novelists (New York Times Book Review).
The Overstory unfolds in concentric rings of interlocking fable that range from antebellum New York to the late twentieth-century Timber Wars of the Pacific Northwest and beyond. An air force loadmaster in the Vietnam War is shot out of the sky, then saved by falling into a banyan. An artist inherits a hundred years of photographic portraits, all of the same doomed American chestnut. A hard-partying undergraduate in the late 1980s electrocutes herself, dies, and is sent back into life by creatures of air and light. A hearing-and speech-impaired scientist discovers that trees are communicating with one another. These and five other strangers, each summoned in different ways by trees, are brought together in a last and violent stand to save the continent's few remaining acres of virgin forest. There is a world alongside ours??vast, slow, interconnected, resourceful, magnificently inventive, and almost invisible to us. This is the story of a handful of people who learn how to see that world and who are drawn up into its unfolding catastrophe.… (altro)
paradoxosalpha: If you were confused or excited by the juxtaposition of silviculture and the Internet in The Overstory, Smith's book is good stuff, especially the second chapter, on "The Ecology of the Internet."
paradoxosalpha: The forest in Powers' book takes on the organizing and animating function of the river in McDonald's. Both of these novels also have a regard for artificial intelligence that de-centers it from the human perspective.
Priviliged white man writes a really boring book to tell ordinary people to quit their day jobs and live in the trees to keep them from being felled. Maybe it would have hit harder if I'd read it BEFORE the pandemic. But the fact that, irl, he brags about how he just up and left his cushy professor job and went to live in the forest and man does he feel better now. Golly, if only we ALL could do that Dick. As for character development, he never scratched the surface. In fact, I could probably have used this for my paper on The Male Gaze because, at one point, apropos of nothing, some logger tells the tree hugger young woman, "man, you are hot." That's about as deep as it went. Oh, and of course, white male writer obsesses with bodily fluids. A woman is living in a tree for months and the only thing discussed is how she pees and poops. Is she on the short pill? Or does she just magically turn her period off? Dick, I really want to know, are you aware that afabs have other bodily fluids? *sigh* In short, just another rich white dude with zero solutions trying to tell us povos how we should live.
Side note: It was reading this book that made me realize that trees are the liberal "unborn." Conservatives have their "babies" to save, and that helps them ignore the real suffering of real people, liberals have their tress. ( )
An amazing book, that charts the journey of a disparate group of people through their lives and how they come to understand the role of trees in the world around and within us. You will never look at a tree in quite the same way again, and that is a very good thing. ( )
I confess: I have been known to salute, bow down to or hug a tree. And apropos to Earth Day, last April I finished this sweeping novel about trees and how they’ve shaped our world, how they network to share abundance or protect each other when resources are scarce, how they signal to animals for help and otherwise endure (for now) despite our systemic over-consumption. The Overstory is an epic read, a saga rich in characters that could have walked right out of The Odyssey or a Dickens novel. While this is a work of fiction, the information presented about trees is based on science. As someone who grew up in the middle of an orchard, it’s astounding how little I know about trees. This book made me want to learn more. A treasure of a read, The Overstory has staying power and is very much worth your time. ( )
I loved entering the world of trees through this multi-character narrative. I'm guessing the weave of the stories, their outstretched branches and roots, served as a metaphor in its own right to the complex lives of trees and forests. I took off one star because I wish it were 150 pages shorter, as I felt like I had to slog through a hefty portion. But finishing it felt pretty incredible. It was heartbreaking. Finally, I wanted to read the fictional character Patricia Westerford's book "The Secret Forest" which sounded spectacular. Fortunately there is the real book "The Hidden Life of Trees" to look forward to. ( )
“Literary fiction has largely become co-opted by that belief that meaning is an entirely personal thing,” Powers says. “It’s embraced the idea that life is primarily a struggle of the individual psyche to come to terms with itself. Consequently, it’s become a commodity like a wood chipper, or any other thing that can be rated in terms of utility.” [...]
“I want literature to be something other than it is today,” Powers says. “There was a time when our myths and legends and stories were about something greater than individual well-being. "
Acquiring tree consciousness, a precondition for learning how to live here on Earth, means learning what things grow and thrive here, independently of us.
We are phenomenally bad at experiencing, estimating, and conceiving of time. Our brains are shaped to pay attention to rapid movements against stable backgrounds, and we’re almost blind to the slower, broader background drift. The technologies that we have built to defeat time—writing and recording and photographing and filming—can impair our memory (as Socrates feared) and collapse us even more densely into what psychologists call the “specious present,” which seems to get shorter all the time. Plants’ memory and sense of time is utterly alien to us. It’s almost impossible for a person to wrap her head around the idea that there are bristlecone pines in the White Mountains of California that have been slowly dying since before humans invented writing.
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The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. --Ralph Waldo Emerson
The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nodto me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. -RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Earth may be alive: not as the ancients saw her--a sentient Goddess with a purpose and foresight--but alive like a tree. A tree that quietly exists, never moving except to sway in the wind, yet endlessly conversing with the sunlight and soil. Using sunlight and water and nutrient minerals to grow and change. But all done so imperceptibly, that to me an old oak tree on the green is the same as it was when I was a child. --James Lovelock
Earth may be alive: not as the ancients saw her - a sentient Goddess wit a purpose and foresight - but alive like a tree. A tree that quietly exists, never moving except to sway in teh wind, yet endlessly conversing with the sunlight and the soil. Using sunlight and water and nutrient minerals to grow and change. But all done so imperceptibly, that to me the old oak tree on the green is the same as it was when I was a child. -JAMES LOVELOCK
Tree . . . he watching you. You look at tree, he listen to you. He got no finger, he can't speak. But that leaf . . . he pumping, growing, growing in the night. While you sleeping you dream something. Tree and grass same thing. --Bill Neidjie
Tree . . . he watching you. You look at tree, he listen to you. He got no finger, he can't speak. But that leaf . . . he pumping, growing, growing in the night. While you sleeping you dream something. Tree and grass same thing. - BILL NEIDJE
Dedica
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For Aida.
For Aida
Incipit
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First there was nothing.
First there was nothing.
Citazioni
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To be human is to confuse a satisfying story with a meaningful one, and to mistake life for something huge with two legs.
The most wondrous products of four billion years of life need help.
Ultime parole
Dati dalle informazioni generali inglesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
A monumental novel about reimagining our place in the living world, by one of our most "prodigiously talented" novelists (New York Times Book Review).
The Overstory unfolds in concentric rings of interlocking fable that range from antebellum New York to the late twentieth-century Timber Wars of the Pacific Northwest and beyond. An air force loadmaster in the Vietnam War is shot out of the sky, then saved by falling into a banyan. An artist inherits a hundred years of photographic portraits, all of the same doomed American chestnut. A hard-partying undergraduate in the late 1980s electrocutes herself, dies, and is sent back into life by creatures of air and light. A hearing-and speech-impaired scientist discovers that trees are communicating with one another. These and five other strangers, each summoned in different ways by trees, are brought together in a last and violent stand to save the continent's few remaining acres of virgin forest. There is a world alongside ours??vast, slow, interconnected, resourceful, magnificently inventive, and almost invisible to us. This is the story of a handful of people who learn how to see that world and who are drawn up into its unfolding catastrophe.
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Side note: It was reading this book that made me realize that trees are the liberal "unborn." Conservatives have their "babies" to save, and that helps them ignore the real suffering of real people, liberals have their tress. (