The naturalist-author of Stirring the Mud offers an illuminating study of the natural history and spiritual quality of caves, describing the intriguing interiors of caves around the world, their unusual inhabitants, the fascination caves hold for fellow cavers, and other aspects of these dark and mysterious locales. Reprint.
What a perfect read for a sweltering summer day when even the birds are quiet and the air is still and “close” as they say in old books, and also somehow, liminal, paused, nothing shifting but your own breath… all, too, befitting a cave, aside from the heat. So maybe I just happened to be in the right headspace for this book but I loved the slow, meandering ponder of this nature writer. I loved the solid concrete details about caving and cave ecology as much as I loved the glimpses into the dark and spacious tunnels of the author’s mind. Hurd seems to speak for all nature writers and nature writing when she says, “What is it I want? Or need? To consider the possibility that what’s tucked in these inner pockets is nothing, the risk that it’s everything, the danger that it’s both, and that it’s one of my jobs to discover the difference.” I look forward to more of Hurd’s discoveries in her other books.
I went into this book expecting adventure, trip debriefs, exultation at the joy of caving, instruction, etc. While some of these things existed in the book it's more abstract than that. Hurd uses the voids in the earth as a metaphor for the voids we face through the grieving process. Throughout this book she explores her feelings of losing a close friend to cancer just as she is navigating the hollow places of the earth. Along with this exploration comes a lot of metaphor and spirituality. I certainly appreciated these ideas and found many of them quite interesting. It just isn't what I was looking for, ultimately.
Certain books are obviously written by poets, and this is one. My only experience with caves was total claustrophobia in a crawlspace extension of the Laurel Caverns at summer camp. I got out damp, muddy, sweaty, and vowing never to enter a cave again. Hurd talks about this claustrophobia in the first essay, then goes on to conquer it and explore caves all over the world. Her writing is graceful, descriptive, soaring. My only complaint was that she left one story unfinished. Funny to read her comments on metaphors - they're distracting and even dangerous if you think of them while exploring a cave. Lucky for us, she wrote them down afterwards. I may never go into a cave again, but I really enjoyed this book.
I couldn't finish. I can't even explain why I was so turned off by this book. Maybe it's the mistake of trying it directly after reading Helen Macdonald, who is just so much better at natural history.
This is also a book that is supposed to be about nature but is actually about death. But the connection felt forced. This book is also about all the human meaning behind a natural thing. But the meaning-talk obscured the object itself. Also: I was bored.
What's the difference between revelatory introspection and tone-deaf self-centeredness? I don't know, I can't tell, I'm worried that I can't explain why some books are unreadable to me.
While I read this book as research for writing about people who live in caves, and it did provide a lot of great snippets for what people in caves experience, I found the book most valuable for its writing about grief and absence. The chapter about standing in the twilight zone of a cave -- neither in the total dark nor in the light -- was especially powerful. Ultimately, it's an exploration of ourselves and who we are when we're in a squeeze, both a physical squeeze in a cave and the emotional squeeze of grief. Hurd writes sparingly yet movingly throughout the book about her friend Jeanne's long illness and then death; her words rang true to my experiences, as well. There's still lots of cool cave stuff, talk of moon milk, different kinds of caves all over the world, adaptations of cave-dwelling animals, the ammonia stink of bat guano. But also the experience and management of fear, of the awareness of tons of rock over your head, of the absence of regular markers of life. She quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson at one point: "Under every deep a lower deep opens." That's what reading this book was like, there was always a lower deep opening.
I enjoyed this. It is not just about caving, not merely "I went into some caves and this is what I saw/did there". There is much, much more to this as the author draws parallels between her caving experiences and numerous other things in her life. It's like reading about her spiritual response to caving. She is a talented writer who presents both beautiful prose and some chilling images. Her description of "squeezes" are simple, yet they affected me deeply - making me slightly uncomfortable, even driving me outside at one point just to put more space around me.
What a great read! I was mesmerized by how Hurd was able to slow down time and dig into a moment with such meditative, brilliant pondering.
I have a new interest in caves after reading Hurd's work, but I was equally interested in the structure of her essays and the balance between scene and associations. So many one-liners felt truly transcendent. This was a treat to read. So calming, so thoughtful, so evocative.
Compelling stand-alone essays that paint the portrait of a writer who overcame a fear of caves to become a master spelunker and learn about herself and confronting more fears and insecurities. Beautiful turns of phrase, and seamless transitions from scene to reflection
I got claustrophobic just reading about the author's caving experiences. This memoir has more personal revelations than her book about bogs, and I do like that sort of thing. Must read for anyone who actually goes caving. And a good armchair experience for those of us who never would.
A beautifully written exploration of the hidden places in the earth, the hidden places in our hearts and the darkness that is required to find our own light again after loss.