I smell next Pulitzer. I also smell the forest, the flowers, the entire flora and fauna, the insects, the soil, the entire landscape of western Massachusetts, going back to the start of the novel, four-hundred years ago. Daniel Mason creates a profound narrative that ascends the setting to protagonist level, the house and the woods of this narrative carrying on history and ascendancy.
Humans are transient; nature takes its course, and the primary house metamorphoses into sovereignty or supplication to the terrain. The people in this novel are beautifully wrought, and Mason gives powerful attention to art, mental illness, colonialism, slavery, grief, aging, poetry, music, and so much more. But, if the lives of these people are the television shot, it is fleeting, momentary. They get their fifteen minutes, yet are largely bystanders to the cycle of Mother Earth.
I’m a native of Massachusetts and know the beauty of western Mass.,--the Berkshires, the Connecticut River Valley, the breathtaking views, the forests and its mighty trees. Mason’s book is compared with Richard Power’s, The Overstory, as both novels address the destruction of American forests. NW had me turning to Wikipedia and Google images again and again to look up the images of everything from bugs to bowers--a tremendous, encyclopedic adventure into the woods. Apple orchards have never been so beautifully rendered in an American novel, either.
North Woods never feels stilted or overplayed, as the nature of life, death, and procreation was woven elegantly, masterfully through the story. We relate to the humans that dwell in this narrative, and we feel the marching of time through the natural world. Our lives are linear, while nature continues its seasonal rebirth. Human behavior has intruded upon the ecosystem, has altered the forests, sometimes in terrible ways. Nature, too, can surprise us with irruptive change.
The impact of four centuries of time leaves much in its wake. Apropo of the narrative—the plot is propulsive, the book compelling, unputdownable, and deeply consequential to the theme. The way Mason integrates both is sublime. The yoking of the corporeal and spiritual is transcendent. Time is a constant refrain.
A piquant conversation between author Anthony Marra and Daniel Mason (at the end of the novel) gives us insight into Mason’s connection of nature and mental health. The author is a psychiatrist (I am a psychiatric RN), and, while reading this tour de force, I often felt like it was written for me. If an author can evoke that for even one reader, it is a triumph.
As I now leaf casually through the pages again, choosing any passage, I’m more aware of the novel’s eternal circle of Time. Mason is a literary treasure, you must read him for pleasure and purpose, for the rings of imagination, the majestic trees, the tiny bugs, the force of human consciousness upon nature—our capacity to grow and spoil, and to find solace in these beautiful woods of Mason’s mind.
“Sometimes, overwhelmed, she retreats into the forests of the past. …and she has found that the only way to understand the world as something other than a tale of loss is to see it as a tale of change. …she’d dreamed about these ancient forests,… Skies blackened by bird flocks, valleys full of grazing moose and elk. The glens echo with the songs of long-lost warblers…, children singing in Mohican, wolf howl. Rivers so thick with fish that she could walk on them. The ghosts of the damselflies, dryad’s saddle, elm trees: a thousand angels on a blade of grass.”
I am so deeply thankful to Penguin Random House for sending me an ARC for review.