Some books require a person to slow down, connect to senses, to the inner world of knowing, and the outer world of touch. The Salt House is such a book. It revels in the senses, and Cynthia Huntington's descriptions are deeply poetic.
I had to wait to enter into it -- wait until my inner rhythm (of beeping cars, a move across the country, and fast-paced work), was slow enough to enter in -- like stepping into a hot bath -- before I could really enjoy this active meditation.
Cynthia Huntington, professor of poetry and English literature captures the world of living in a rackety old beach shack which is historic and continually altered by sea and wind. There's no running water, no electricity, great winds and cold, and she and her newlywed husband, Bert shack up (no pun intended) on bunk beds; she is a writer, he is an artist. They speak more in silence than in words, and move about each other with great comfort.
This book reflects a dream come true for an introvert, and especially an artistic one at that: independence and interdependence, shared space, spacious love. It is a bath in peacefulness, this book, and I longed for my own cabin by the sea with a Beloved, each of us immersed in our own projects, but coming back together at night, to share the glory and struggles of natural land.
Similar to Long, Quiet Highway, (for example), even glancing at this book evokes in me a feeling of immense peace, an intense wonder about the natural world, and a gratitude for all that is.
This is a glorious book, not for everyone (to be sure), but a book which will be loved forever by those who love it.