A professor in pandemic isolation rescues books from the flooded and collapsing McPherson Library. A man plants fireweed on the hillside of his depopulated Vancouver Island suburb. An aspiring luthier poaches the last ancient Sitka spruce to make a violin for a child prodigy. Campbell’s astonishing vision pulls the echoing effects of small acts and intimate moments through this multi-generational and interconnected story of how a West coast community survives the ravages of climate change.
A novella expansion of the Sturgeon Award winning short story “An Important Failure.”
2 stars *this review is a postcard from Outlier Island* 🌴📨
short review for busy readers: Extremely boring climate fiction novella. The narrow focus is on one island off the Canadian west coast where climate disaster obliterates modern society, only to then give rise to a post-apoc society that springs up on the isolated island over a few generations.
While that set up could be interesting, the writing is as thick as molasses and so is the very vague plot. Lots of technical terms and detail about different trees/shrubs and...violin making. Which did fit together thematically, but not practically and just seems discordant and strange at times.
I found it hard to accept the virtual Iron Age society on the island when we're told people are still going on concert tours and there are Mars missions and satellite uplinks. Everything is very slow, and just didn't coalesce for me, esp when "Canadians" arrive like aliens from another world and
4.5 stars. 2023 Winner of the prestigious Ursula K. Le Guin Prize for Fiction.
I forgot which one of my Goodreads friends brought this to my attention. If are the reader who did, thank you! This novella of linked stories drew me in immediately. By a Canadian author. Many of my favorite novels are by Canadian women. I think perhaps they have a great interest in the natural world that makes it into their writing, and I'm an avid reader of wilderness books. That's just a guess. This bears that out. Dystopian, lyrical, inventive, disturbing and hopeful all at once. This is an elegy in advance for all that might be lost if we don't act, and much that likely will be lost, even if we do.
Trees loom large in the landscape and hearts of the people of this novel. Hence the title and cover. Campbell promotes the idea that trees are perhaps our most important resource. And could one day save us both spiritually and physically. As mentioned, the book holds hope in humanity and in our resilience and ability to create social networks and art. The beauty of all sorts of relationships and our need for creativity is a hallmark of this novella.
Some brilliant writing. I look forward to Campbell's next project. And I'll leave everyone with this quote:
When the world ends, you lost track of important things: your wife's ashes, your daughter's location. It is important to be close to those you love, so you can reach out and touch them as the universe shrinks to a valley, a street, a room.
This book, like the short story it started out as, hurt my heart but also made me hopeful.
We tend to go about our lives not thinking too much about climate change, because if we did we'd be sad all the time. But it's still good to think about it sometimes, to let ourselves feel the pain of it. And to remember that, as bad as it is, as many people are going to die from it . . . there is an after. Probably there will be humans around after, trying to create a better world from the ashes of the old one.
The book focuses on a small area near Vancouver, British Columbia, near where I grew up. This makes it especially poignant, because of course this area will change--has already started to, with clams cooking on the beach last summer and wildfire smoke hazing the air more and more often. The book examines the lives, over several generations, of people weathering climate change. There are things they mourn, like the dense wood that made the best violins--which, I am sorry to tell you, already does not grow anymore. And yet, there are also things they discover and celebrate: trees they plant, buildings they begin, violins they make. We can see surviving climate change and coming out the other side will be a generations-long project, like the growing of the wood for a good violin.
I'm giving it four stars because I don't think the novella adds that much that wasn't in the short story. There are more characters and more that's going on, but the heart of it that was the original short story is still the best part. I also had a little trouble keeping track of all the characters and how much time elapsed between chapters. Nobody is ever really introduced; they simply show up and we're supposed to eventually catch on that they're the child or grandchild of somebody, or an orphan, or something.
Still, this book was an emotional journey that I feel I needed to take. We are in an era where we have to come to some acceptance of what is happening, because it is too late to preserve our old way of life. We have to stop it from getting worse, and we need to take thought for how we're going to survive while it's happening. And most of all, we need the hope that we will, somehow, come out the other side. If not us, the trees that will make some future century's violins.
Arboreality is a novella, composed of several stories that could stand alone, but together become what feels like a massive saga in relatively few pages. It’s an expansion of the Theodore Sturgeon Award-winning short-story in Clarksworld August 2020, “An Important Failure,” which can give you a taste of some of the writing.
We start out in a world that’s struggling with the impacts of climate change, but it still feels somewhat banal, in that slow descent into quasi-apocalypse I can imagine our (real) society falling into. People are still working or doing mundane things like maintaining a lawn, there is government support, hospitals exist, the world still connects, but it’s clear things are not great – a library is flooding, there are concerns about water, and infrastructure is crumbling. The book progresses from there – things get worse, but they also get better.
In the beginning we meet Bernard, a former professor turned book rescuer, turned planter of native trees and other plants. We meet violin makers and musicians, we meet homesteaders, we meet community organizers, and we meet them through time, and their points of intersection and interdependence.
The story is primarily set on southern Vancouver island, in the Cowichan Valley, and only hints at what’s going on elsewhere in the world – sometimes pulling way back (like on a space station) but otherwise, very localized. It hit many of my sweet spots in terms of speculative fiction – I love the well woven, interconnected stories, with environmental themes, climate fiction/potential future, and ultimately, a few different views of human resilience – in this case, implications of larger technological advancements that work towards less dire global circumstances (The Canadians), but primarily community based resiliency, on a local level, through low-tech interventions and actions.
Arboreality tells of a possible future, with inventive and creative possibilities. I’m not sure if it’s a book for everyone, but I can see it being a book I re-read in the future, for inspiration and hope. Despite the dire circumstances explored in Arboreality, it’s still a beautifully optimistic read.
I received a digital advanced reader copy courtesy of Netgalley and publisher Stelliform Press. I also pre-ordered a paper copy.
This is one of those 'I don't know how I feel about this book' awkward moments. On the one hand, some things really worked for me and gave me goosebumps and heart feels. On the other, it constantly felt like there was something missing engagement-wise.
Prose-wise, it's one of those books that seems to be made up of a huge number of enumerations. See: Orbital. Funnily enough, there are some portions of Arboreality written in italics that are exactly people on a space station looking down on Earth - and I think the writing was much better and more specific in Campbell's case.
At the same time, it felt that the writing was *too* specific in all kinds of jargon terms and I usually don't mind having a few of those. I stumbled over the stuff here and it kept me from connecting deeper with the material.
This book filled me with climate grief, just like the characters are filled with that. I feel really sad now (I feel sad every day, so maybe it's not the best evidence) about what we've done and we keep doing. I love this theme of staying where you are and trying to fix just a corner of the world - if most of us did that, we wouldn't be in this freaking world-ending mess. And in the end I liked the little connections between vignettes and the themes about roots and networks and communities.
I don't understand why most characters are male, though? It's not relevant to the plot or themes and it feels like a throwback from a past where women didn't have such a presence in public spaces. It felt strange and jarring.
A mess of a review, too, maybe I'll come back after more processing or after I make sense of my feelings!
I'm the first to rate and review this one. Let's do this... I’ve never read the short story that inspired this novelization, so this review has no frame of comparison. Instead, I approached this as an original read and, as such, found it quite good. I’ve read a book by this press before – a Canadian outfit determined to save the planet one book at a time…which is to say they specialize in climate themed speculative fiction. The perfectly titled arboreality is about a reality where arboreal and other lifeforms are dying out and the world is resignedly reshaping itself to its new normal. It’s a tale interwoven of many narratives, many characters, multi-generational. Set in the West Coast of Canada, but geography doesn’t matter all that much because the global extinction this tale tells is…well, global. People messed with nature. Didn’t care, didn’t think. Maybe elected Supreme Court officials who restricted Environmental Protection Agencies from doing their job. That sort of thing. The tale is bleak, appropriately enough, but engaging in its own way and very lyrical in its narrative style. Almost elegiac. Read quickly. Thanks Netgalley.
A climate change novella set on Vancouver island. Beginning in the near future, the book is interconnected short stories in different generations and finishes around 2100. As an isolated community survival revolves around learning, adaptation and scavenging but there’s time for music and poetry. So unusual for a catastrophe novel(maybe just the ones I tend to read) it retains hope and humanity. An interesting and thought provoking read.
I wasn't sure what to expect going into this book, but Campbell really pulled off multiple perspectives in a short book, which is no small feat. I was anxious about how well head hopping across time would work without something the length of a Sandersonesque tome, but by keeping the geographic scope limited and the characters within a few degrees of separation of each other, the narrative stays tight enough to stay invested in the outcome.
This book also does a good job of walking the line between climate apocalypse and everything was fine because of some hand wavy solution. Things are pretty rough throughout the book, but it does feel like things are slowly getting better. Wildfires, future pandemics, and sea level rise are just some of the issues facing our protagonists.
What I really appreciated is that there is no one hero to save us from climate change. The characters can't save the world on their own. What they can do is plant seeds, both literal and figurative, for the next generation. That's what spoke to me in this book. It really brought the concept of being a good ancestor to life, something my own ancestors might have thought of as "cathedral thinking."
At this point, a certain amount of warming is baked into the climate system and I'm not going to see things return to "normal." If you and I each do our own part to make the world a little better than we left it though, maybe my kid will see a stable climate or the next generation after them. I really puts all the struggles we've faced in the climate movement into perspective and makes them feel worth fighting even though they often don't feel like enough.
If you even have the slightest care for future generations, do yourself a favor and read this book!
Thanks to Stelliform Press for providing an ARC in exchange for my honest review.
Enthralling, sad, strange, fascinatingly written and a bit too wrapped up in leftist intellectualism.
(We're apparently going to survive thanks to librarians, musicians, and multiculturalism. It feels sooo Vancouver Island!)
I read this book over two days - the first day/half of the book, I found more entrancing, but also quite depressing - the second day/half was more hopeful, but also less enthralling, at least for me.
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
The world has reached a point of no return because of climate change and are suffering the results of an environmental apocalypse. Each story is an interconnected short story of people existing on this ravaged planet.
I liked this book. It's super short and should have only taken a few hours to read. It reminded me of “How High We Go in the Dark” but shorter. Much shorter. This book plops a reader right in the middle of an already ravaged and being ravaged planet. You can assume what happened to the world and it spells out certain aspects such as numerous epidemics and massive wildfires, global temperature increases and flooding and mudslides and topsoil erosion - I mean, I suppose the book pretty much does spell out what happened to the planet but the book does begin when everything has already fallen apart. It seemed very speculative fiction to me which, as the genre does, causes me to get lost in my head. It was interesting.
This was my second attempt at reading Arboreality. I had started it before but didn't finish. I decided to give it another shot since it won Ursula K. LeGuin's award that highlights authors who "can imagine real grounds for hope and see alternatives to how we live now".
Arboreality began as a short story and later expanded into novella length. It starts with bleak imagery and vignettes showing humans who finally managed to destroy the earth and suffer the consequences of their actions. In a nutshell, Campbell explores the impact of the environmental shift on a small slice of British Colombia. As the story progresses, things turn more hopeful and the narrative shows how people might adapt and reshape their lives in the face of climate change.
Arboreality is essentially a novella built of linked short stories and vignettes spanning generations. The writing is exquisite at the sentence level. While I appreciate the innovative storytelling and Campbell's skill, I must be honest—it feels longer and denser than its actual length. It didn't quite engage me as much as I had hoped. While I can acknowledge the novella's intellectual value and believe it's worth exploring, I found myself not fully immersed in the story and had to push myself to finish it.
NOMINATED FOR THE 2023 URSULA K. LE GUIN PRIZE FOR FICTION
Stelliform Press is probably one of my favorite small presses of the moment, focusing on cli-fi and often highlighting hope in even the darkest moments. Arboreality feels like a bit of an atypical release in their recent publication history; it feels decidedly darker (near apocalyptic) and sometimes behaving more like a collection of short stories than an actual novella.
It's a multigeneration story of survival packed into 120-something pages. People will often complain about novellas being too *short*, but I usually tend to disagree- most novellas are a perfect length, the format doing wonders for the story being told. Here I finally find myself agreeing. Apparently this is based on a short story. I probably would've preferred reading either the short story or an even more expanded version of it, into a full-length novel. This novella, while fascinating, felt incomplete.
Das sehr schöne kleine Hardcover enthält sechs locker verknüpfte Geschichten und der Klappentext nennt dies einen “Mosaikroman”. Man kann die Geschichten einzeln lesen und verstehen, im Gesamten bieten sie aber ein umfassendes zusammenhängendes Bild. Geschildert wird das Überleben der Menschen in einer von Pandemien und Umweltkatastrophen gezeichneten Welt. Dabei spielen die Geschichten vorwiegend in Kanada. und sind eher handlungsarm. Sie leben von einer poetischen Sprache und der Liebe zu Detailbeschreibungen der Natur und der Anstrengungen der Menschen, in der veränderten Welt zurechtzukommen.
In der ersten Geschichte, "Sondersammlungen", versuchen einige Menschen, das Wissen aus den Büchern der zerfallenden Bibliotheken zu retten. Dabei reagieren sie etwas seltsam, denn sie versuchen auch, ihr altes Leben zu retten, obwohl sie längst wissen, dass das nicht geht. Später werden genau diese Bücher sehr wichtig sein, die Bemühungen der Menschen waren wichtig und richtig. “Ein bedeutender Fehlschlag” ist eine gute Geschichte, insbesondere wenn man wie ich Violinmusik liebt. Allerdings ist sie auch zu lang. Es wird sehr detailliert beschrieben, wie jemand über Jahre hinweg eine Geige baut, wie er verschiedene Bestandteile dafür aus der ganzen Welt zusammenträgt, unterschiedliche Holzstücke aus den unterschiedlichsten Teilen der Welt und wie alle diese Teile jahrelang getrocknet und speziell verarbeitet werden. Die Geige ist für eine bestimmte Person gedacht. Eingebettet ist dies, wie auch bei den anderen Geschichten, in sehr gekonnte Beschreibungen der Änderungen durch den Klimawandel, des Verfalls der Welt und der Gesellschaft. Man muss sich auf einen langsamen Erzählstil einlassen, der auch schon einmal viele Details zu Pflanzen (insbesondere zu Bäumen) erzählt und auch die familiären Beziehungen der Figuren auslotet. In der letzten Geschichte, “Die Baumkathedrale”, läuft alles zusammen: In den vorhergehenden Geschichten wurden Vorbereitungen für diesen Abschluss erzählt, das betrifft Figuren, aber auch Gegenstände, wie die Geige und die titelgebende “Baumkathedrale”, ein großartiges aus Bäumen in vielen Jahrzehnten entstehendes Gebäude.
Das Buch verbreitet Hoffnung auf eine positive Veränderung der Menschheit, die sich an die veränderte Welt anpasst und in neuer Gemeinschaft dort zu überleben versucht. Allerdings wird gerade am Ende auch nicht verschwiegen, dass es noch ein weiter und beschwerlicher Weg ist. Es gibt Hoffnung, aber keinen naiven Glauben, dass es einfach wäre.
I can see the appeal of this collection of interlinked stories - novel adjacent - for the judges of the Ursula K. LeGuin Prize, which it recently won. It's very on the nose for the prize, even alluding to LeGuin at one point. Its explicit subject is the climate apocalypse and what happens after that, sans zombies or baby-eating cannibals (thankfully - I really hate The Road).
Much of the content of the stories is concerned with climate-adapted gardening techniques and new tech that will, in the world of the stories, probably save us, kind of. In the first story, the characters have to decide which books to save from a dampening library, and most of what they save describes practical survival information, with literary works becoming harder to justify saving as time goes on. That, in a nutshell, is what bothered me about this: the disappearance of literature, and most art, from the stories until really the very end, when art nudges a toe back into the characters' lives - the assumption being that in the apocalypse, the main thing that will matter is science, and art will have to go on the backburner until survival is ensured.
Yes, there is a plot thread connecting the stories about a violin, which matters a great deal to many of the characters. But art, its necessity in our lives, is largely absent. A few apocalypse-concerned books come to mind with much to say about the value of art, even (or especially) when the world is ending, even (or especially) when you're starving. I'm thinking, for instance, of The Overstory, or Station Eleven, or even the children's book Frederick. I would even include a competitor of this novel for the LeGuin Prize, The Spear Cuts Through Water, which I read as an apocalypse novel, though in a much less bonking-you-on-the-head way, and with quite a bit to say to anyone willing to listen about survival and art and creating new worlds.
I get the gardening thing, I do, I mean I have to garden in climate-adapted ways because I live in the Sacramento Valley, which is not only a burning hellscape for much of the year but for the rest of the year probably going to severely flood because it's essentially a giant bathtub that has flooded repeatedly in the past and is overdue for its next fill-up. I'm terrified, so I've learned how to grow food totally organically and I've developed resilient food-producing varieties that I no longer have to plant or care for. I've studied indigenous gardening techniques and permaculture's adaptation of them, and I've completely reworked my two yards to eradicate lawn and pointless ornamentals and install a water-conserving edible landscape. I've calculated roof rainwater catchment. I've composted the crap out of everything. I've learned how to behead my quail in case we are ever desperate for food. So I get it. But it is not only the mycorrhizal networks and aspen clones that connect us. We can't survive, and never have survived, without art, something I feel is largely unacknowledged in this collection.
When I entered the world of the novel, I was stressed and fearful. Change is always scary! And this is how I envision the world changing--limited technology and remembered old ways, and accepting change. Yet within a few days' after reading, I find this novel encouraging. After a long hard effort, there may be hope.
For me, this didn't feel nearly as hopeful as it did for other people. Most stories feel melancholy, the efforts almost pointless. In a mosaic novel, I want the indivial stories to build a world and a narrative over time, but - maybe due to the large time frame - this didn't form a world in my head. The characters didn't really do it for me and, since the stories are really quiet and small scale, I don't think I'll remember much of this. I like the idea, the world needs more books with a premise like this, the writing and some of the ideas are nice, but the book wasn't my vibe. It kind of makes sense, though, that a book that won an award named after an author whose novels I often don't get along with isnt for me either.
Brilliant. My copy has the two seals for awards on the cover. I marked it when it first came out and feel foolish not to have ordered it immediately. It is a story of the future, of an entirely believable and probably accurate post-holocaust future. No space wars or aliens or other clichés people who know nothing about science fiction assume they will find. I might say this is too close for comfort, but there is comfort here in human striving and accomplishment.
When I used to teach science fiction, utopia, and fantasy, I would tell my students about the period in SF where all stories were about nuclear holocaust—the stories leading to destruction, those about the destruction, and the ones about recovery. Overpopulation was another such issue—destruction from the demands of too many people on our little world.
This is such a novel about climate change. It begins in the middle of destruction and ends with hope. It is the winner of the Ursula K. Le Guin Prize for Fiction this year. It is a worst-case scenario of our future, but in a good way. Humanity experiencing all of the inevitable destruction and struggling to maintain what it believes matters most. The music and books are most hopeful. The creation of music—creation—is what I also decided was essential to the survival of humanity.
Campbells' future contrasts with my own imagining. In my novel about the future, all of humanity except a dozen women, and every other mammal, bird, reptile, fish, and amphibian in the world is dead. The story begins at the beginning of this and ends two centuries later.
Readers have asked me if my novel (ALL THE DAUGHTERS SING launches in February of 2026) is a worst-case-scenario. No, the worst case scenario is what I believe will actually happen. I like to think what I've written is a wholly other way of constructing human society. Ursula K. Le Guin wrote: “The important thing, is not to offer any specific hope of betterment but, by offering an imagined but persuasive alternative reality, to dislodge my mind, and so the reader’s mind, from the lazy, timorous habit of thinking that the way we live now is the only way people can live.” That's what I hoped to achieve.
Campbell has the likely reality, beautifully revealed in this short novel. Worth sharing. Worth rereading. It is a stunning accomplishment. Someday I hope to meet this author.
I discovered Tana French this year, but this is probably the most genuinely important book I have read.
UPDATE: Oddly, less than a year later I have little compelling memory of the language of this novel. It's probably just me, but I'll say that Tana French's books are still vivid.
The best book I've read this year. One of the best books I have ever read. Beautifully written, scary, touching...If someone asks me why I love reading, my answer this year will be: Arboreality.
I won't tell you you're going to love it, because I think there's a good chance you won't. I feel that this is one of those books that either does it for you or does nothing for you. This will not stop me from recommending it to everyone. I mean it's little over 100 pages, it's not a major effort, right?
Marissa Lingen likes it a lot: https://marissalingen.com/blog/?p=3566 "Oh, this is gorgeous. It’s a novella about the world falling apart and being put back together again, all at once–there’s no stage of the novella where people are not trying to hold the world together for each other. ..."
I'm semi-allergic to cli-fi, so maybe? Nominated for PK Dick Award, 2023.
4.5 Full review here. Only heard about this book because it won the Ursula K. Le Guin prize for fiction (haven't read most of the other nominees, but this seems like a good book to win it) and I definitely don't regret reading it. It's a collection of connected short stories about what life would be like post-collapse, and I just like how optimistic it is despite everything (it's optimistic the same way Kim Stanley Robinson's The Ministry for the Future is optimistic, in that bad things will still happen, but humanity will find a way). Definitely recommend it for someone looking for a quick/short read.
Both realistic and lyrical, sometimes sad, exploration of a near future Vancouver and surrounding area impacted by climate change. The novella weaves together different vignettes to tell one longer story. Some characters and events appear again and again in different forms, and some are only there for one small piece. Books, trees, gardens, music, and found families / small connections are woven throughout.
Poignant. Tragic in a way you'll want to sit with as you contemplate whatever local flood, fire, or pandemic currently rages.
I'm sure non-Canadians, even just non-Islanders will struggle with the use of specific SW BC names. There should probably be a map included, maybe a smidge more description using cardinal directions. For me, this read like home and the hurt it's going through as we pass the 1.5 degree threshold.
A haunting book that has shades of J,G.Ballard permeating its pages. A dystopia on Climate Change "Arboreality" is set in Canada experiencing the convulsions of Global Warming ranging from decimating forest fires to torrential floods and ravaging pandemics. It is also about an intrepid and sincere set of people who have dedicated their lives to mitigating the perils of climate change if not reversing the very phenomenon.
The passages where an absolute dearth of quality materials in the form of wood preclude even good quality violins being made and a protagonist in the book, Mason moves heaven and earth - in addition to an inordinately patient amount of time - to 'sculpt' what arguably has to be the last genuine and authentic violin in the territory or even the Continent, makes for some poignant reading.
Arboreality - a wakeup call for every naysayer and a denier of the catastrophes of Global Warming.
I know I'm going to be in the minority here, especially since I've heard nothing but good things about this book, but my goodness this was such a massive disappointment.
If you're not going to be a plot driven book, then the characters need to pull through. But wow the characters were so lackluster and boring. There were some good moments, but the worst short story in this collection by far was, "An Important Failure" like I was reading it and it just felt like I was reading words, with no substance, like wtf was going on??? I don't understand what's happening???
And I can admit that I liked the themes of this book, but just because a book was good themes doesn't mean it's a good book. I suppose in this case, it saved it from being something I downright hated or disliked, but I am so surprised with all of the good ratings this book has received. Because again, while the idea of this is so good, the execution was not.
Some might consider this novel as hopeful, but evidently that is not the case for me because I often bordered on despair and repeatedly stopped reading to go and distract myself with something else (like the various Christmas stories), because I could not continue reading. But the book is good and I enjoyed it, I just wouldn't recommend it to anyone because it hurts so much.
Alcuni potrebbero considerare questo romanzo, come pieno di speranza, ma evidentemente non é il mio caso perché io invece, ho rasentato spesso la disperazione ed ho ripetutamente smesso di leggere per andarmi a distrarre con qualcosa di diverso (tipo le varie storielline di natale) perché non riuscivo a proseguire la lettura. Peró il libro é bello e mi é piaciuto, solo che non lo consiglierei a nessuno perché fa tanto male.
I'd like to program this between Richard Powers' symphonic Ovestory and Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass on a bill of musically inflected expressions of hope in the face of the climate catastrophe in progress. Campbell doesn't look away from the implications of where we are now in painting a picture of a near-mid future Canadian island near Vancouver. But she doesn't succumb and the musicality of the arboreal architecture she imagines, as performed on a violin I wish I could hear sings a song I hope can come true. She doesn't sugar coat the situation, but she writes out of a belief that resonates. At the moment, as I read through the short list, my clear favorite for the 2023 Le Guin prize.
Melancholic. Elegiac. Maybe hopeful? Somehow both too short and too long. But I’m glad I read it - even if it didn’t wholly wow me the way I was hoping. I do enjoy a cozy apocalypse though, and the author seems to feel the best of us will live on (note: The audio narrator really struggled with male voices, or really to give anyone distinct voices. so I don‘t recommend that version - if I read it again on paper, the rating may change).