Reading someone writing about seeing nature... well, some obviously find that fascinating. To me it reminds me of the classic line about music criticism: “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” And yet I’ve dabbled in music criticism, and then journalled about the difficulty of this, so I can be accused of some hypocrisy here.

So what, you ask, is the irony? The irony is that the unspoken theme of the book is that we should all slow down and notice the beauty that is nature all around us. Thus when I am saying, “Ok, yeah, you see a bird. Great. What’s next?” I’m doing a good impersonation – unintentionally, mind you – of the typical American demanding instant gratification.

So I read this with mixed emotions, aware that I am reading a master yet wishing the topic of this book had been something else. Her meandering style reminds me a bit of Tom Robbins, with whom I also have a love-hate relationship, in that I love his wordplay, his writing is billions of times better than anything I can aspire to, yet when he seems to take the reader here and there and everywhere I sometimes wanted to scream: “Can’t you just get back to the plot and move on with it?”

For that’s it, you see. I love books. I read at least 100 books a year. But I like my books to either have a good plot, if fiction, or be on a topic that interests me, if non-fiction. When neither occur my mind wanders. And that is not a problem of Robbins or Dillard’s but me.

While the book rubbed me the wrong way it did result in this essay and my realization that I need to have more of an open mind, as well as opening my eyes more to appreciate some more of the beautiful things in life, be it nature, authors like these or whatever.