The Overstory (2018)
Richard Powers (1957)
502 pages
Richard Powers’ The Overstory provides a striking reminder of why novels can so often present a more impactful reckoning of a topic than non-fiction texts. In a complex portrait of our present-day world that offers both a paean to the profound interconnectedness and sublime beauty of nature, and a lament of humankind’s indifference to our escalating destruction of it, Powers manages to evoke a remarkably broad range of feelings – from transcendent awe to (borrowing the phrase of a friend of mine) homicidal rage.
As the book’s title and cover art suggest, trees play a central role in Powers’ story. Indeed, he introduces readers to his main characters in an opening set of chapters – gathered under the section heading Roots – by developing each of their stories around a particular species of tree present in their lives. These chapters have the feel of a series of apparently independent, if entertaining, short stories, however, and the trees in them serve as little more than interesting props, with the characters, for the most part, only dimly aware of their existence.
Then, however.
Some third of the way in, with the transition to a section titled Trunk, the tone shifts dramatically. The separate story lines begin to coalesce into a gradually tightening maelstrom, as each character comes to a dawning recognition of the profound wonder of trees and their central place in nature and human life, as well as of the rapidly accelerating devastation of the natural world and its implications for humankind. This epiphany occurs in different ways and at different speeds for each of them, but with it, each comes to recognize their own complicity in the on-going destruction, and to varying degrees, to become radicalized by it. And so, what began as a series of charming short stories built around interesting connections to trees, becomes a breathtaking exploration of how trees lie at the intersection of human civilization and the natural world.
Reaching back toward the very beginnings of life on Earth, Powers recalls the split that led one branch of life to evolve into trees, and another into humans, and he decries the myriad destructive consequences that have come from humankind having forgotten this common origin. Too many, he makes clear, have come to view trees as a part of the scenery as opposed to recognizing them as fundamental to the web of life; trees have become a resource to be exploited, with an assumed zero-cost to humankind. But, as one of his characters observes, this common view is not so much a rationally arrived at choice, as a path our civilization has blindly come to agree to follow:
it’s [his] growing conviction that the greatest flaw of the species is its overwhelming tendency to mistake agreement for truth. Single biggest influence on what a body will or won’t believe is what nearby bodies broadcast over the public band. Get three people in the room and they’ll decide that the law of gravity is evil and should be rescinded because one of their uncles got shit-faced and fell off the roof. (84)
Certainly, an observation that applies far beyond the topic of human understanding of the importance of our treatment of the natural world, all too accurately describing the metastasizing info-demic we currently face.
The catastrophic impacts of taking a utilitarian view of trees and forests drives the plot over the last two-thirds of Powers’ story. His characters find themselves increasingly at odds with the fundamental goals and beliefs of civilization, from economic interests that view forests, and nature generally, as a cost-free consumable resource, to consumers who view the resulting cheap products as a birthright. Late in the novel, one of the characters, having shifted repeatedly between normal life and spending significant time in the wilderness, considers the challenge of altering an economic course so deeply engrained in our civilization:
We’re cashing in a billion years of planetary savings bonds and blowing it on assorted bling. And what [he] wants to know is why this is so easy to see when you’re by yourself in a cabin on a hillside, and almost impossible to believe once you step out of the house and join several billion folks doubling down on the status quo. (386)
With their newfound appreciation for the danger the natural world faces from our present-day lifestyles and economic systems, the characters begin to actively engage – to various degrees and in various ways – in defense of the forest. Through their evolving beliefs and increasingly aggressive actions, Powers explores the question of whether humankind as a whole can be made to realize the irreparable damage being done to the natural world and its implications for our future. Can a few committed souls redirect the powerful and seemingly inexorable engine of civilization? And, how best does one bring one’s own recognition of the catastrophic devastation underway to the awareness of others?
Through what was clearly extensive research into what has relatively recently come to be understood about trees and forests, Powers provides a fascinating introduction in The Overstory to trees and their role in the natural world. For those deeply wedded to a utilitarian view of nature, this newfound awareness of the role of trees could present an opportunity to rethink their beliefs. But the readers who will perhaps find Power’s story the most challenging are those who already have some concern over the human exploitation of the natural world, and have already sought to make a difference: such readers are forced to confront the difficult question of whether they are doing enough to change a system they recognize as broken, and to reckon with the many ways in which they compromise their concerns in the daily choices they make in their lives.
Other notes and information:
It is fairly common, when reading a well-told story, to not want it to end, to want to continue to engage with the characters and find out what will happen next. Well into my reading of the The Overstory, I had a much more potent version of this feeling: it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't want it to end, that I could be content just reading <i>this</i> story – this remarkable, enthralling, disturbing, amazing tale – for the rest of my life. Powers' story feels somehow universal, encompassing the sublime wonder and infinite variation of the natural world and the stunning variety of human interactions with one another and the nature we often forget we are an integral part of.
Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf
