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DEATH OF A HORNET
AND OTHER CAPE COD ESSAYS
By Robert Finch
270 pp. Washington, D.C.:
Counterpoint. $24.00.
By Laurie Meunier Graves
Nature essays usually fall into two categories. One, they are observations
of the goings-on in the natural world and are full of descriptions and
lists. Or, two, they go beyond being a collection of facts and use nature as
a springboard to explore larger issues. There are the usual descriptions,
but there are also philosophical observations. Both types of essays provide
rewards and pitfalls. With the former, if the writing is first rate, then
the descriptive essays will hold our attention and give us a vivid sense of
the natural world. If they are less than first rate, then they become a mere
string of seemingly endless details. With the later, if the writer has a
first-rate mind, then the essays are profound and illuminating. If not, then
they become little more than an embarrassing blend of the trite and the
obvious.
Death of a Hornet: And Other Cape Cod Essays by Robert Finch definitely
falls into the second category. The essays are specifically about nature,
but they are more than that as well. Mr. Finch seems to see the universal in the
particular, and he turns to nature for ideas and reflections about life and
human nature. And he does a splendid job. Mr. Finch has a keen eye, and his
writing has a beautiful cadence that, at times, comes close to being poetic.
The essays span eighteen years of living on and writing about Cape Cod and
are a reflection of a fine mind thinking about the natural
world. They also give us a sense of what a geographic marvel Cape Cod is
with its sand beaches and its immense sand cliffs that are as high as 150
feet.
In the first essay, which is called “Death of a Hornet,” Mr. Finch
inadvertently knocks a hornet into a spider’s web in the window of his
study. The blow delivers a fatal wound to the hornet, and as it is dying, it
still keeps fighting, even though the spider has not yet rushed to it. “its
barred yellow abdomen throbbed and jabbed repeatedly in instinctive
attack…Defense in insects, as with us, seems to be founded not on the
ability to survive but on the resolution to keep from forgiving as long as
possible.”
Mr. Finch writes of the dance of death between the spider and the hornet.
The dance is elegant and horrible at the same time. Life for one means death
for the other, and, as much as we hate to admit it, that seems to be a
central part of nature.
Yet, nature also inspires us and can even nurture our imaginations. In
“Marginal Species,” he writes about the Carolina wren and “the practice of
making human analogies for birdsong [which] has fallen into disuse and even
disrepute. I think it is a loss, and perhaps no small one…Of course, where
anthropomorphism obscures accurate perception or interpretation, the cobwebs
need to be cleared away; but when we know what we create are fictions or
metaphors based on our interactions with nonhuman creatures, we are, I
think, the richer for them.”
Not surprisingly, Mr. Finch feels a close bond with the Carolina wren and
with the rest of nature as well. He even has great sympathy for the
much-maligned starling and writes, “the starlings remain one of the great
metaphoric birds of our remaining fields and open marshes. Therefore, I must
seek out such places and follow these wild presences across the landscape
while I can.”
This fair-mindedness is extended to the human race. He sees housing
developments and the suburbs as neither bad nor undesirable “in themselves,
but spreading as they have relentlessly across a native landscape, they
leave no room for any presence other than the human one.”
Mr. Finch is not afraid to tackle complex subjects and explores that
murkiest of subject—not death—but time. Using the natural world as his
template and guide, in “The Times of Their lives,” he notes that the speed
of different animals, from the starfish to the hummingbird, is “a reality to
which we are ordinarily blind.” Then he reflects on plants, their roots,
bacteria, glaciers, and the plates of the earth. He asks, “How many more
processes, physical and organic, inhabit this planet, of which we are only
dimly aware, or not at all?”
Mr. Finch questions everything, even when it comes to rescuing beached
whales. Will it do any good? Is it right for us to interfere? In “Saving the
Whales,” he examines all aspects of the issue, but in the end, compassion
wins. Mr. Finch helps save the whales.
The saddest essay in the book is “The Once and Future Cape,” where Mr. Finch
mourns the loss of habitat and animals on Cape Cod. There are the usual
reasons—greed, mindlessness, and human population pressures. Mr. Finch
concludes “if I have learned anything as a writer, as a chronicler of this
extraordinary, doomed place, it is this: There is only so much fascination
in watching something beautiful die.”
In One Half of Robertson Davies, Robertson Davies wrote, “literature is the
chronicle from the battlefield.” We need chroniclers such as Robert Finch.
It may be discouraging business, but like most true writers, Mr. Finch
perseveres. He doesn’t stop with “The Once and Future Cape” and goes on to
write other essays to share his observations and his love of the land.
Keep writing, Mr. Finch.
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2008 Wolf Moon Desk Calendar
We are pleased to announce that we have put together another snappy desk calendar
featuring work by Maine photographer Clif Graves.
5 1/2" x 5"
2008 Wolf Moon Calendar just
$10.00 each
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Some of the fine
stores
where you can find
Wolf Moon JOURNAL
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Wolf Moon
Photo Note Cards
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