Tag: ecocriticism

  • One ocean_many oceans: A conversation between people, waters, lands, and poems

    One ocean_many oceans: A conversation between people, waters, lands, and poems

    The sea is born in the mountains, we hear often in the Caribbean, but this could be also known in other parts of the world. The texts you read here are born in the conversations across the years, events and encounters between the three human authors, who at the moment of writing have been far apart from each other, and many more-than-human beings at different distance from each other. We meet on different occasions, we talk about art, water, lands, us, words. Speaking to each other indirectly through the sea, rivers and land we felt connected, as if we heard each other as if we were nearby.

    Colombian rivers have been guiding Polina then and now across the sea they joined the Northern fjords. Streams, underground waters, plateaus, geological and atmospheric movements guide Jorge. Looking at the fjord, Polina imagines Desiree looking at the Michigan Lake looking at the fjord across the ocean. Desiree talks to the Michigan Lake waves and shores, imagining Polina looking at the fjords thinking of her across the ocean. Polina records the sound of the waves with Magma, the hydrophone designed and assembled by Jorge and hears his experiments with bioacoustics, sounds and pedagogies, seeing his reflection in the rivers running through the multiple water of the world towards the waves that come to her shore. Vocal cords vibrate to the rhythms of accordion of the new friends and back vibrating with the rhythms of videos and texts. The wind echoes the voices moving grass, trees, waves, sand grains, objects on the ground. Magma vibrates in response.

    Our conversations echo in the splashes of the waves, in the screams of the sea gulls and birds of the Colombian forests. They mix with the memories of the land, with our memories of the past and future. Multiple layers. Multiple worlds. We read, we think, we talk in layers. The sky becomes the sea, the sea becomes the forest, the forest becomes the sky. They are together apart, interior and exterior of each other. We respond to each other in words, in singing, in sonic experimentations, in video… connected through the moving grounds: the movement – waters and the ancient bones – the rocks. They all are the performance and inquiry itself.

    Media mediate the worlds: nothing illustrates nothing, and yet it does. But there is no product, this text, this film, these sounds, these words are ongoing becoming of each other, together with the water bodies, forests, stones, and ourselves.

    One ocean_many oceans: A conversation between people, waters, lands, and poems

    A conversation between the poems and the moving images : https://youtu.be/Zb1QfOcJ2Uc

    We meet on different occasions, we talk about art, water, lands, us, words…

    Desiree:
    Me and the Lake  

    no words
    only gesture
    concave convex concave convex motion
    teaches me
    to move
    in waves
    backwards and forwards
    in increments,
    knowledge
    that the living tips and edges of my bone
    are tensegrity bound

    Life

    Air, fire, earth, water, air, fire, earth, water, air,
    fire,
    earth, water, air, fire, earth, water, air, fire, earth,
    water, air, fire, earth, water, air, fire, earth, water,
    air, fire, earth, water, air, fire earth water her bones washed off by the beats of warm blue sunshine
    that
    fire

    Provides

    She teaches me the wind and tides.

    The dreaming
    Shows the path
    They are
    They are
    They are
    More

    And

    More
    More
    More
    More
    More
    More
    More
    More
    More
    More

    And

    Holds what is
    Nest

    Next
    Next

    And

    The heart soul tells me that if I am good hearted
    I will be lead
    Silver
    Lead
    Stone
    Lead
    Fire
    Lead water

    To my own heart
    To the land where
    Implicit
    Implicit
    Implicit
    Implicit

    Ecstasy

    Fires suns
    Of the line
    And the curve
    Waters earth
    And us.


    My part is taking place at

    the beach of lake of my beginning love where I

    learned to be free
    me as a baby. Her fresh air and
    loving kindness was my little girl’s friend and is

    still
    Moving
    Still
    Moving
    Still
    Moving

    Move Moving Move Moving Move Moving Move
    Move
    Move Moving Move Move Moving Move Moving
    Move
    Moving Moving Moving Moving Moving Moving Moving
    Moving Move Move Move Move Move Move move more

    Flow

    Follow
    Flow

    ARTS
    Arts
    Art
    Arts
    Flow

    Blood and hope blood and hope blood and hope blood
    and hope blood and hope blood and hope blood
    and
    hope
    Bones dirt and gloves

    Love lit breath fresh and giving freely home
    Home
    Home
    Home
    Homes/Home
    Back
    Front
    Sideways

    In space
    It
    Is
    For
    All
    There
    Is
    Enough
    For
    Us

    All
    Together
    Not
    Apart.
    Polina: El canto del mar/ The song of the sea


    Como la falda mueven tus olas –
    Se abren, se cierren tus aguas
    Yo subo al cerro del bosque
    El bosque susurra y sabe


    Yo subo al cerro pa´ respirar El bosque susurra y siente
    El respiro profundo que trae el mar
    El respiro traído por el viento
     

    Mi falda se mueve como tus olas
    Cuando yo camino o bailo y pienso de ti
    Mis perros ladran, felices mueven sus colas
    Me enseñan a amar y a existir


    Tus arenas me pican; tu sal me refresca


    Tu ser me fascina; y te agradezco
    Yo estoy en tu casa aún sea lejos viajando
    Me asciendo al cerro, estoy respirando                                                            
    tu aire


    Me enseñas a partir, a ser plena
    Tu amor es tranquillo y tu silencio es lleno
    Con tu ser me llevas a respirar
    Con tu silencio me abrigas, con tu canto del mar


    Tu silencio es lleno; tu complejidad es perfecta,
    Tú no tienes fronteras, sino todo conectas.
    Tu susurro me llama, me escuchas, me hablas
    Me enseñas a bailar con el viento en mis alas


    Me enseñas a partir, a ser plena
    Con tus cantos diversos me abrigas, me llenas
    tu complejidad es perfecta, tu silencio es lleno
    el mar no tiene fronteras sino todo conecta.


    Translation:
     
    The fabric of my skirt moves like the sea
    Its waves open, close, open, close
    I go through the forest up the hill
    The forest trees are whispering and know
     
    I go through the forest up the hill to breathe
    The forest whispers, feels
    A profound breath brought by the sea
    The breath brought by its wind
     
    My dress moves as your waves
    Whether I walk or dance or even simply think of you
    My dogs bark, they are happy, wagging tails
    They teach me love, breathing and being
     
    Sand gently stuns my skin, your salt is so fresh
    Your being excites me and I want to thank you
    I am at home with you even if I travel far away
    I go through the forest up the hill to breathe
     
    You teach me how to let go, how to be plenty
    Your love is calm, your calmness is complete
    Your being gives me the air, it embraces me
    You breathe in life with your song of the sea
     
    Your silence is complete, you’re complex, perfect
    There are no borders in you, and you connect it all
    Your whisper is calling me, you listen to me, you talk to me
    I learn to dance following your rhythms and winds
     
    You teach me be enough and plenty, to withdraw, to let it go
    With your diverse songs you embrace me, and I feel complete
    Your calmness is complex, your complexity is perfect, 
    There are no borders in the sea.

    Polina:

    I breathe in the salty sea air from now from in the memory, my dress moves across the time and territories, connecting to the sea as kin, learning about self as a sea. Spanish is not my native language, but I was thinking about the Caribbean Sea and its inspirations as I walked up the woody hill looking at the bright light blue-dark emerald fjord in the distance and later on burying my face in the curls of my dogs` fur, breathing in the smell of the salt.

    Jorge:

    Devenir Magma / Becoming Magma

    En el centro está el maremágnum ardiente del cual todo está hecho;

    una inmensa bola de materia en fuego… útero cósmico… Magma 

    un viaje fluido  me llevó por estratos policromáticos,

    Atravesé capas intensas,

    placas tectónicas, 

    cuencas sedimentarias 

    provincias ígneas

    rocas duras y blandas,

    metamórficas y volcánicas.

    Presencie la explosión cámbrica. 

    areniscas y cristales 

    hasta llegar a la capa vegetal. 

    desde aquí puedo escuchar el paso de los cometas y las 

    tormentas geomagnéticas… La Sonosfera.

    Los cristales de cuarzo guardan los secretos ancestrales para la fabricación de micrófonos de contacto e hidrófonos que traducen los susurros y vibraciones del universo.

    El cuarzo, testigo silente de las eras, es un portador de la memoria de la tierra hecha energía. Desde lo más profundo de sus entrañas, y del suelo marino, hasta las cimas de las montañas, su presencia evoca resistencia y continuidad. Mineral y maestro, revela el misterio de la piezoelectricidad, donde la presión da luz a la electricidad dormida, un eco del gran aliento que mueve el universo.

    Los micrófonos Magmas son como puentes entre mundos, narradores de la sinfonía cósmica en notas eléctricas. Desde las profundidades de los océanos, ríos, arroyos, rocas y movimientos geológicos, exploran la textura de la existencia, desenterrando melodías ocultas… resonando con la tierra. 

    Desde el susurro del cristal al murmullo del agua, podemos escuchar la música del universo.  El agua, líquido primordial, narrador de la creación, lleva consigo los ecos del pasado y las promesas del futuro que ahora son registradas y amplificadas gracias al cuarzo…materia prima del Magma. 

    Los hidrófonos capturan los susurros del agua, las canciones de las profundidades, revelando los secretos ocultos en las corrientes y mareas.

    Escuchando profundo en cada gota de agua, en cada susurro del viento, en cada vibración de la tierra, encontramos melodías eternas para fluir. 

    En el corazón de su investigación y práctica artística está la escucha como una búsqueda imperativa de empatía con lo humano y lo no humano, lo que le ha llevado a desarrollar una serie de instalaciones, dispositivos y performances que exploran la resonancia de la materia y el paisaje sonoro. En este contexto, Jorge ha desarrollado el dispositivo Magma, un hidrófono y micrófono de contacto DIY que ha sido utilizado por artistas e investigadores de diferentes lugares del mundo en campos artísticos, musicales, pedagógicos y de bioacústica.

    Translation:

    At the center is the fiery tidal wave from which everything is made;

    an immense ball of matter in fire… a cosmic womb… Magma

    a fluid journey takes me through the polychromatic strata,

    I traversed intense layers,

    tectonic plates,

    sedimentary basins

    igneous provinces

    hard and soft rocks,

    metamorphic and volcanic.

    I witness the Cambrian explosion,

    Sandstones and crystals

    until I reach the vegetal layer.

    From here I can hear the comets and geomagnetic storms passing by…

    geomagnetic storms… The Sonosphere.

    Quartz crystals keep the ancestral secrets for the manufacture of contact microphones and hydrophones that translate the whispers and vibrations of the universe.

    Quartz, silent witness of the ages, is a carrier of the memory of the earth made energy. From the depths of its entrails, from the sea floor to the mountain peaks, its presence evokes resistance and continuity. Mineral and master, it reveals the mystery of piezoelectricity, where pressure gives light to dormant electricity, an echo of the great breath that moves the universe.

    Magmas microphones become the bridges between worlds, narrators of the cosmic symphony in electric notes. From the depths of the ocean, the rivers, streams, rocks and geological movements, they explore the texture of existence, unearthing hidden melodies… resonating with the earth.

    From the whispers of the crystal to the murmurs of water, we can hear the music of the universe.  Water, primordial liquid, the narrator of creation, carries with it the echoes of the past and the promises of the future that are now recorded and amplified thanks to quartz… raw material of Magma.

    Hydrophones capture the whispers of the water, the songs of the deep, revealing the secrets hidden in the currents and tides.

    Listening deep in every drop of water, in every whisper of the wind, in every vibration of the earth, we find eternal melodies to flow.

    At the heart of this conversation is listening as an imperative search for empathy with more-than-human, which leads Jorge and all of us in exploring the resonance of the matter.

    Colombian rivers were guiding Polina then and now across the sea they joined the Northern fjords. They guide Jorge, streams, underground waters, plateaus, geological and atmospheric movements guide him. Looking at the fjord, Polina imagines Desiree looking at the Michigan Lake looking at the fjord across the ocean. Polina records the sound of the waves with Magma, the hydrophone designed and assembled by Jorge and hear his bioacoustics, sonic, pedagogical experiments, seeing his reflection in the rivers running through the multiple water of the world towards the waves that come to my shore. Vocal cords vibrate to the rhythms of accordion and back vibrating with the rhythms of videos and texts. The wind echoes her voice moving grass, trees, waves, sand grains, objects on the ground. Magma vibrates in response.

    Our conversations echo in the splashes of the waves, in the screams of the sea gulls and birds of the Colombian forests. They mix with the memories of the land, with our memories of the past and future. Multiple layers. Multiple worlds. I read, I think, I talk in layers. The sky becomes the sea, the sea becomes the forest, the forest becomes the sky. They are together apart, interior and exterior of each other. We respond to each other in words, in singing, in sonic experimentations, in video… connected through the moving grounds: the movement – waters and the ancient bones – the rocks. They are the performance and inquiry itself.

    Media mediate the worlds: nothing illustrates nothing, and yet it does. But there is no product, this text, this film, these sounds, these words are the ongoing becoming of each other, together with the water bodies, forests, stones, and ourselves.

    This text is being written in Chicago which is  ‘ located on the traditional unceded homelands of the Council of the Three Fires: the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi Nations. Many other tribes, such as the Miami, Ho-Chunk, Menominee, and Sac and Fox, also called this area home. The region has long been a center for Indigenous people to gather, trade, and maintain kinship ties. Today, one of the largest urban American Indian communities in the United States resides in Chicago. Members of this community continue to contribute to the life of this city and to celebrate their heritage, practice traditions, and care for the land and waterways.’ (Art Institute of Chicago Website); in Trondheim, the land of the Southern Sami; in Medellín, the land of the Embera, Senú and Gunadule. These lands are home of plants, animals, and insects, fungi, minerals, rivers, and other more-than-living beings.

    And to acknowledge that 

    Air, Fire, Earth, Water 

    and us are one, 

    are sacred 

    and alive 

    are part of wisdom traditions 

    around the world throughout time.

    I/We make work/the work flows through

     us/I/we work through/flows/fluid we are watercollectingwaterspreadingwaterpuddlingwaterinriverslargeandsmallwaterwave, we

    WATER 

    collaborating. 

    (((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))))

     I, Desiree, watch the work, I can’t remember what bit is mine..the soundlanguageblend, pouringintoone.  Another. One. Another. One. 

    One. 

    ((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))))))((((((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))

    we are the edges

    I, Desiree, look out the window and see the clouds. Then, feel them as water. I am nourished by them, and the sun that paints beautiful colors around them.

    (((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))))(((((((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))

    Polina and I, and the water collective work across borders, living on pieces of land separated by bodies of water, we communicate via internet, through the sky. I am standing in front of a window of a doll store on a busy Chicago Street, I move to a place where I can sit in the sun, it is late February and the weather is warm and soothing, I sit on some benches next to an iconic skyscraper, she is stately and calm and presents in whispers. The concrete benches are on a corner. The lake is two blocks away down the street, always on this street there is a breeze from the lake, today the breeze is small calm and soothing, swirling soft eddys of breeze of sky on my skin. The lake the sky my skin today. We talk about sediment and water thinking, water becoming. Later at the grocery store, I put one hand in front of the other, in front of the other, I think our collaboration are the waves, each work holding the next’s work, holding the nexts work, holding the next’s work, as our knowing arises and crashes onto the shore.  

    (((((((()))))))))))))))))))))((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))))))))

    On the periphery. Humans on the periphery. Humans not commenting/not commenting/not commenting/not knowing/just coming closer. 

    ))))))))))))))))))((((((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))))))))))((((((((

    Outside of the grocery store, I stop and put down the bags and look at the concrete. I see how the cracks in the sidewalk makes a pattern matching the kind of action that created them.

     I think, Polina thinks like water that starts small and spreads waxing and waning, through peaks and valleys, on inclines and declines, in different speeds. And my thinking is like the gentle waves of water that hit the concrete of the walking path along the lake shore. That water jumps onto the concrete, flowing upwards on the sidewalks incline, and returns to fill and jump out of the sides of the shoes that barely cover my feet, as another wave fills the shoes again, jumping up onto the concrete chasing its sister. The water is only a little cool on this warm day and sparkles in the sunshine. 

    ((((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))))))))))(((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))

    Bios:

    Polina Golovátina-Mora, PhD is Professor in Film and Media in Education, Norwegian University of Science and Technology – NTNU, Norway. The overall focus of her work is meanings and ethics of relationality with the world, mixed senses and the attentive care they produce. She positions her artistic work as reflective and dispersed visual practice. In her recent projects, Polina has been exploring understandings the ocean proposes and the ethics of such co-creations which includes the way we write, speak and present with and about water bodies.

    Desiree Yomtoob, PhD, aspires to be a water woman and is waiting for summer to come again so she can spend as much time as she can in, on and around the lake in Chicago. She is an independent scholar, arts based, and movement researcher. She is hoping that someone will do something, anything, to save this ailing world in which we live. She notices, applauds and encourages the miracles, large and small, that happen around her all the time. She studies love in all its guises. She teaches undergraduate media studies classes often and consults on methods projects from time to time. She is currently working on the use of creative methods in the field of design research.

    Jorge Barco is a Colombian sound artist and curator whose work is situated at the intersection between cosmogony, ecology and sound. Over the past few years, he has conducted extensive research encompassing instrument making, field recording and experimentation with low technologies, brought together today in his project Máquinas Mestizas. His creative approach draws from diverse disciplines such as media geology, sound studies and ancestral and shamanic knowledge.

  • CALL FOR PAPERS – Fluid Archives: Rethinking Agency in the Hydro-Commons

    CALL FOR PAPERS – Fluid Archives: Rethinking Agency in the Hydro-Commons

    In the “storied seas” of the Anthropocene, water is never merely a backdrop; it is an archive (Oppermann 2019). Its ebb and flow resemble the turning over of eternal epigraphs. The sustained contact between groundwater and surface water over centuries—and indeed, for as long as the earth has existed—has established persistent waterscapes that give life to and sustain numberless ecosystems and communities. Yet, beyond its sustaining and linear role in waterscapes, comprising both the waters and their beneficiaries, water has been an active site of non-linear, cyclical growth, memory, and change. In parallel with its web-like expansion and reliction, water serves as a medium of transfer and a regenerative site where traumas, histories, and possibilities dissolve and reform.

    Consequently, the traumas of the Middle Passage, and figures like the “mad woman in the attic” are not solely buried deep in the human psyche—they are submerged in the waterscape itself. Water, like the rest of the physical world, is articulate; it writes and narrates stories in the interstices of its waves (Oppermann 2013; Iovino and Oppermann 2014; Oppermann 2019). Aligning with this “oceanic ontology,” we view the “living metaphors” that surround water not as mere symbols, but as active physical agents that swallow, reveal, and transform memory. Accordingly, the “sunken ships” of colonial oceanic routes conjure the horrifying stories of capture and enslavement while simultaneously expressing the physical reality of marine life.

    This call for papers seeks to navigate the fluid intersections of Feminisms, Ecocriticism, Environmental Humanities, and (De)Coloniality. As Arcadiana Blog, we invite contributions that challenge the terrestrial and aquatic bias found in traditional ecocritical analysis to witness the storied existence of the seas, blending their semiotic fabric with the physical.

    Drawing from Astrida Neimanis’s concept of hydrofeminism, we acknowledge that we are all “bodies of water”—fluidally interconnected and leaking into one another. However, this watery embodiment is not a neutral state. For an elaborate critique of our fluxive status as subjects, we can turn to Françoise Vergès to interrogate the “Capitalocene” and the racialized politics of exhaustion that play out in our waterscapes (Vergès 2019, 2024). Who pollutes and toxifies our waters, and whose waters are poisoned? When bridged with the narrative agency of water, can our waters give us answers or show us the way—not just through observation, but through being-with water?

    From a parallel perspective, when we layer Neimanis’s hydrofeminism with María Lugones’s “coloniality of gender,” we seek to understand how the masculine tradition of settler colonialism—which prescribed the oceanic routes of the slave trade—also historically mapped the exploitation of the waters that bear the stories of women. Therefore, as Val Plumwood observed, the “feminine closeness to nature” has hardly been a compliment, but rather a justification for mastery and erasure (Plumwood 1993).

    Plumwood’s critique would also imply the urgent need to recognize waterscapes and maritime spaces not solely as economic transit zones, but as gendered and extractive ecologies. Yet, such maritime environments remain largely subdued by patriarchal and racial capitalist structures—the same logics that govern the land. This systemic erasure heavily neglects the agency of women, Indigenous populations, and subaltern communities, as well as their knowledge-making practices.

    Therefore, extending this call to reimagine hydro-narratives through frameworks of care and reciprocity, we ask: Whether in ecological art, oceanic cartographies, or climate fiction and environmental literature, how can we rethink human agency not as positioned above the waves, but as deeply embedded within them? Moreover, if we view waterscapes as incorporating more-than-human elements—ranging from commodities in trade routes to the toxins, chemicals, and pesticides that now inhabit the waves—how might we reimagine a more-than-human relationality that dismantles the paradigms of mastery Plumwood identifies?

    Guiding Questions

    We invite students, scholars, multi-disciplinary artists to explore the ways around dissolving traditional binaries around waterscapes. We ask questions like these:

    • How do contemporary or historical fictions portray the agency of water?
    • How has our relationship with waterscapes evolved as evidenced by literature and art?
    • How can “thinking with water” disrupt colonial and patriarchal narratives?
    • What is the relationship between “haunted” minds and “haunted” waters?
    • How do we decolonize the Blue Humanities? How can we shift focus from the romanticized “blue sublime” to the materialized realities of toxic waters, and the labor of those who live most intimately with the water?

    Suggested Subtopics

    We welcome submissions that engage with, but are not limited to:

    • Hydro-narratives, or Stories of Water
    • Waterways and Water Structures
    • Hydropolitics; Politics Around Canals, Oceanic Borders etc.
    • Water Scarcity: Shortage and Stress
    • Toxicity and Waterscapes
    • Slow Violence and Waterscapes
    • Hydro-Colonialism, or the Coloniality of Water
    • Decolonial Feminism and Waterscapes
    • Ecofeminism and Marine Conservation
    • Water in Elemental Ecocriticism
    • Blue Biopolitics & Toxic Bodies
    • Gender and Maritime Labor
    • Indigenous Epistemologies on Water
    • Maritime Ecologies and the Posthuman
    • Oceanic Relationality and More-than-Human Maritime Ethics

    We invite academic contributions as well as semi-academic, creative, and curatorial work related to the topics outlined above, or that drifts into related currents and uncharted waters fitting the spirit of this call.

    Format: If you are submitted an academic article or blog post, please aim for a maximum of 2000 words. You are free to choose a referencing system to use, but please be consistent in its application throughout your article. Semi-academic, artistic, creative, and curatorial work is welcome in any format.

    Submissions & Deadline

    Submissions are accepted on a rolling basis through May 31, 2026.

    Please send your submissions, along with a short bio, to [email protected].

    References

    Iovino, Serenella and Serpil Oppermann. “Introduction: Stories Come to Matter.” Material Ecocriticism. Ed. Serenella Iovino and Serpil Oppermann. Indiana UP, 2014.

    Lugones, María. “The Coloniality of Gender.” Feminisms in Movement: Theories and Practices from the Americas. Ed. Lívia De Souza Lima, Edith Otero Quezada and Julia Roth. Transcript Verlag, 2024.

    Neimanis, Astrida. Bodies of Water: Posthuman Feminist Phenomenology. Bloomsbury, 2017.

    Oppermann, Serpil. “Material Ecocriticism and the Creativity of Storied Matter.” Frame — Journal Of Literary Studies, vol. 26, no.2, 2013, pp. 55-69.

    ——. “Storied Seas and Living Metaphors in the Blue Humanities.” Configurations, vol. 27, no. 4, 2019, pp. 443-461.

    Plumwood, Val. Feminism and the Mastery of Nature. Routledge, 1993.

    Vergès, François. “Capitalocene, Waste, Race, and Gender.” E-flux Journal, is. 100, 2019.——. Making the World Clean: Wasted Lives, Wasted Environment, and Racial Capitalism. Goldsmiths, 2024.

  • Ecocriticism and Birding

    Ecocriticism and Birding

    Having written a PhD dissertation about human–bird relations in contemporary Scandinavian novels while also being an active birder, I’ve often thought about the links between birding, literary fiction, and ecocriticism. While my dissertation is grounded in literary theory, only drawing on field experience in indirect ways, surely there must be more to be said about writing and birding. As Jemma Deer (2022) points out, birds “have been making music, visual art, and aesthetic judgments for far longer than humans have,” and “provide the blueprint or muse for much human artistic production” (10). One would think that texts about birds, aside from reflecting interest in them, might be influenced by the practice of birding in ways that are evident in form and style.

    Among literary scholars, however, the notion that observing birds and writing about them go together is far from being the rule. On the contrary, until the late twentieth century it was commonplace to read birds in literature solely as symbols or metaphors. While Beryl Rowland (1978) primarily saw birds as Jungian symbols, Atle Kittang (1988) argued that birds in poetry rarely if ever correlate with the models from which they are derived and are not intended to do so either. Then again, as early as 1972, Joseph Meeker (1997) argued that birds can provide a mirror “to help us to understand human relationships” (108) and that “human conversation is not much different from birdsong” (109). Leonard Lutwack, in Birds in Literature (1994), tentatively suggested the possibility of reading birds ecologically, but it was only with the emergence of ecocriticism as a distinct field that reading environmental texts through a framework of “kinship between nonhuman and human” was recognized as a legitimate critical pursuit (Buell 1995, 180).

    The University of Stavanger, where I did my research, is located at the edge of Jæren, a coastal plain in south-western Norway known for its rich birdlife. I would spend the day writing about books about birds and then, on my way home, stop off by one of the nearby lakes to catch up on actual birds, taking notes and photos and often reporting my observations. In late spring, a pair of European oystercatchers would nest on a roof below our third-floor office space, bringing food for their young and driving away intruders, and in winter, hooded crows and jackdaws in their hundreds could be seen flocking to and from their communal nighttime roost. With literary birds in the office and actual birds out the window, I took my cue from what Lawrence Buell, with reference to Barry Lopez, calls “the aspiration to write and think more ecocentrically,” acknowledging that one’s approach to art and scholarship is not exclusively formed through reading but also through embodied experience of specific environments (Buell 2005, 99).

    Strolling or hiking through natural landscapes tends to trigger reflection, which can be conducive to writing, but this is not necessarily true of birding, where one is wholly absorbed in detecting and identifying species or interpreting their behavior and vocalizations. Where some make a case for “slow birding” (e.g. Strassmann 2022), this is a reaction to the realization that birding generally is not a particularly slow practice. Birding engages one’s senses of sight and hearing, as well as memory and intuition, in direct and immediate ways, and even when a birder is stationary, waiting for a skulking bird to show, attention tends to be directed outward, toward the bird, rather than to inner thought processes. To combine birding with writing or literary scholarship can therefore seem like a precarious endeavour. If nothing else, birding is a source of inspiration, and the genre of the trip report is not entirely unrelated to that of nature writing.

    Standing beneath the highway bridge at the mouth of the Hafrsfjord, watching Arctic terns and common terns at their breeding colonies, I had Charlotte McConaghy’s dystopian novel Migrations (2021) fresh in mind. Considering that the narrator of Migrations tries to follow the last Arctic terns on their migration to Antarctica, seeing them as a last remnant of wildness in a world destroyed by humans, I couldn’t help but read the terns as beacons of hope. While a life of birding offers a wealth of peak experiences, it can also lead to a keen awareness of habitat loss and population declines. Arctic terns are not endangered yet, though their populations are decreasing in some places (BirdLife International 2018). In Norway, a more pressing concern is a dramatic regional decline in the population of common terns, which has led to their being categorized as Endangered on the National Red List (Stokke et al. 2021). Regardless of Red List assessments, I counted myself lucky to see the two species breeding side by side, despite overfishing, predation from American mink, and the mounting threat of climate change. While Arctic terns migrate further and see more daylight in the year than any other known species, common terns are not far behind.

    Watching the terns hovering and diving, catching fish and feeding their young, swooping and turning with supreme elegance, I recalled narratologist Marco Caracciolo’s (2020) concept of “kinesthetic empathy,” how empathy does not necessarily have to entail imagining our way into an individual mind but rather into a moving body, or even an assemblage of bodies (239–240). Accounting for “embodied collectivity” demands moving beyond the focus on individual agency that has been the norm in narratology and literary scholarship (241). Observing a murmuration of starlings, a skein of geese, or swallows gathered in their hundreds, our attention is drawn not to the individual, but to the group, of which the individual forms a part.

    Whether one is panning a bird in the viewfinder or taking in the jizz of a bird briefly glimpsed, kinesthetic empathy is integral to birdwatching. With time, one develops a knack for tracing—and anticipating—the movements of birds, effectively predicting where they’ll be from one moment to the next. Embodied skills are arguably also manifest in the process of reading fiction, the ability to trace plot developments and follow them through to their conclusion, while uncovering underlying themes and motifs. Ecocriticism and birding are both comparative practices in which subtle contrasts can be crucial. Beyond that, birding calls for keen eyes and ears, identification skills and field experience, while ecocriticism requires theoretical knowledge and sensitivity to cultural context. Where bird identification is based on diagnostic features, however, literary texts demand hermeneutical forms of interpretation that are rarely conclusive.

    If the relevance of birding to literary fiction can seem obscure, the “naturalist gaze” through which birders perceive the world (Cherry 2019, 9, 41–42) is central to analysis of nature writing. Some ecocritics are bound to disagree, but I would contend that birding can contribute toward sharpening or even reorienting one’s “ecocritical gaze.” Take a classic work of nature writing such as J. A. Baker’s The Peregrine (1967), written with such nuance and attention to detail that even those unfamiliar with the species described can appreciate its aesthetic qualities. Where non-birders are enamored by its form and style, its poetic, densely layered language, birders are led to recall the flight patterns of actual species ranging from snipe to kestrel, patterns that are not metaphorical but literal, idiosyncratic to the point of being diagnostic, easy to apprehend but difficult to describe. Rather than making intertextual references, Baker refers to a shared body of field-ornithological knowledge and transposes it into literary form. By presenting recognizable perceptual experiences in striking and unexpected ways, nature writing can challenge and broaden our worldview. Birds can be evocative of places, memories, and impressions, as well as entire narratives. There are countless ways to account for their presence, but no matter how dense a layer of metaphor we cloak them in, the starting point must surely be the birds themselves.

    References

    Baker, J. A. 1967. The Peregrine. New York Review of Books.

    BirdLife International. 2018. Sterna paradisaea. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. https://dx.doi.org/10.2305/IUCN.UK.2018-2.RLTS.T22694629A132065195.en. Accessed on 13 March 2024.

    Buell, Lawrence. 1996 (1995). The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, Massachusetts, and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

    Buell, Lawrence. 2005. The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination. Malden, Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishing.

    Caracciolo, Marco. 2020. “Flocking Together: Collective Animal Minds in Contemporary Fiction.” PMLA, vol. 135, no. 2, 239–253. https://doi.org/10.1632/pmla.2020.135.2.239

    Cherry, Elizabeth. 2019. For the Birds: Protecting Wildlife through the Naturalist Gaze. New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press.

    Deer, Jemma. 2022. “Birdwatching and Wordwatching: The Avian Aesthetics of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway.” In Danette DiMarco and Timothy Ruppert (eds.), Avian Aesthetics in Literature and Culture: Birds and Humans in the Popular Imagination, 9–23. Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books.

    Kittang, Atle. 1988. “Fuglar og poesi.”  In Atle Kittang, Møtestader: Utvalde artiklar om litteratur og litteraturteori, 52–67. Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget.

    McConaghy, Charlotte. 2021. Migrations. London: Vintage.

    Meeker, Joseph W. 1997. The Comedy of Survival: Literary Ecology and a Play Ethic. Third edition. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press.

    Rowland, Beryl. 1978. Birds with Human Souls: A Guide to Bird Symbolism. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press.

    Stokke, B. G. et al. 2021. “Fugler: Vurdering av makrellterne Sterna hirundo for Norge.” In Norwegian Red List for Species 2021. Trondheim: Norwegian Biodiversity Information Centre (Artsdatabanken). http://www.artsdatabanken.no/lister/rodlisteforarter/2021/31752

    Strassmann, Joan E. 2022. Slow Birding: The Art and Science of Enjoying the Birds in Your Own Backyard. New York: TarcherPerigee.

    About the Author

    Endre Harvold Kvangraven recently defended his PhD dissertation in Nordic Literature at the
    University of Stavanger, Norway, with the title Literary Birding: Human–Bird Relations in
    Contemporary Novels from Norway and Sweden. He is also the author of Ulv i det norske
    kulturlandskapet (Wolves in a Cultural Landscape, Res Publica, 2021), a work of literary
    nonfiction tracing the role of wolves in Norwegian cultural history.