This is the first book I have ever received through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. And, damnably, I did not like the book. I could tell by the end of the first chapter that I would never have bought it for myself, and my feelings are quite strong due to the writing style of the author, the lack of real content, and what seems to be an underlying philosophical difference between the author and myself. I have rewritten this review several times trying to find a reasonable way to explain what I mean.
Early Spring is an introductory gloss on the local manifestations of global warming. Seidl alternates between rather detached scientific explanations and overly sensuous descriptions of her Vermont environs as she points out that global warming is apparent in one's own backyard. She asks, and prompts those who have obviously not been paying much attention until now to ask, what global warming means for traditions, communities, the future. The book never gets much further than this- posing the question- and could stand to be a great deal shorter for all it accomplishes.
I was looking forward to Early Spring, and I have to say I'm disappointed. The subject is important enough but never actually discussed- just set up. Over and over and over again.
Early Spring is done in a literary style- Seidl aims for aesthetic expression as much as the conveying of information. Unfortunately, her inflated style quickly reaches the point of overkill, and she does not manage to add much to the subject of global warming at all. I knew much of the subject matter going in- I do not live in Vermont, but neither do I live in a cave. I kept waiting for her to tie it all together and take it further, and she doesn't. Instead I get to hear about her sensuous rapture at the bounty nature created apparently for no other purpose but her pleasure, and, of course, I get to hear more about her darling children. Such passages went past the point of unnecessary all the way to disturbing at times- I nursed my children to the age of two and a half years each, mind you, and I was still weirded out by the overly familiar manner in which she described breastfeeding her own. And I'm still not sure exactly what that had to do with maple syrup traditions in Vermont, or the sap starting to run earlier with each passing year. Seidl's manner of suddenly switching between professional scientist mode and sensual mother mode made each seem the more exaggerated, and somehow exclusive of the other. This hardly needs to be the case...
Displaying an actual dead bird via overhead projector might have gotten the attention of her students, and it is surely a more engaging portrayal than a stick figure, but noticing the intricacy of the feathers is not the same thing as realizing the inherent value of the bird's life, and how the world is diminished by the loss of the bird. Knowing a bird's species name and habits is no substitute for entering into the actual experience of the bird itself. Handling a lifeless bird nonchalantly is not an expression of fearlessness or fellowship, but of a callous remove and a lack of respect for both the bird and the pathogens that might have killed it.
Seidl writes in one passage about her daughter catching a butterfly by the wings, and the thrill in her eyes as she feels her first sense of control over a wild creature. Seidl does not seem to realize that this self same butterfly could theoretically cause hurricanes simply by flapping those wings. Human control over the natural world is an illusion we have to outgrow if we are to acknowledge that our impact on the world is, far from a lordly management of things, endangering all life on the planet, including our own. Against our expectations. How can a book about global warming miss this point?
After the first third of the book, I wanted to put it down and walk away. Sadly, I wouldn't have missed much if I had.
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