Recommended Reading

Stay and Fight is land-loving, community-rooted fiction in the tradition of Wendell Berry, though with a little more guerrilla resistance and a lot more sex. Following her boyfriend’s notions of self-reliance, Seattle-raised Helen Conley buys twenty steep, densely wooded acres in Appalachia, but the boyfriend soon abandons her. To everyone’s surprise, Helen stays, inviting a local family, Karen and Lily and their baby boy, to move in and join forces. The resourceful local women butt heads with college-educated Helen and her Foxfire-like “Best Practices Binder”—“look for morels in the creek bed, oyster mushrooms smell like anise”—but together they build a ramshackle off-grid refuge. Years of hard labor, roadkill dinners, and isolation go by, but the outside world eventually comes knocking, then suddenly snarling. How far would you go to protect all that you hold dear? This is one fine rabble-rouser of a tale, as determined as the bite of a snapping turtle.

As a world record-breaking cave diver and National Geographic filmmaker, Jill Heinerth has plunged into uncharted depths around the globe, from the icy tunnels of an Antarctic iceberg to the cerulean cenotes of the Yucatán Peninsula. Filled with scientific and adventurous firsts as well as claustrophobia-inducing squeezes, Into the Planet is an earnestly told story of life as a professional underwater explorer. Although she didn’t learn how to dive until her late twenties, from a young age Heinerth felt that water gave her a freedom she’d never known on land. She shares the hard-earned euphoria of “swimming through the veins of Mother Earth,” but also the terrifyingly narrow margins for error, as she recounts her own close calls and death after death of colleagues and friends. With the hiss and click of a rebreather, Planet submerges the reader between blackness and light, pausing, every so often, for a heart-stopping view of the sublime wilderness below.

Terry Tempest Williams could write a grocery list that speaks truth to power. In this new collection of essays from one of America’s most devoted defenders of public lands, she examines the nature of erosion—on our riverbanks and desert mesas, but also on us. Is it destruction or metamorphosis when we’re shaped by the elements of wind and fire, time and truth? And what of democracy, weathered by storms? In these stories, we visit with the native peoples of Bears Ears National Monument, the owls that swoop by Williams’s porch, and protestors, politicians, and prairie dogs—singular characters, all. We consider policy and spirituality, the suicide of a brother, the rockslides of desecration. But even through the despair, these essays rise to a hymn, a summons to howl. Erosion is a tonic, like the landscape of the Colorado Plateau, of which Williams says: “One drinks deeply from this well-spring of wonder, especially in drought.”