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Amsterdam Uitgeverij De Arbeiderspers © 2020
ISBN
9789029540285
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THE TIMES AUDIOBOOK OF THE YEAR 'The finest book ever written on nature and landscape in Britain' Guardian In this masterpiece of nature writing, beautifully narrated by Oscar-winning actor Tilda Swinton, Nan Shepherd describes her journeys into the Cairngorm mountains of Scotland. There she encounters a world that can be breathtakingly beautiful at times and shockingly harsh at others. Her intense, poetic prose explores and records the rocks, rivers, creatures and hidden aspects of this remarkable landscape. Shepherd spent a lifetime in search of the 'essential nature' of the Cairngorms; her quest led her to write this classic meditation on the magnificence of mountains, and on our imaginative relationship with the wild world around us. Composed during the Second World War, the manuscript of The Living Mountain lay untouched for more than thirty years before it was finally published.… (more)
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User reviews
LibraryThing member bodachliath
A perfect miniature of nature writing, this book encapsulates a wide range of experiences amassed over years of exploring the high Cairngorms.
LibraryThing member Steve38
A very individual piece of writing of the author's experience of the Cairngorm mountains where she lived on which, or in as she would say, she spent a great deal of time and thought. Descriptive, poetic, philosophical, personal. It's easy to understand why it went a long time put away and
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unpublished. By coincidence we stayed in a bed and breakfast in Edinburgh run by her literary executor when we were in the city to see an exhibition of calligraphy and painting inspired by the book. The book, the exhibition and the bed and breakfast (2, Cambridge Street, look it up) were all enjoyable. Show Less
LibraryThing member JBD1
Oh, did I love this book. It probably helped that I read it after a day spent walking in the hills of a remote Scottish island, so many of Shepherd's fantastic descriptions rang immediately true. But it's one I'm sure I'll come back to often, no matter where I am. Lovely.
LibraryThing member jon1lambert
Just coming to the end of The living mountain, written during the Second World War but not published until 1997 by Aberdeen University Press and reissued more recently as part of the gush of nature books inundating the display stands and tables in bookshops, I am stopped in my tracks by one
‘All the aromatic and heady fragrances - pine and birch, bog myrtle, the spicy juniper, heather and the honey-sweet orchis, and the clean smell of wild thyme - mean nothing at all in words. They are there, to be smelled’ (Canongate, 2011, 6th printing, pages 97-98).
So why write about them? Nan Shepherd is right. You can write about nature, the landscapes, the birds, the animals, the mountains and the snow. It may be very interesting but it is not the real thing. The reader can only smell the printed page and the glue that holds the book together. My senses as I read the book on a train rattling through the Cotswolds are preoccupied with the disgusting bad taste in the mouth left by a cafe latte bought from a man with a trolley. This detachment of the reader from the actual experience may be the reason why the author put the book back into a drawer after an initial publisher rejection.
Nevertheless and despite never having set foot in the Cairngorms, I have enjoyed The Living Mountain and the substantial introduction by Robert Macfarlane. I just wish I could get rid of the taste of bad coffee.
The purpose of these books is to spur us on and out into the countryside to experience senses of our own, to heighten our own experiences. I must therefore close the book and look out of the train window as it advances across the Cotswolds, as the mist rises from the fields on a sunny morning, as I suddenly see a field by the track that could be a vast expanse of seaweed suddenly swallowed up by deep mist occasionally revealing the outlines of a shed or barn shrouded in cotton wool. Hedges surround fields cleared of wheat, sheep are dotted on a green field like a painting, the glare of the sun makes me turn my head away, an embankment provides relief as do lineside trees just as another sheet of mist envelops everything. Tracks criss cross, road construction is under way but the blue sky, the green fields, the trees turning yellow dominate the small orange gang of railwaymen marching down the track. The trees have shed their fruit, their plums and apples. Next to go will be the leaves. Horses stand in the sun looking at the practice gymkhana fences glistening beside them. Glimpse are residential houses behind the trees, the conifers the highest.
But all this is just describing things I see through panes of glass. They are sensations but not the real thing. I am nowhere near the Nan Shepherd experience. That is why this and other such books are so exhilarating but unfulfilling. There is an anti-climax, a bit like listening to other people taking about their holidays.
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sentence.‘All the aromatic and heady fragrances - pine and birch, bog myrtle, the spicy juniper, heather and the honey-sweet orchis, and the clean smell of wild thyme - mean nothing at all in words. They are there, to be smelled’ (Canongate, 2011, 6th printing, pages 97-98).
So why write about them? Nan Shepherd is right. You can write about nature, the landscapes, the birds, the animals, the mountains and the snow. It may be very interesting but it is not the real thing. The reader can only smell the printed page and the glue that holds the book together. My senses as I read the book on a train rattling through the Cotswolds are preoccupied with the disgusting bad taste in the mouth left by a cafe latte bought from a man with a trolley. This detachment of the reader from the actual experience may be the reason why the author put the book back into a drawer after an initial publisher rejection.
Nevertheless and despite never having set foot in the Cairngorms, I have enjoyed The Living Mountain and the substantial introduction by Robert Macfarlane. I just wish I could get rid of the taste of bad coffee.
The purpose of these books is to spur us on and out into the countryside to experience senses of our own, to heighten our own experiences. I must therefore close the book and look out of the train window as it advances across the Cotswolds, as the mist rises from the fields on a sunny morning, as I suddenly see a field by the track that could be a vast expanse of seaweed suddenly swallowed up by deep mist occasionally revealing the outlines of a shed or barn shrouded in cotton wool. Hedges surround fields cleared of wheat, sheep are dotted on a green field like a painting, the glare of the sun makes me turn my head away, an embankment provides relief as do lineside trees just as another sheet of mist envelops everything. Tracks criss cross, road construction is under way but the blue sky, the green fields, the trees turning yellow dominate the small orange gang of railwaymen marching down the track. The trees have shed their fruit, their plums and apples. Next to go will be the leaves. Horses stand in the sun looking at the practice gymkhana fences glistening beside them. Glimpse are residential houses behind the trees, the conifers the highest.
But all this is just describing things I see through panes of glass. They are sensations but not the real thing. I am nowhere near the Nan Shepherd experience. That is why this and other such books are so exhilarating but unfulfilling. There is an anti-climax, a bit like listening to other people taking about their holidays.
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LibraryThing member emmakendon
She writes beautifully, but it's like reading someone else's diary after a good walk.
LibraryThing member breic
"But at first I was seeking only sensuous gratification… I was not interested in the mountain for itself, but for its effect on me, as puss caresses not the man but herself against the man's trouser leg. But as I grew older, and less self-sufficient, I began to discover the mountain in itself…
I have never been to Scotland, but very much enjoyed Shepherd's descriptions of her love of the Scottish mountains. The prose is fine, and the details are small and feel true. It is not overwritten. She captures many moments perfectly, and I can feel myself there. It is a pleasure to read someone trying to explain her attachment to a landscape.
For me, with my own experiences of mountains, what did not feel right were her descriptions of optical illusions, especially with mist distorting far landscapes to appear much closer. She emphasizes this several times, and I can't say I identify with the feeling. I don't know if she is engaging in hyperbole, or if our visual experiences are so different.
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This process has taken many years, and is not yet complete. Knowing another is endless. And I have discovered that man's experience of them enlarges rock, flower and bird. The thing to be known grows with the knowing." I have never been to Scotland, but very much enjoyed Shepherd's descriptions of her love of the Scottish mountains. The prose is fine, and the details are small and feel true. It is not overwritten. She captures many moments perfectly, and I can feel myself there. It is a pleasure to read someone trying to explain her attachment to a landscape.
For me, with my own experiences of mountains, what did not feel right were her descriptions of optical illusions, especially with mist distorting far landscapes to appear much closer. She emphasizes this several times, and I can't say I identify with the feeling. I don't know if she is engaging in hyperbole, or if our visual experiences are so different.
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LibraryThing member DramMan
A lyrical composition in praise of 'The Living Mountain', in this case the Cairngorm massif, by a writer in deep communion with their subject. Anyone who has ever experienced nature and especially scenery at altitude will appreciate this work - it resonated with me.
LibraryThing member PDCRead
The Cairngorms are a mountain range roughly in the middle of Scotland, it is can be a breathtaking beautiful part of the world, but in bad weather can be harsh, unforgiving and unrelenting. This was a part of the world that Shepherd loved and lived close to all her life.
It is a short book,
Even though it is so short, Shepherd still manages to covey the sense of place, the beauty and the wildness of the Cairngorms with such amazing brevity. The prose is lyrical and poetic with an incredible eye for detail, as she describes the colours of the earth and heathers or the pure quality of the streams and rivers, or the luminosity of the light.
Breathtakingly good writing. Well worth reading.
It is a short book,
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originally written during the Second World War, containing 12 chapters centred around aspects of the mountain range. She writes about the quality of the light up in the mountains, the water, how the landscape changes when it snows. There are chapters on the plants that scratch out a living and the animals and birds, in particular the eagle, and even though it is a harsh place the impact that man still has had.Even though it is so short, Shepherd still manages to covey the sense of place, the beauty and the wildness of the Cairngorms with such amazing brevity. The prose is lyrical and poetic with an incredible eye for detail, as she describes the colours of the earth and heathers or the pure quality of the streams and rivers, or the luminosity of the light.
Breathtakingly good writing. Well worth reading.
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LibraryThing member nmele
This short book is a powerful reflection on the natural world and its meaning for we who live in it. Shepherd explored the Cairngorms, a mountain massif in northeastern Scotland, over the course of her life. Here she describes what she has learned and intuited, as well as some of the beauties of
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the region and the life forms, including humans, who live there. Her words are prose poetry and her musings approach that of the mystics of all traditions. I am profoundly glad I sought out this not well-enough known book and read it. Show Less
LibraryThing member Ma_Washigeri
I did really like it - but I still can't see that it has actually been as influential as it's made out to be, either for the writing or the Cairngorms. It's a good piece of writing but hasn't passed on the love of the Cairngorms to me. I spent years (feels like decades) campaigning against the
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building of the funicular and restoration of more natural vegetation, yet I have never walked up into the Cairngorms. I felt it an important wilderness area but that I could spare it the extra pressure of my own footsteps, and I'll continue to support all moves to restore the mountains to health. Show Less
LibraryThing member Treebeard_404
The Living Mountain is by typical measures a slim volume. But I found it to be like the TARDIS: bigger on the inside. I found it took me longer to read than I anticipated because I needed to dwell on passages. Not because they were obscure or profound (though some were). But because Shepherd is
If you are going to read this version of The Living Mountain, do yourself a favor. Go straight to Shepherd's material and only then, if you are so inclined, read Robert Macfarlane's introduction. I love Macfarlane's books but in this case he is not adding any particular insights, in my opinion. And the introduction is FAR too long. Shame on the editor for not reining Macfarlane in.
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writing about living life. And some discussions just should not be rushed.If you are going to read this version of The Living Mountain, do yourself a favor. Go straight to Shepherd's material and only then, if you are so inclined, read Robert Macfarlane's introduction. I love Macfarlane's books but in this case he is not adding any particular insights, in my opinion. And the introduction is FAR too long. Shame on the editor for not reining Macfarlane in.
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LibraryThing member m.belljackson
Highlight is "Frost and Snow" which begins to explore how our senses expand
what our body and mind feel, every minute, day and night.
Odd inclusions: mentioning locations not shown on the map, "fey,"
the eternal sadness of the interlocked stags, the many mountain deaths -
do we always need the reminder
Thoreau would have enjoyed this book!
Even without an accompanying set of photographs or a video,
readers join the summits, plateaus, lochs, and pine-needle "compacted balls."
(How welcome their photo would be.)
what our body and mind feel, every minute, day and night.
Odd inclusions: mentioning locations not shown on the map, "fey,"
the eternal sadness of the interlocked stags, the many mountain deaths -
do we always need the reminder
Show More
of Death to Love Life?Thoreau would have enjoyed this book!
Even without an accompanying set of photographs or a video,
readers join the summits, plateaus, lochs, and pine-needle "compacted balls."
(How welcome their photo would be.)
Show Less
Original publication date
1977