Wabi Sabi Books
(To read and listen to)
Fiction | Non Fiction | Haiku |
Quite a Year for Plumbs by Baily White
Quite a Year for Plumbs is quite a book for wabi sabi enthusiasts.
The entire book is a celebration of human idiosyncrasies and the way that
the details of life contribute to its richness.
The story surrounds two retired school teachers and their family and friends,
central of whom is plant pathologist and banjo picker Roger Meadows. Roger
is attracted to Della, a sensitive and oddly sensible bird artist who leaves
notes describing the defects and usefulness of items she discards beside the
dumpster.
Roger is first attracted by her notes and the items she has thrown away, and
then by her interest in birds. Della's own obsession runs deep in her art
and despite ridicule from her fellow nature artists, chooses to study and
paint a rare bread of chickens.
Roger's attraction to Della, and Della's attraction to the chickens are analogous
of the reader's attraction to the characters in the book. Why should we find
these ordinary people so interesting? Why do we keep reading, page after page,
despite the complete lack of action and minimal plot development? Because
there is a sort of magic in Bailey White's spare, low-key writing. Not exactly
minimalist, but precise and carefully chosen, each detail reveals little treasures
in these people's ordinary lives.
Here is a quote from the scene where Roger first approaches Della to ask her
out:
"So it had not been easy for Roger, standing
in the litter of the dump on that summer day a week ago, a swarm of sulfur
butterflies congregating on a puddle of drool from the Dumpster and a spent
'easy glide' tampon applicator at his heel, it had not been easy for him to
draw a breath and say, 'Have you seen the marsh birds in Little Tired Slough
out on Cathead Island? Because of my plant work I have a permit, and I could
take you there.' And yet how easy it had been for her to heft her bag of garbage
up over the lip of the Dumpster and turn to him as the swarm of sulfur butterflies
rose up and surrounded her in a winkling yellow column, how very easy it had
been for her to lift her hands, palms up into the butterflies, smile, and
say, 'Might we see rails there?'" (Middle
of Chapter "Birding" page 67 in the Large Print edition.)
I recommend Quite a Year for Plums to anyone who finds pleaser in
character development and a richly steeped wabi sabi story elements. Five
out of Five stones.
The
Shipping News
E. Annie Proulx, read by Robert Joy
The recommendation to read Shipping News went unheeded for several
years because I assumed it had something to do with ships or news, both subjects
that did not pique my interest. Then, finding it in audio book at the library,
I thought I would give it a try, and if it wasn't interesting, I could return
it.
What I experienced was not an earth shaking epiphany, just a strange attentive
fascination and identification with the characters and the place. Set in a
remote Newfoundland fishing village the book follows a large ugly man named
Quoyle as he blunders his way from being a victim of genetics and parental
coldness to a self aware survivor of circumstances able to release some of
his pent up tenderness. A caring father, and diligent worker, Quoyle molds
his thinking and writing (of the shipping news) to the expectations of the
small community while at the same time following his intuition, all the while
experiencing a warm, if self deprecating, sadness.
I didn’t mind that in the beginning Quoyle was devoted to his slutty
wife, because he was seeing something else in her. His vulnerability and psychological
weakness are paradoxically related to, and balanced by, his strength of character
and virtue which are both understated and authentic.
Described by some as an atmospheric novel, the colourful characters and bone-cooling
sense of place contrast to make that which is alive, really alive, and that
which is dead, truly lost and gone. Filled with pathos and wabi sabi sensibilities,
the novel resonates with strange sounds and rhythms. In some ways, Proulx’s
writing seems to mirror Quoyle’s clumsy persona, but like Quoyle the
inner depth is crafted and radiant. Read or listen to this book more than
once, the depth goes on and on. Five
out of Five stones.
Silas Marner
George Elliot, read by Andrew Sachs.
Filled with wabi sabi details of country life in 19th century England but
drawn without romanticism or sentimental sweetness. A hopeful story in which
relationships win out over the love of money. The central characters exhibit
a saving appreciation of rural blessings and the kind of poverty that allows
for joy and comfort.
A scene set in the local tavern is exceptional. Sachs creates unique voices
for the well drawn characters who each come alive through authentic dialogue.
Commentary sprinkled throughout the latter half of the book illuminates the
inner motives and processes that allow each character to determine what is
really important in life. Elliot (Mary
Ann Evans) highlights how simple folk can come to the same conclusions
"as them with learning" when they collectively address a subject with thoughtful
reflection and dialogue. Four out of
Five stones.
For The Time Being
Annie Dillard, read by David Birney.
Starting with multiple details, at first numbing and cold, Dillard weaves
them together with threads of stories to produce a strange tapestry that is
both beautiful and sabi. You will visit China, Israel, New York, and Papua
New Guinea but also the harder to locate, ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal.’
Animals, people, sand, clouds, and sod all rotate around under Dillard’s
careful attention and through numerous quotations from Hasidic Jews, Muslims,
Christians, and Buddhists, we see them differently.
I knew while listening to the first tape that I would be changed. Sitting
in my kitchen, listening to the last tape I felt stitched together after an
operation, but whether something was removed from my body, or grafted in,
I could not say.
The audio book is well produced and David Birney uses subtle and careful talent
to reflect the moods of the writing, both its melancholy passages, and those
filled with wonder. Five out of Five
stones.
Living Wabi Sabi: The True Beauty of Your Life by Taro
Gold
Taro Gold's direct and engaging writing compliments his earnest tale of personal
revelation under the tutelage of his wise grandmother. Through her gentle
words, Gold discovers that instead of seeing the imperfections and failures
of life as obstacles to be overcome or defeated, we can instead value the
whole of our life and find in our shortcomings the wabi sabi insight that
we are who we are supposed to be.
This shift in perspective helps us be real and authentic; embracing the parts
of ourselves we have grown ashamed, embarrassed, or disappointed about. The
message Gold shares is that we can use our imperfections to make our life
better, learn about accepting others, and live joyfully.
An inward looking antidote to an outward focused world, Living wabi Sabi
places the source of suffering within us, revealing how powerfully attitude
can affect the way we feel pain, and loss.
Gold is convinced that contentment begins with acceptance of the world just
the way it is and gives some excellent examples of how perception can shift
if we choose to see the world differently. The analogy of a stirred glass
of water described by his grandmother is particularly powerful and left me
thinking about my own imperfections and my desire for clarity and stillness.
The message I received from this story is that we will never rid ourselves
completely of problems and pain, nor will we mature to the point where trials
and tribulations will not ruffle us, but we may learn to see that these things
bring to light our imperfections, giving us the opportunity to improve. If
we have already accepted these imperfections, then we will not be troubled
to have them revealed. In this way the pains and troubles of life can be dealt
with as events in the world, not as triggers to our feelings of inadequacy
or failure.
The book contains a delightful discussion on emptiness, an illuminating reflection
on how our outer world reflects our inner one, and a welcome invitation to
align ourselves with the flow of joyful energy in the Universe.
My own interest in patterns was peaked by Gold's discussion of habits. Desire's
give rise to thoughts which give rise to behaviours which elicit responses
from the world around us. When a set of behaviours like this becomes established
it migrates to the level of the unconscious. If the behaviour is useful and
if it supports our personal and spiritual development then the pattern is
a positive one. If, on the other hand, the pattern is negative, eliciting
hurtful and damaging responses from the environment, then our growth is stunted.
Wabi sabi frees us from negative patterns because it supports consciousness
and awareness of these very patterns. Once we see the negative patterns in
our life, we can choose to behave differently. The way this is described in
the book is so compelling that it re-invigorated my own commitment to this
way of life. This is Living Wabi Sabi, the central message of the
work. Four out of Five Stones.
Review © Richard R. Powell
- August 2004
Pilgrimage by Michael Dudley
I had Michael Dudley’s book Pilgrimage on my night table for several months, enjoying one or two haiku each night as part of my ritual, savouring Dudley’s warm well-humoured view of the world. Then it moved to a spot beside my computer with several other volumes waiting for a “proper read” the sort of read you give a book after you have determined it has something essential about it, something more than similar volumes.
I took the book with me to Nelson last summer for a family visit. I also took my son who was 15 at the time. He had, and still has, multiple ear and lip piercings, green and black hair, tattered clothes and a taste for vodka. Did I mention he was 15? Well he is 16 now, but not much has changed. His hair is still black and green and he still likes vodka. After a certain point in the life of such children we parents retract, selfdoubt coiling us into silence. But we still trail at the edges of such children’s lives, hopeful ghosts, watching for signs, indications of progress, despite our ephemeral influence.
On our way home from the Kootenays, at the end of a long
day’s drive through the mountains and out onto the broad delta that ends
in Vancouver, the two of us sat on vinyl benches on a government ferry crossing
the strait of Juan De Fuca to our home on Vancouver Island. The noise of
the engine filled the ship with a drone, like the drone of a bagpipe, just
there on the edge of hearing, just enough to accentuate my drowsiness from
the long drive. So I pulled out Pilgrimage, thinking a few haiku
with time to mull quietly would be a treat I deserved. Then some really loud
people came and sat in the seats right behind us and they talked about onion
breath and if it really is that bad or not, and what the best thing is to
take for it. I looked around at them and they were oblivious to how loud
they were talking, so I asked my son if he minded if we moved to another
part of the ship, and when we found a good spot I set the book on the seat
and my son saw it and pick it up.
“Can I read this?” he said. I nodded, accepting
the request as a sort of travel miracle.
He read it all the way through while I jotted notes in my notebook about
the people in the seats around us. I wrote a few haiku. Then he handed the
book back, and the message came on the overhead speakers telling us the hour
and ¾ ferry ride was over and we were nearing the terminal.
“That was great,” my son said as I tucked the book back in my pack.
“Yeah?” I ask, “What did you like about it?”
“I don’t know, it was interesting, it held my interest.”
Umhum, I thought to myself, there are some erotic poems in the book and then
he said, “I liked the one about the babies nursing from their dead mother.”
“What?” I said, startled. I didn’t remember a poem about that, and then realization
dawned. My son smiled, neon light from the Coke dispenser glinting off his lip
ring. Here is the haiku:
xxxxxxxxxx3 baby mice
nursing from their mother
xxxxxxxxxxxxxin the trap
“I also liked some of the ones with the capital letters that spell out a different word, like another layer of meaning.”
I nodded. We headed towards our car. People pushed slightly in the stairwell,
not intentionally, just eager to get home, strangers occupying a moment in time
more intimate than they want; communal necessity. My son and I bumped each other.
Dudley is not exactly a purest when it comes to haiku rules. His textual dimensioning,
for instance, reveals his willingness to push the form, to play with the medium
and produce texture in the structure of a poem itself. This is nothing new in
haiku, many contemporary haijin have attempted it, but not so many have produced
the satisfying effect that Dudley has. Take for example this poem:
C a n’t catc h my
bre a t h brittle
le a ves blowing every w h ich
way
The breaks in the first few words immediately produce a breathless vocalization
as you read them and the emphasised ah ah ah creates an echo. The scattering
image of the leaves further supports the feeling of the poem. A moment is conveyed
with an almost physiological response.
The haiku in this volume are consistently well crafted, pleasingly uniform in
quality, and arranged thematically so that the appreciation of each poem is part
of an appreciation of the whole. It reminds me of how I always stop to watch
a goose when it is flying in formation with other geese; the individual goose
is beautiful, but there is a power in several beautiful bodies mirroring each
other in flight. Not all haiku collections benefit from this dimension.
Dudley captures wabi sabi in many of these poems. His fainter
and fainter is
in this volume (and featured on the haiku page)
and is flanked by some related and equally rich poems. Wabi sabi is sprinkled
throughout the collection. Here are three samples to whet your appetite:
A new day mice turds in the cupboard
On Oliver’s doorstep,
Saturday’s paper
swollen in the rain
sun just up
a jogger chases his shadow
through the graveyard
beside the highway
pumpkins piled in a wooden cart
and an old woman, shawled
sweltering ooo
the millpond skin
porous with nostrils
Such images, carefully specific and masterfully crafted into haiku draw us deeper
into our own millponds, closer to our own Saturday mornings. A crisp humorous
insightful work, this volume deserves wide circulation among middle aged poetry
enthusiasts and teenaged punker-kids alike. Four
out of Five Stones.
Review © Richard R. Powell -
February 2007
