by Alice Vincent
Book review
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What place has nature in our lives? For the outwardly successful, it could be argued, precious little – the trappings of success, those conspicuous symbols of achievement, having little to do with the natural world, other than in the acquisition of portions of it as real estate. Not that there’s anything in Rootbound. Rewilding a Life to suggest that Alice Vincent has ever been unusually acquisitive when it comes to property, but she’d be the first to admit to having abandoned the simpler, slower offerings of a rural existence for the siren song of the city. This is not to create a false dichotomy – there’s no sense of rural good, urban bad here, merely an acknowledgement that in pursuit of a certain set of priorities, things inevitably get left behind. If anything Rootbound revels in seeking out nature in the city, whether that be on the High Line in New York, Tempelhof in Berlin, the Moor and Jesmond Dene in Newcastle, Bonnington Square in London or one of the capital’s many parks (parks, and balconies, feature greatly throughout the book).
Career success, property, and a certain level of comfortable domesticity come easily and soon, but when the end of a key relationship leaves the author suddenly and unexpectedly treading water, it’s those left-behind things that turn out to offer firmer ground upon which to rebuild her life. There’s an almost painful honesty here – without denying the hard slog expended in their attainment, it’s hard to overlook a sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction in the role call of accomplishments:
the nice flat and fashionable boyfriend,...the writing gig at a national. And yet I’d turned into a young woman who struggled to find satisfaction in much of it. I’d lay out each little challenge: the byline photo, the front-page story, the feature puff and the viral hit. When I landed them – often after months of scrabbling – no joy arrived. Instead, I’d move on to the next one for another hollow victory.
Plants, and gardens, it transpires, become the golden ticket, offering a route back to memories of grandparents, or forwards by ‘time-travelling’ into the near future, described both as ‘magic trick’ and ‘balm’ (such observations liberally infuse the text, which is insightful rather than overly-analytical, and never dryly so). Plants and gardens also provide a gateway to the many passages which explore the horticultural past, and notably from the perspective of women – one of the most delightful and illuminating strands to the book is the way in which the story of one young woman grappling with the complications of juggling career and societal expectations in the 21st century are set against the narratives of courageous women forging a path for themselves throughout the history of horticulture.
All of which is dangerously close to sounding terribly worthy, but while there’s plenty here to tickle the intellect, it’s balanced in tone and voice with a combination of reflective wonder and an easy-but-elegant style of rolling prose that keeps you turning the pages. Rootbound never falls foul of the clunky transition – that trap every nature memoir is required to negotiate – each horticultural or biographical diversion feeling like a natural aside in the course of a free-ranging conversation between friends.
I’m not convinced you need be either gardener or lover of the outdoors to appreciate Rootbound – though it’s hard for me to say since I fit both descriptions (as, I imagine, do you if you’re reading this blog). But those who are will recognise the voice of a kindred spirit – one that learns over the course of a year to draw both inspiration and comfort from the complexities of the natural world in all its power, as much from the fleeting frailty of a tiny wood anemone as from nature’s ‘indifference to our days’.
It’s the books that tug at you emotionally that really get under your skin – I finished reading an uncorrected proof of Rootbound several months ago, and still it hasn’t left me, still I’m picking it up and smiling and nodding at random passages. For all the undeniable sure-footedness of the writing, I think it’s the sense of almost childlike curiosity and wonder at the workings of nature that resonate most strongly – that, and the ultimate face-palm emoji ‘it was there all along!’ realisation. But, deeper than that, the implicit recognition that our tendency to pursue a limited concept of success – sophisticated, busy, plant-blind, patriarchal – is to deny an essential part of our nature, and that only by restoring that connection with our natural, wilder selves can we hope to become whole.
Rootbound. Rewilding a Life by Alice Vincent will be published Canongate Books on 30 January 2020 and is available to pre-order here
You can hear an extract from the book four and a half minutes in to this recent episode of the Gardens, Weeds & Words podcast.
Alice is my guest in the very next episode of the podcast, when we’ll be talking in more detail about Rootbound. You can listen to us in conversation on the subject of her gardening experiences in Season 1, episode 4 of the podcast
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Hello! I’m Andrew, gardener, writer, photographer, and owner of a too-loud laugh, and I’m so pleased you’ve found your way to Gardens, weeds & words. You can read a more in-depth profile of me on the About page, or by clicking this image.