Braiding Sweetgrass has made quite an impact in a number of fields, most notably environmentalism, Indigenous studies, and literature. Robin Wall Kimmerer is a Potawatomi botanist who recounts some personal stories that parallel ecological phenomena and Indigenous teachings. Each chapter deals with a foundational concept to her study of plants and connects to either a personal story, an environmental project, or an Indigenous teaching.
There’s an anecdote early on that I find endearing, relatable, and quietly subversive. Kimmerer recounts applying to a botany program and when she is questioned about it, she tells the instructor that she wants to know, essentially, how the plants know which colours work together. It’s an aesthetic or poetic concern, rather than a scientific one—at least insofar as the instructor is concerned. Kimmerer’s gentle challenge to the discourse, though, is that these are not separate conversations, but rather different angles to the same one. She then draws on Potawatomi (and other Indigenous) stories to explain the logic that binds the natural world together.
The book’s style is appreciatory, warm—celebratory. Admittedly, I listened to the audiobook for this one and the reading of the text has such a gentle cadence, appropriate to the style of the book. It’s inviting, of course, but I found that the text lacks bite. Edge. I suppose that says more about me as a consumer that I need conflict; I need tension in order for something to be worth my while—which is very much against what Kimmerer advocates for here. Something in me is broken where I can’t appreciate the simple beauty of the world for what it is.
As such, the highlight of Braiding Sweetgrass, in my mind, is when Kimmerer talks about w*ndig*s (my understanding is that their name should not be spoken, so I’ll refrain here). Kimmerer identifies the cannibalistic creatures as symbols of unrestrained capitalism. They are relentless, unable to be satiated. Kimmerer’s storytelling on the issue is finely wrought and it becomes even more complex when considering the context of past and present Indigenous people. She suggests that the spirit of the w*ndig*s corrupts Indigenous people and makes them ravenous for flesh; capitalism does the same. Kimmerer then problematizes the fact that rather than dismantling capitalism, people strive to integrate themselves within it—it’s actually a similar line of reasoning to a section of Living in the End Times by Slavoj Zizek where the left no longer seeks to dismantle capitalism, but rather become more active participants within it, essentially selling out rather than reshaping the world. The alignment of the w*ndig* with capital is persuasive and offers an engaging story for how we’ve let things get so far.
Another section of the book deals with salamanders and the war effort in Afghanistan. I have to say, this one feels less intuitively connected, making the book come across as a little more disordered. The idea of studying salamander crossing and car-induced fatalities is interesting on its own (for instance, they have a morbid formula for deciding how many salamanders have been crushed by measuring the squish radius). The chapter jumps back and forth to a discussion of young men in Afghanistan in tanks. The connection, though, is tenuous and feels more like an insertion of politics into an otherwise innocuous project.
It was interesting to hear about the specific projects of which Kimmerer has been a part. In addition to the salamander study, she recounts excursions with students to learn in the field (she had to argue the relevance, of course, given that her work falls outside the traditional purviews of science). She recounts the cleaning of Onondaga Lake and the disastrous impacts of mercury waste. The individual projects hold weight and are worth learning about, but the broader lessons are where the book shines.
For instance, it becomes clear from the book that maintaining the environment is not enough. More is required of us. Kimmerer expounds on the idea of gift giving. She explains cultural norms for giving and receiving gifts and the idea of reciprocity. The land is a gift, it gives us gifts, and we are responsible for showing gratitude for those gifts and giving back in return. There are some engaging philosophical meditations on what it would mean for nature to show gratitude, as well. She often refers to Indigenous stories to help support the science—for instance, she discusses the Three Sisters (beans, squash, and corn) and how they are mutually beneficial to one another. Kimmerer returns to the notions of respect and reciprocity frequently, making the key lessons of the text completely clear, but also bloating the book somewhat with repetition.
Many people have recommended this book to me and I’m glad to have finally gotten to it. Unfortunately, the book as a whole does not really resonate with me to leave a lasting impression. It’s a matter of taste, I suppose—I was hoping for something more explicitly revolutionary, something visceral and bombasti. Instead, Braiding Sweetgrass is a calm, inviting work of philosophy. Its warmth may warm the spirit and inspire, but I don’t think it’s going to make people take to the streets and demand change.
That being said, I hope you receive the gift of nature and grant it your own respect and reciprocity. Happy reading!
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