Review of Icons of Grace and Loss

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My review in Southwestern American Literature, Volume 30, Number 1. Fall 2004.

Susan Hanson. Icons of Grace and Loss: Moments from the Natural World. Texas Tech University Press: Lubbock, 2004. $24.95, Cloth

For fifteen years, Susan Hanson wrote a weekly column for the San Marcos newspaper. I read it regularly, and when she quit writing the column, I was one among many who urged her to collect the best of the essays and publish them. At last she has done so, but she has not just selected from her earlier essays. She has added new essays, revised earlier ones, grouped them. And Texas Tech University press has put them into a remarkably attractive package, one featuring illustrations by Melanie Fain. Now I and others have a chance to read these little gems at our leisure. And that is the way I suggest the book be read. I put it on my bedside table, and most nights I read or reread an essay. But I am not sure essay is the proper category for them. Probably prose poems is closer to what they are. Normally, I am not fond of prose poems, but these I like, not just because they are well written but because many are about Central Texas, the place where I live— its weather, trees, flowers, insects. In her initial essay, Hanson tells about moving from the Gulf Coast of Texas and having to adjust her gardening to the harsh reality of Central Texas. She tells of planting Azaleas and hydrangeas and watching them die as they were starved by the chalky, alkaline soil. She learned to accept the reality of life in her new place, first by inventorying what was on her small semirural lot and then learning from those plants she found: “Instead of treating every unknown seedling as a weed, I let it be—at least until I knew for certain what it was. And rather than imposing some design more suited to a different time and place, I let the landscape show me how it worked.” And we are the beneficiaries of what she learned. Most of her selections are about her piece of Central Texas. Typically, she tells of seeing or hearing something there, and then she reflects on implications of what she observes. She brings her widespread reading to bear on the situation with short, well chosen quotes from such writers as Mary Oliver, Michael Pollan, Wendell Berry, Jack Kerouac, Henry David Thoreau, John Tveten, Aldo Leopold, and Richard Phelan. Hanson also reports on what she sees and thinks at a retreat center, Lebh Shomea, in South Texas, and at parks and camps in the Texas Hill Country along several rivers, the Little Blanco, the Guadalupe, and the Frio. Occasionally she goes farther afield, visiting and reporting on far West Texas, Utah, and Colorado.

From the marmot in Colorado to the javelina of South Texas, from the False Dayflower in her yard to the palmettos in the Ottine swamp, from the Cooper’s hawk to the cormorant—Hanson calmly and gracefully informs us. And she relates all of this to the humans who live with these and other things, things natural, every day, and wondrous. She writes of the change of seasons and our acceptance or resistance to that and other changes. She relates the losses of nature to those humans have—the death of a child or a parent. She asks, “How can I understand that what is absent is not gone, that what has ended is not finished, that what is taken is returned as more than memory?” She says she can’t: “What I can do, though is listen for the sound of the sandhill cranes flying high above my house this fall, feel the supple shoots of next spring’s phlox, memorize the curve and hue of Michaelmas daisies in full bloom. What I can do is live as though beauty matters, as if its imprint on the soul never fades.”

What I like most about the essays is both her precision in reporting and her hesitance in concluding. She is willing to admit paradox: “We must be patient, reminding ourselves that whatever comes will arrive a piece at a time. And finally, we must bear the weight of paradox, recognizing that delight and sorrow are soul mates, that redemption and loss are a part of the same sacred ground.” What I like least about them is that they are so few. Already, I and other readers are urging her to mine her former columns for another volume of essays.''

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