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To the River
To the River is the story of the Ouse, the Sussex river in which Virginia Woolf drowned in 1941. One midsummer week over sixty years later, Olivia Laing walked Woolf's river from source to sea. The result is a passionate investigation into how history resides in a landscape - and how ghosts never quite leave the places they love. Along the way, Laing explores the roles rivers play in human lives, tracing their intricate flow through literature and mythology alike. To the River excavates all sorts of stories from the Ouse's marshy banks, from the brutal Barons' War of the thirteenth century to the 'Dinosaur Hunters', the nineteenth-century amateur naturalists who first cracked the fossil code. Central among these ghosts is, of course, Virginia Woolf herself: her life, her writing and her watery death. Woolf is the most constant companion on Laing's journey, and To the River can be read in part as a biography of this extraordinary English writer, refracted back through the river she loved. But other writers float through these pages too - among them Iris Murdoch, Shakespeare, Homer and Kenneth Grahame, author of the riverside classic The Wind in the Willows. The result is a wonderfully discursive read - which interweaves biography, history, nature writing and memoir, driven by Laing's deep understanding of science and cultural history. It's a beautiful, lyrical work that marks the arrival of a major new writer.
283 pages, Paperback
First published May 5, 2011
About the author
Olivia Laing
30 books2,578 followersOlivia Laing is a writer and critic. She’s the author of To the River, The Trip to Echo Spring and The Lonely City, which has been translated into 17 languages and sold over 100,000 copies worldwide. Her collected essays, Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency, were published in 2020.
Her first novel, Crudo, is a real-time account of the turbulent summer of 2017. It was a Sunday Times top ten bestseller and a New York Times notable book of 2018 and was shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize and the Gordon Burn Prize. In 2019 it won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
Laing’s writing about art & culture appears in the Guardian, Observer, Financial Times and frieze, among many other publications. She’s a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and in 2018 was awarded the Windham-Campbell Prize for non-fiction.
Her new book, Everybody: A Book About Freedom is a dazzling investigation into the body and its discontents, using the life of the renegade psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich to chart a daring course through the long struggle for bodily freedom.
Her first novel, Crudo, is a real-time account of the turbulent summer of 2017. It was a Sunday Times top ten bestseller and a New York Times notable book of 2018 and was shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize and the Gordon Burn Prize. In 2019 it won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
Laing’s writing about art & culture appears in the Guardian, Observer, Financial Times and frieze, among many other publications. She’s a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and in 2018 was awarded the Windham-Campbell Prize for non-fiction.
Her new book, Everybody: A Book About Freedom is a dazzling investigation into the body and its discontents, using the life of the renegade psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich to chart a daring course through the long struggle for bodily freedom.
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March 18, 2019
This is the story of the River Ouse in Sussex and the story of a week during which Laing walked the length of the river at midsummer. This, of course is the river in which Virginia Woolf drowned herself. The walk was prompted by the end of a relationship and a general feeling that rivers gave a sense of direction to those who have "lost faith with where they're headed". The Ouse is not a long river, only 42 miles, and Laing is able to feel generally unhurried as she sets aside a week to complete the journey. Laing enjoys the solitude and chance for reflection and examines the way history and landscape interlink. It also gives Laing reason to follow all sorts of literary, historical and natural leads. That is what makes this book so delightful.
Woolf is obviously a central figure and there is some interesting discussion of Between the Acts as well as a look at her life with Leonard Woolf and her death. Other forays include classical mythology, Bede’s Sparrow, nineteenth century dinosaur hunters, Piltdown man, Kenneth Grahame (Wind in the Willows), Iris Murdoch, a discussion of the various meanings of the word incapable in Gertrude’s description of the drowned Ophelia, the history of the Battle of Lewes in 1264 with discussions about Simon de Montfort and the current location of the armour and bodies, the annual migration of the wheatear and how it ended up in many nineteenth century pies, passages on floods and flooding and a discussion of the architecture of Hades; and much more, all linked together by the Ouse and by Laing’s passionate flights of intuition and inquisitiveness. “How strangely we spend our lives” Laing remarks and affirms Woolf’s comment about the Ouse valley, “this has holiness. This will go on after I am dead.”
Laing talks about her own history a little, about her parents and her recent break up (including the priceless throwaway comment, “For Christmas, Matthew had given me a Hoover”). But mostly we experience her journey and learn a great deal about the Ouse. Laing enjoys her solitude on the walk and sometimes other humans are an irritation. Laing has a sense of humour; encountering a group and loud and rather crass drinkers in a pub, she notes;
“After supper I walked out into the churchyard where Edward Gibbon was buried, who wrote The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire and died nearby of peritonitis after an operation to drain the massive inflammation of his testicles went wrong and poisoned his blood. In my head the woman’s voice translated: he had fucking big bollocks. It was an English voice and it had been going on forever: parochial and incensed, intent on cutting everything down to size.”
Laing is aware of her own frailties and inconsistencies and approaches moments that might have brought forth something Keatsian and poetic in a rather different way;
“..a whole Greek chorus of tits exchanging apprehension and admonition. I could hear them perfectly, but apart from the chaffinch I couldn’t see a bloody thing. After straining through binoculars for twenty minutes I became petulant”
Then a very human reaction to losing the path;
“I burst out, sweating, onto the marsh, but my relief didn’t last a minute. It wasn’t the path I wanted, not at all….I pulled off my rucksack and kicked it.”
And yet Laing can write beautifully and is an accomplished wordsmith, speaking of kestrels “pinned to the sky” and dragonflies “the size of kitchen matches”. The fate of a particular wood pigeon sparks this reverie;
“The present, the present. It never stops, no matter how weary you get. It comes unstintingly, as a river does, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll be swept off your feet. I should have warned the woodpigeon.”
It also links in to Laing’s own experience of depression and makes the book profound in often unexpected ways. As you can tell I liked this book.
Woolf is obviously a central figure and there is some interesting discussion of Between the Acts as well as a look at her life with Leonard Woolf and her death. Other forays include classical mythology, Bede’s Sparrow, nineteenth century dinosaur hunters, Piltdown man, Kenneth Grahame (Wind in the Willows), Iris Murdoch, a discussion of the various meanings of the word incapable in Gertrude’s description of the drowned Ophelia, the history of the Battle of Lewes in 1264 with discussions about Simon de Montfort and the current location of the armour and bodies, the annual migration of the wheatear and how it ended up in many nineteenth century pies, passages on floods and flooding and a discussion of the architecture of Hades; and much more, all linked together by the Ouse and by Laing’s passionate flights of intuition and inquisitiveness. “How strangely we spend our lives” Laing remarks and affirms Woolf’s comment about the Ouse valley, “this has holiness. This will go on after I am dead.”
Laing talks about her own history a little, about her parents and her recent break up (including the priceless throwaway comment, “For Christmas, Matthew had given me a Hoover”). But mostly we experience her journey and learn a great deal about the Ouse. Laing enjoys her solitude on the walk and sometimes other humans are an irritation. Laing has a sense of humour; encountering a group and loud and rather crass drinkers in a pub, she notes;
“After supper I walked out into the churchyard where Edward Gibbon was buried, who wrote The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire and died nearby of peritonitis after an operation to drain the massive inflammation of his testicles went wrong and poisoned his blood. In my head the woman’s voice translated: he had fucking big bollocks. It was an English voice and it had been going on forever: parochial and incensed, intent on cutting everything down to size.”
Laing is aware of her own frailties and inconsistencies and approaches moments that might have brought forth something Keatsian and poetic in a rather different way;
“..a whole Greek chorus of tits exchanging apprehension and admonition. I could hear them perfectly, but apart from the chaffinch I couldn’t see a bloody thing. After straining through binoculars for twenty minutes I became petulant”
Then a very human reaction to losing the path;
“I burst out, sweating, onto the marsh, but my relief didn’t last a minute. It wasn’t the path I wanted, not at all….I pulled off my rucksack and kicked it.”
And yet Laing can write beautifully and is an accomplished wordsmith, speaking of kestrels “pinned to the sky” and dragonflies “the size of kitchen matches”. The fate of a particular wood pigeon sparks this reverie;
“The present, the present. It never stops, no matter how weary you get. It comes unstintingly, as a river does, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll be swept off your feet. I should have warned the woodpigeon.”
It also links in to Laing’s own experience of depression and makes the book profound in often unexpected ways. As you can tell I liked this book.
December 20, 2019
3.5 As the holiday season approaches, I've been feeling very melancholy. This book seemed to completely reflect my mood. Walking the forty something miles from the beginning of the Ouse River, to the end, the author reflects back at what things this River has seen. Of course, the most famous, and the only one of which I was previously aware, is the suicide if Virginia Woolf. Can't get much more melancholic than that. To be honest, that was also a big draw for me. I find her writing and life fascinating.
This is part travelogue, part historical, with elements of s memoir thrown in for good measure. Its fine, and maybe listening added to this, was lyrical, almost haunting. An ethereal air to what i was reading. The author free floats thoughts, here and there as she walks, but Virginia Woolf is the enduring link. Woolf's own connection to water, an element not only in some of her titles, but also in her work itself. Iris Murdoch, was another author mentioned, whom was also fascinated by water. There are elements of mythology, Odysseus, and historical happenings that took place around this River.
I'm well aware of the seductive power of a river, as my town is split in half by one. There is just something calming, meditative, when one walks along. So much to see and it's easy to find oneself daydreaming. Anyway, the author ponders that the past is always present in some form, and the water, River has seen it and is the one thing that is constant. Or something like that, in theory anyway.
The reader was Kate Ready and I thought she was brilliant.
This is part travelogue, part historical, with elements of s memoir thrown in for good measure. Its fine, and maybe listening added to this, was lyrical, almost haunting. An ethereal air to what i was reading. The author free floats thoughts, here and there as she walks, but Virginia Woolf is the enduring link. Woolf's own connection to water, an element not only in some of her titles, but also in her work itself. Iris Murdoch, was another author mentioned, whom was also fascinated by water. There are elements of mythology, Odysseus, and historical happenings that took place around this River.
I'm well aware of the seductive power of a river, as my town is split in half by one. There is just something calming, meditative, when one walks along. So much to see and it's easy to find oneself daydreaming. Anyway, the author ponders that the past is always present in some form, and the water, River has seen it and is the one thing that is constant. Or something like that, in theory anyway.
The reader was Kate Ready and I thought she was brilliant.
May 28, 2016
I'd been attracted to this book by an attraction to Laing's most recent book, The Lonely City. Since I already had To the River in hand, I thought I'd see what she's about before committing to the newer one. Turns out she's about a lot.
Laing writes about the River Ouse in Sussex in southern England. Her goal was to walk the river from its source to the Channel, her intention to show what "that little patch of England looked like one midsummer week at the beginning of the twenty-first century." The result of her weeklong ramble along the river is marvelous, a book much like the W. G. Sebald novel The Rings of Saturn.
It's meditative, digressive, and concerns itself very much with history, memory, and nature. We all remember that it's the Ouse in which Virginia Woolf drowned herself. It flows through Rodmell where she lived and through which Laing walks, and so she reflects at length about Virginia and Leonard. There are also long a digression about Kenneth Grahame. I'd never known before that his The Wind and the Willows is set along the Ouse. She reflects on the classical idea of hell, the nature of pollen, the nature of memory, the discovery of dinosaurs (the first iguanodon fossil had been found there), and, to contrast real science with the bogus, the story of the Piltdown Man forgery, the fake skull fragments having been seeded in a gravel pit along the river's northern reaches. And there's much more as well as lyrical passages about the flora and fauna of the river she encounters walking its course.
It's not surprising the river's ecology is also a concern. She notes some recent animal species migrated from other regions, and even from other parts of Europe. They're not always welcomed by the locals and therefore sometimes looked on with a jaundiced eye by her. She writes nostalgically about species which have been lost in the recent past. Physical changes to the river draw her attention, whether the natural change of flooding or the man-made changes of development.
But she thinks that no changes have affected the rampant beauty of the river in its course and the landscape surrounding it. Her descriptions are rhapsodic, her love for this "little patch of England" evident in how the words make sparkling images on the page. Sparkle is a good word, I think--she writes so well that my impression of the book as a whole is a sparkling harmonizing of sun and sky and water reflecting each other. At the beginning she said she felt like Ishmael, needing to be near water. And so she set out to walk along the Ouse's water to the sea. And what she experiences during her journey, not only what the senses bring her but also the mental jogs the river and landscape evoke in her, is beautifully told.
Laing writes about the River Ouse in Sussex in southern England. Her goal was to walk the river from its source to the Channel, her intention to show what "that little patch of England looked like one midsummer week at the beginning of the twenty-first century." The result of her weeklong ramble along the river is marvelous, a book much like the W. G. Sebald novel The Rings of Saturn.
It's meditative, digressive, and concerns itself very much with history, memory, and nature. We all remember that it's the Ouse in which Virginia Woolf drowned herself. It flows through Rodmell where she lived and through which Laing walks, and so she reflects at length about Virginia and Leonard. There are also long a digression about Kenneth Grahame. I'd never known before that his The Wind and the Willows is set along the Ouse. She reflects on the classical idea of hell, the nature of pollen, the nature of memory, the discovery of dinosaurs (the first iguanodon fossil had been found there), and, to contrast real science with the bogus, the story of the Piltdown Man forgery, the fake skull fragments having been seeded in a gravel pit along the river's northern reaches. And there's much more as well as lyrical passages about the flora and fauna of the river she encounters walking its course.
It's not surprising the river's ecology is also a concern. She notes some recent animal species migrated from other regions, and even from other parts of Europe. They're not always welcomed by the locals and therefore sometimes looked on with a jaundiced eye by her. She writes nostalgically about species which have been lost in the recent past. Physical changes to the river draw her attention, whether the natural change of flooding or the man-made changes of development.
But she thinks that no changes have affected the rampant beauty of the river in its course and the landscape surrounding it. Her descriptions are rhapsodic, her love for this "little patch of England" evident in how the words make sparkling images on the page. Sparkle is a good word, I think--she writes so well that my impression of the book as a whole is a sparkling harmonizing of sun and sky and water reflecting each other. At the beginning she said she felt like Ishmael, needing to be near water. And so she set out to walk along the Ouse's water to the sea. And what she experiences during her journey, not only what the senses bring her but also the mental jogs the river and landscape evoke in her, is beautifully told.
April 28, 2016
(2.5) Laing hadn’t yet perfected the deft interplay of memoir, biography and travel writing that makes her next two books (The Trip to Echo Spring and The Lonely City) so special. Here her ostensible subject is the River Ouse, a vague enough remit to encompass all manner of meandering talk about history, archaeology, geology, and so on. Unlike her other two books, which feel heavily urban, this one attempts nature writing. There are a few nice passages, but often her strategy is to simply list the flowers she sees, as if their poetic names are enough to create an image for a reader. For most people, alas, they will just be words. Despite the map at the front, I didn’t get enough of a sense of Laing’s journey along the Ouse. The passages about Virginia Woolf – who drowned herself in the Ouse – were the best.
Some favorite lines:
“I’d looked at this square of the High Weald on maps for months, tracing the blue lines as they tangled through the hedges, plaiting eastward into a wavering stream.”
“The day hung open on its hinge. The sound I had heard was neither chainsaws nor flies; it was a pair of red tractors out cutting the hay.”
Some favorite lines:
“I’d looked at this square of the High Weald on maps for months, tracing the blue lines as they tangled through the hedges, plaiting eastward into a wavering stream.”
“The day hung open on its hinge. The sound I had heard was neither chainsaws nor flies; it was a pair of red tractors out cutting the hay.”
October 8, 2020
This is the story of a journey that author, Olivia Laing, took in midsummer; walking the length of the River Ouse. The journey was prompted by the break-up of a relationship and the journey prompts her to muse on many different subjects; from nature, geology, fossil hunting, history, children’s novels and, of course, Virginia Woolf, who committed suicide by drowning in the River Ouse, in 1941.
Although Woolf’s shadow lies heavily over the book, so does the history of the area. Although you do feel that the past is very much part of the landscape, there is also much that makes the journey feel immediate. Sometimes, this is due to snippets of conversation, or simply rubbish that the author comes across.
It is difficult to define this book, but Laing is an excellent travelling companion and I enjoyed her company for the length of her journey. This is reflective and interesting; part memoir, part history and part nature/travel book, the subjects covered meander like the turns of the river bank that the author follows.
Although Woolf’s shadow lies heavily over the book, so does the history of the area. Although you do feel that the past is very much part of the landscape, there is also much that makes the journey feel immediate. Sometimes, this is due to snippets of conversation, or simply rubbish that the author comes across.
It is difficult to define this book, but Laing is an excellent travelling companion and I enjoyed her company for the length of her journey. This is reflective and interesting; part memoir, part history and part nature/travel book, the subjects covered meander like the turns of the river bank that the author follows.
October 23, 2017
Olivia Laing writes my favourite kind of non-fiction: part-memoir, mixed with the tools of any other genre that seem fit. I don't know how she does it to be honest. From one paragraph to the next she's talking about her own journey down the Ouse, to something Virginia or Leonard Woolf once said, to natural history, to medieval history, whatever. Also, she has writes with a real luxuriousness but also a rhythm that once you noticed it is almost quite bouncy and poetic. She's great. I want her to write another book now. I will read Trip to Echo Spring, at some point, even though it doesn't sound like it'd appeal to me that much. I'd much prefer to read more about Woolf and rivers.
April 3, 2020
“The present never stops, no matter how weary you get. It comes as a river does, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll be swept off your feet.
3,5 stars. A lovely, meditative memoir about the history and legacy of the river Ouse in England, and a reflection on the power and inspiration of water.
In her nonfiction novels, Olivia Laing always focuses on one subject – whether it is lonely artists living in New York, or famous American authors struggling with alcoholism – and studies it through the lens of historic, ecological, or current events.
A bonus is that she adds a vivid writing-style to this book: I could clearly picture the blooming fields and green forests while Laing follows the river for 42 miles.
“A river passing through a landscape catches the world and gives it back redoubled: a shifting, glinting world more mysterious than the one we customarily inhabit.”
Many of the ‘river-layers’ she discusses are fascinating – mythological stories about water, the archaeological discoveries found in the clay, and the scars of (historic) battles that took place near the Ouse, or trying to control its flow.
Yet the author who made the river famous – Virginia Woolf drowned herself in the Ouse – was not nearly mentioned enough. We never go ‘beneath’ the surface with Woolf, and that is a pity.
If Laing had picked fewer topics and went deeper into those, this memoir would’ve stuck more. Still, a travel-story that really showed me to the river and its many riches: certainly recommended to fans of Robert Macfarlane and Helen Macdonald.
3,5 stars. A lovely, meditative memoir about the history and legacy of the river Ouse in England, and a reflection on the power and inspiration of water.
In her nonfiction novels, Olivia Laing always focuses on one subject – whether it is lonely artists living in New York, or famous American authors struggling with alcoholism – and studies it through the lens of historic, ecological, or current events.
A bonus is that she adds a vivid writing-style to this book: I could clearly picture the blooming fields and green forests while Laing follows the river for 42 miles.
“A river passing through a landscape catches the world and gives it back redoubled: a shifting, glinting world more mysterious than the one we customarily inhabit.”
Many of the ‘river-layers’ she discusses are fascinating – mythological stories about water, the archaeological discoveries found in the clay, and the scars of (historic) battles that took place near the Ouse, or trying to control its flow.
Yet the author who made the river famous – Virginia Woolf drowned herself in the Ouse – was not nearly mentioned enough. We never go ‘beneath’ the surface with Woolf, and that is a pity.
If Laing had picked fewer topics and went deeper into those, this memoir would’ve stuck more. Still, a travel-story that really showed me to the river and its many riches: certainly recommended to fans of Robert Macfarlane and Helen Macdonald.
October 18, 2020
Se vi interessa la Woolf, camminare alla ricerca di qualcosa che poi è sempre dentro di se, e mentre camminate pensate, scoprite e poi magari vi documentate, questo è il libro giusto.
Mi ha convinto molto di più di Città sola e di certo mi ha coinvolto di più.
Mi ha convinto molto di più di Città sola e di certo mi ha coinvolto di più.
August 11, 2021
Dieses Buch ist für mich eine Mischung aus Naturlehrpfad, psychologischer Selbstreflektion und Geschichtsbuch.. ich habe mir weniger historische englische Gschichte erwartet, daher war wahrscheinlich meine Erwartungshaltung an das Buch nicht die richtige. Wer über die Entwicklung der Gegend rund um die Ouse mehr lernen will, wer das Leben und den Freitod von Virginia Woolf genauer beleuchtet haben möchte, der ist auf jeden Fall hier gut bedient. Das ganze wird immer wieder durchbrochen von wunderschönen Landschaftsbeschreibungen und Vogelbeobachtungen der Protagonistin. Solide 3 Sterne von mir für diese mäandernde Geschichte ohne viele Höhepunkte aber dafür mit entschleunigender Ruhe..
April 16, 2016
There are many stories in the book, layered and interwoven, but all centred around the River Ouse that runs from Slaugham to Newhaven through the Sussex Weald. One summer Liang decides to walk the length of it to discover the history, the people that inhabit it, the wildlife and most importantly the sense of place.
This is the river where the great writer Virginia Woolf took her own life in 1941. Liang writes about her life and her troubled health and how she had been suffering from mental health problems for a number of years. Living nearby had offered a glimmer of hope that she might recover, but sadly it was not to be. There is a lot of history in this part of England, and it has been occupied for millennia. It has played its part in pivotal parts of English history too, with a battle taking place between Simon de Montfort and the royal supporters. Some of these are still commemorated today in local festivals. In her walk she also used the time and the progress of the river to lament the breakdown of her relationship with a guy called Matthew. It does not dominate the book, but adds a poignant undertone as she considers what might have been.
Where this book soars though is the eloquent descriptions of the landscape and the wildlife that she sees and experiences on her walk. It is nature writing at its finest.
This is the river where the great writer Virginia Woolf took her own life in 1941. Liang writes about her life and her troubled health and how she had been suffering from mental health problems for a number of years. Living nearby had offered a glimmer of hope that she might recover, but sadly it was not to be. There is a lot of history in this part of England, and it has been occupied for millennia. It has played its part in pivotal parts of English history too, with a battle taking place between Simon de Montfort and the royal supporters. Some of these are still commemorated today in local festivals. In her walk she also used the time and the progress of the river to lament the breakdown of her relationship with a guy called Matthew. It does not dominate the book, but adds a poignant undertone as she considers what might have been.
Where this book soars though is the eloquent descriptions of the landscape and the wildlife that she sees and experiences on her walk. It is nature writing at its finest.
August 1, 2017
I loved this. Laing follows the river Ouse from its source to its mouth on the Sussex coast. Along the way she details the plants and the animals, the people she passes (and their verbatim conversations - which were great), and has many digressions into the history of the places she passes, including lots of information about Virginia Woolf (who drowned in the Ouse), and her husband. All of it fascinating. The only bit that dropped a little for me was the industrial mouth of the river - I found it hard to visualise from Laing's descriptions. Perhaps she's better at countryside descriptions, although I've also read The Lonely City and loved that too. Laing is an amazing writer.
March 24, 2019
I continue to enjoy reading Olivia Laing's writing. She writes well about art and nature, and while I share few of her opinions, I always learn a lot by reading her stuff. This book, describing a two-week hike that she took through the fens of England, was much heavier on nature and history, and less concerned with art. I especially enjoyed this because it was an acutely-observed essay on the same landscape covered by Graham Swift in his excellent novel "Waterland."
July 9, 2020
Beautiful nature writing interspersed with meandering local history - Laing has such remarkable range as a writer. I liked this most when it focussed on the walk itself - her descriptions of landscapes, wildlife and the interweaving of her memories of previous experiences were just wonderful. The divergences off into historical anecdotes - the Woolfs, historic battles, etc etc - occasionally meandered a bit too slowly for my tastes.
October 30, 2020
3.5 stars
This is the story of one midsummer week in 2011, when Olivia Laing decided to follow the river Ouse from source to sea.
To The River is an eloquent early example of the deft interweaving of memoir, biography, and history that Laing is known for, but while these streams flow and lap over each other in all her works in a manner faintly reminiscent of Woolf it is here that she seems almost to have communed with the latter. And so the writing flits between her inner world and the one she travels to, observing the bounty of nature and the present while seeing, too, the ghosts of time.
In a series of lovely digressions she writes, too, of archeological forgeries, of Dante's underworld, of magpie hinting, of the biblical flood and the Blitz, and also of people like Kenneth Grahame; Iris Murdoch; Simon de Montfort; the Northumbrian monk Bede; the last king of France—and, of course, of Virginia and Leonard Woolf, whose lives together are as entwined with the river as all rivers with life.
Lilting and lyrical, sometimes slow and sometimes funny, To The River takes us across and under the 42 miles that the Ouse runs along, spotting for us the lush flora and fauna and old mill towns and stories gathered along the way. And as with all forceful rivers meeting their ends at the sea, it is hard not to gush.
This is the story of one midsummer week in 2011, when Olivia Laing decided to follow the river Ouse from source to sea.
"There is a mystery about rivers that draws us to them, for they rise from hidden places and travel by routes that are not always tomorrow where they might be today. Unlike a lake or a sea, a river has a destination and there is something about the certainty with which it travels that makes it very soothing, particularly for those who've lost faith with where they're headed."60 years before Laing, the brilliant Virginia Woolf headed for the same waters with her pockets full of stones, perhaps having lost faith in where anything else was headed, and became a woman dissolved. Nearly 10 years after Laing's journey brimmed into this book about the Ouse, with its with meditations on memory, nature, and history and the ghost of Woolf hovering over it; I found myself aching for nature. There is a river near me, too, but one lost to the wounds and machinations that the city delivers. And so, here I am.
To The River is an eloquent early example of the deft interweaving of memoir, biography, and history that Laing is known for, but while these streams flow and lap over each other in all her works in a manner faintly reminiscent of Woolf it is here that she seems almost to have communed with the latter. And so the writing flits between her inner world and the one she travels to, observing the bounty of nature and the present while seeing, too, the ghosts of time.
In a series of lovely digressions she writes, too, of archeological forgeries, of Dante's underworld, of magpie hinting, of the biblical flood and the Blitz, and also of people like Kenneth Grahame; Iris Murdoch; Simon de Montfort; the Northumbrian monk Bede; the last king of France—and, of course, of Virginia and Leonard Woolf, whose lives together are as entwined with the river as all rivers with life.
Lilting and lyrical, sometimes slow and sometimes funny, To The River takes us across and under the 42 miles that the Ouse runs along, spotting for us the lush flora and fauna and old mill towns and stories gathered along the way. And as with all forceful rivers meeting their ends at the sea, it is hard not to gush.
May 5, 2021
>>“Wenn es schmerzt“, schrieb der polnische Dichter Czeslaw Milosz, „kehren wir zu den Flüssen zurück“, und ich schöpfe Trost aus seinen Worten, denn es gibt einen Fluss, an den ich immer wieder zurückkehre, in Krankheit und Gesundheit, in Trauer, in Betrübnis und in Freude.<<
„Zum Fluss – Eine Reise unter die Oberfläche“ von Olivia Laing beschreibt nicht nur ihre Reise entlang der Ouse, sondern beinhaltet so viel mehr, mit dem ich nicht gerechnet hätte! Zum einen schafft es die Autorin ganz wundervolle Naturbilder zu erschaffen und eben diese mit Geschichte, Schicksalen und Menschen zu verbinden – somit kann man dieses Buch auch als ganz wundervolle Zeitreise entlang der Ouse beschreiben. Wir begegnen hier immer und immer wieder zum beispiel Virgina Woolf, deren Leben und Tod unweigerlich mit diesem Fluss verbunden sind, wir werden einen tiefen Blick auf „Der Wind in den Weisen“ und somit ganz besonders natürlich auf Kenneth Grahame und erfahren mitunter, was ihn mit dem Fluss verbindet.
Zudem folgen noch viele historische Ereignisse, die sich rund um diesen Fluss und seine Läufe ereignet haben und bekommen einen Eindruck dessen, wie sich die Natur im Laufe der Zeit verändert hat. Sanft, fundiert und vom Schreibstil her manchmal nahezu magisch nimmt Olivia Laing den Leser hier auf eine ganz wundervolle Reise mit, die ich so so sehr genossen habe! Und obwohl ich solche Bücher/Reisegeschichten/Reiseberichte etc. eher weniger lese, da diese mich meist einfach nicht so in ihren Bann ziehen können, war es hier grundlegend anders!
Von Beginn an entstand für mich hier ein ganz besonderer Zauber, den ich nicht so schnell vergessen werde und der mein Interesse in vielerlei Hinsicht im Bezug auf die Historie und z.B. ganz besonders im Bezug auf Virgina Woolf geweckt hat.
Fazit: „Zum Fluss – Eine Reise unter die Oberfläche“ von Olivia Laing empfehle ich sehr sehr gerne und von herzen all jenen, die sich ein bisschen von Natur und Historie verzaubern lassen möchten und mal einen etwas andere Lesereise machen möchten!
„Zum Fluss – Eine Reise unter die Oberfläche“ von Olivia Laing beschreibt nicht nur ihre Reise entlang der Ouse, sondern beinhaltet so viel mehr, mit dem ich nicht gerechnet hätte! Zum einen schafft es die Autorin ganz wundervolle Naturbilder zu erschaffen und eben diese mit Geschichte, Schicksalen und Menschen zu verbinden – somit kann man dieses Buch auch als ganz wundervolle Zeitreise entlang der Ouse beschreiben. Wir begegnen hier immer und immer wieder zum beispiel Virgina Woolf, deren Leben und Tod unweigerlich mit diesem Fluss verbunden sind, wir werden einen tiefen Blick auf „Der Wind in den Weisen“ und somit ganz besonders natürlich auf Kenneth Grahame und erfahren mitunter, was ihn mit dem Fluss verbindet.
Zudem folgen noch viele historische Ereignisse, die sich rund um diesen Fluss und seine Läufe ereignet haben und bekommen einen Eindruck dessen, wie sich die Natur im Laufe der Zeit verändert hat. Sanft, fundiert und vom Schreibstil her manchmal nahezu magisch nimmt Olivia Laing den Leser hier auf eine ganz wundervolle Reise mit, die ich so so sehr genossen habe! Und obwohl ich solche Bücher/Reisegeschichten/Reiseberichte etc. eher weniger lese, da diese mich meist einfach nicht so in ihren Bann ziehen können, war es hier grundlegend anders!
Von Beginn an entstand für mich hier ein ganz besonderer Zauber, den ich nicht so schnell vergessen werde und der mein Interesse in vielerlei Hinsicht im Bezug auf die Historie und z.B. ganz besonders im Bezug auf Virgina Woolf geweckt hat.
Fazit: „Zum Fluss – Eine Reise unter die Oberfläche“ von Olivia Laing empfehle ich sehr sehr gerne und von herzen all jenen, die sich ein bisschen von Natur und Historie verzaubern lassen möchten und mal einen etwas andere Lesereise machen möchten!
September 2, 2023
L’ho letto la prima volta nel 2020 e dopo tre anni ho scelto di rileggerlo, attraverso l’audiolibro.
Olivia Laing è proprio brava.
Olivia Laing è proprio brava.
July 22, 2015
A relationship ends, prompting the author to plan a journey that follows the course of the river Ouse in Southern England, a river that has changed much over time, through man's battles, interventions and industrial/agricultrual practices.
As she walks the river, Olivia Laing narrates a number of those historic events, that the river now bears little trace of, including that last walk of Virginia Woolf, her pockets laden with heavy rocks as she strode into the river with purpose, her corpse emerging 3 weeks later.
The narrative meanders like the river might have done, had it not had its more interesting aspects and life-filled curves, sliced and straightened long ago, making it in parts more like a dredged canal.
It is an attractive premise, to walk the length of a river as a form of therapy, writing and researching its length, though rather than submerge as Virginia Woolf was so drawn towards doing and did in this same river, Olivia Laing's journey is more one of, walk, pause, reflect on great battles, other lives lived, move swiftly on.
She spends little time reflecting on her own troubled narrative, the barely mentioned Matthew, a ghost-like figure never fully formed, their dilemma unshared on the page, instead it is the river we begin to grieve for, her character sliced and cut and reformed to meet the purpose of man, ignorant of the smaller life forms and species who were more dependent on it to survive than man.
Deflecting attention away from her own purpose, Laing has written a form of tribute to a little known river, a metaphor of life, with all the events that chip away at and form its character, though its true essence remains.
Of particular interest to those familiar with the landscape and interested in its history and of Virginia Woolf. The book may have held my attention more, if the author had reached deeper into the psyche to share more of her own inner journey, though it is true, these lessons are often realised long after the physical journey has taken place.
As she walks the river, Olivia Laing narrates a number of those historic events, that the river now bears little trace of, including that last walk of Virginia Woolf, her pockets laden with heavy rocks as she strode into the river with purpose, her corpse emerging 3 weeks later.
The narrative meanders like the river might have done, had it not had its more interesting aspects and life-filled curves, sliced and straightened long ago, making it in parts more like a dredged canal.
It is an attractive premise, to walk the length of a river as a form of therapy, writing and researching its length, though rather than submerge as Virginia Woolf was so drawn towards doing and did in this same river, Olivia Laing's journey is more one of, walk, pause, reflect on great battles, other lives lived, move swiftly on.
She spends little time reflecting on her own troubled narrative, the barely mentioned Matthew, a ghost-like figure never fully formed, their dilemma unshared on the page, instead it is the river we begin to grieve for, her character sliced and cut and reformed to meet the purpose of man, ignorant of the smaller life forms and species who were more dependent on it to survive than man.
Deflecting attention away from her own purpose, Laing has written a form of tribute to a little known river, a metaphor of life, with all the events that chip away at and form its character, though its true essence remains.
Of particular interest to those familiar with the landscape and interested in its history and of Virginia Woolf. The book may have held my attention more, if the author had reached deeper into the psyche to share more of her own inner journey, though it is true, these lessons are often realised long after the physical journey has taken place.
October 3, 2016
My library permits a maximum of two three-week renewals beyond the initial loan period. I've finished the book today with a few days left of the nine weeks total, which is quite rare. What does that say in this case?
I started it (way back then) with high hopes, having liked Laing's travel/biography/criticism of six American writers: The Trip to Echo Spring. This one is similar in terms of being a travel/history hybrid, but tougher for me. Lots (and lots) of flora and fauna description, so much so that I scoured her background looking for a doctorate in botany at one point! Also, she sort of "bookends" the history, introducing (at some length I felt) the 13th-century Battle of Lewes early on, which wasn't of much interest to me I'm afraid. So, I set the book aside, coming back to it fairly recently. Lots more plants, with some architecture, and musings on her own past; nicely written so that it filled time until the Star of the Show made her appearance: Virginia Woolf. I'm not much of a fan of that writer, but appreciated learning more of her as a historical figure.
Verdict: Laing is a terrific writer (thus four stars instead of three), and I'm greatly looking forward to her newest work: The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone. However, for a book following a notable historic route, Walking the Kiso Road: A Modern-Day Exploration of Old Japan held my interest better.
I started it (way back then) with high hopes, having liked Laing's travel/biography/criticism of six American writers: The Trip to Echo Spring. This one is similar in terms of being a travel/history hybrid, but tougher for me. Lots (and lots) of flora and fauna description, so much so that I scoured her background looking for a doctorate in botany at one point! Also, she sort of "bookends" the history, introducing (at some length I felt) the 13th-century Battle of Lewes early on, which wasn't of much interest to me I'm afraid. So, I set the book aside, coming back to it fairly recently. Lots more plants, with some architecture, and musings on her own past; nicely written so that it filled time until the Star of the Show made her appearance: Virginia Woolf. I'm not much of a fan of that writer, but appreciated learning more of her as a historical figure.
Verdict: Laing is a terrific writer (thus four stars instead of three), and I'm greatly looking forward to her newest work: The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone. However, for a book following a notable historic route, Walking the Kiso Road: A Modern-Day Exploration of Old Japan held my interest better.
April 18, 2020
This was so nearly a truly excellent read - I think it just needs tighter editing.
I found the constant re-referencing of topics already covered became grating. An example - one chapter might talk in depth about how Virginia Woolf did not attend school, and had a tutor for certain subjects instead, and what those subjects are, only for the next chapter to mention that Virginia Woolf did not attend school, and had a tutor for... etc etc, as if the subject had never before been broached. It makes at times for a disjointed read (or listen), as though each chapter were written in isolation from the others despite the week-long, semi-linear river journey that drives the entire narrative.
Still, it's a fairly minor quibble in the overall scheme of things. Laing writes quite beautifully, and the fluidity of the subject - and how many odd, seemingly unconnected strands are woven together through it - makes for an engaging few hours of reading (or listening). The book also gets surprisingly morbid, even in the most unexpected of places, and that felt weirdly appropriate, if a little startling.
I found the constant re-referencing of topics already covered became grating. An example - one chapter might talk in depth about how Virginia Woolf did not attend school, and had a tutor for certain subjects instead, and what those subjects are, only for the next chapter to mention that Virginia Woolf did not attend school, and had a tutor for... etc etc, as if the subject had never before been broached. It makes at times for a disjointed read (or listen), as though each chapter were written in isolation from the others despite the week-long, semi-linear river journey that drives the entire narrative.
Still, it's a fairly minor quibble in the overall scheme of things. Laing writes quite beautifully, and the fluidity of the subject - and how many odd, seemingly unconnected strands are woven together through it - makes for an engaging few hours of reading (or listening). The book also gets surprisingly morbid, even in the most unexpected of places, and that felt weirdly appropriate, if a little startling.
August 25, 2020
Olivia Laing on kahtlemata kultuuriinimene: siin räägitakse vähem loodusest, kui ma ehk oleksin tahtnud või ette kujutanud, aga ei saa öelda, et kultuuri- ja ajalugu mulle vähem huvi pakuks. Huvitav on see taju, kui palju rohkem (konkreetset kirjapandud) ajalugu on vanas Euroopas. Üks suhteliselt lühike jõgi, mis on keset suhteliselt tihedat asustust ja mille kaldad on olnud asustatud keskajast saati (tegelikult vist veelgi varem, ma olen juba unustanud. Seal on mingid vanad vanad metsad ja kohad) kätkeb Inglismaal nii palju juhtunut, mille kohta pilduda aastaarve ja nimesid. Jõekallastel on tegutsenud kirjanikud, kuningad, insenerid, sõjaväed, kaupmehed, kaevandused, sepikojad, veskid ja mis kõik veel ning Olivia räägib neist kõigist. Kindlasti mitte kõigist-kõigist, aga paljudest. Kui palju on seda jõge ümber suunatud, piiratud, kammitsetud, paisutatud ja alandatud! See on selline tsivilisatsioonilugu, mis püüab lakkamatult loodust ohjata, aga mida rohkem jõgesid sillutatud tunnelitesse suunata, seda rohkem nad ootamatult üle ajavad. Ouse kallastel on aastasadu toimunud pidev kuivendamise, puhastamise, kanalite ja lüüside ja tõstesildade loomise hullus...
Paratamatult tekib tahtmine käia Eestis mööda mõnd jõekallast ja võrrelda, kuid olen juba ette kindel, et olukord oleks päris erinev. Olen natuke (hästi natuke) käinud seal Lõuna-Inglismaa mereäärsete tõusu-mõõna jõgede maal ja veel enam näinud telesaadetest, nii et sealne asustatus ei tule üllatusena. Tundub, et kus Olivia ka ei käiks, mõni inimkätega tehtud asi - maja, raudteesild, kai vms paistab ikka, ka inimesed ujumas, kalastamas, jalutamas. Ta ütleb kusagil, et tal on tunne nagu poleks ta päevi inimestega rääkinud, kuigi ööbib iga öö külalistemajas või sõprade juures ning kohtab teel sageli võõraid, kelle lausejuppe kirja panna. Jõeäär on vaheldumisi täis elumaju, (endiseid) karjamaid, tühermaid-varemeid, prügimägesid, töökodasid, paadisildu ja vahepeal metsikumaid või maalilisemaid jalutusradasid - muidugi ei saa seal rääkida pikki looduses üksi uitamise lugusid nagu tuleksid siis, kui käia mööda mõnd meie jõge või ilmselt ka Ühendkuningriikide vähem asustatud paiku (kuigi kalamehi on küll praktiliselt kõikjal, ka kõige ootamatumates kohtades). Samas on siinnegi asustus olemas olnud ju sama kaua, kindlasti on jõgede ääres vanu veskipaiku, karjamaid ja kõike muud, aga kas me neid/neist teame, kas oleks üldse kusagilt otsida midagi tihkemat kui mõisate-talude piire ja inimeste nimekirju? Kuigi faktid on ülehinnatud ja ma ei tea, mõttekoht, mõttekoht, mõttekoht. Baltisaksa tegelinskite tegude kohta on tegelikult kindlasti materjali küll. Eh, ega ma sellest lihtsalt suurt ju tea.
Huvitav ja tihe teos, kus lisaks jõe ja jõeäärsete linnade-külade käekäigule on palju juttu Virginia ja Leonard Woolfist (tegu on jõega, mille kaldal nad elasid ja milles Virginia oma elu võttis), mitmesugustest loodusteadlastest, mitmesugustest muudest tegelastest. Ühest suurest lahingust ja kuningakukutamiskatsetest (see peatükk tekitas mus päris võika taju, et inimesed on läbi aegade aeg-ajalt üksteist tükkideks rebinud) ja natuke lindudest-taimedest ka. See on selline kulgev ja looklev lugu nagu jõgigi - ei püüa anda kronoloogilist ajaloolist ülevaadet ega rääkida Woolfide elulugu, vaid põimib kõik mõttelõngad kokku nii nagu nad autoril parajasti seostuvad. Mulle nii meeldibki.
Paratamatult tekib tahtmine käia Eestis mööda mõnd jõekallast ja võrrelda, kuid olen juba ette kindel, et olukord oleks päris erinev. Olen natuke (hästi natuke) käinud seal Lõuna-Inglismaa mereäärsete tõusu-mõõna jõgede maal ja veel enam näinud telesaadetest, nii et sealne asustatus ei tule üllatusena. Tundub, et kus Olivia ka ei käiks, mõni inimkätega tehtud asi - maja, raudteesild, kai vms paistab ikka, ka inimesed ujumas, kalastamas, jalutamas. Ta ütleb kusagil, et tal on tunne nagu poleks ta päevi inimestega rääkinud, kuigi ööbib iga öö külalistemajas või sõprade juures ning kohtab teel sageli võõraid, kelle lausejuppe kirja panna. Jõeäär on vaheldumisi täis elumaju, (endiseid) karjamaid, tühermaid-varemeid, prügimägesid, töökodasid, paadisildu ja vahepeal metsikumaid või maalilisemaid jalutusradasid - muidugi ei saa seal rääkida pikki looduses üksi uitamise lugusid nagu tuleksid siis, kui käia mööda mõnd meie jõge või ilmselt ka Ühendkuningriikide vähem asustatud paiku (kuigi kalamehi on küll praktiliselt kõikjal, ka kõige ootamatumates kohtades). Samas on siinnegi asustus olemas olnud ju sama kaua, kindlasti on jõgede ääres vanu veskipaiku, karjamaid ja kõike muud, aga kas me neid/neist teame, kas oleks üldse kusagilt otsida midagi tihkemat kui mõisate-talude piire ja inimeste nimekirju? Kuigi faktid on ülehinnatud ja ma ei tea, mõttekoht, mõttekoht, mõttekoht. Baltisaksa tegelinskite tegude kohta on tegelikult kindlasti materjali küll. Eh, ega ma sellest lihtsalt suurt ju tea.
Huvitav ja tihe teos, kus lisaks jõe ja jõeäärsete linnade-külade käekäigule on palju juttu Virginia ja Leonard Woolfist (tegu on jõega, mille kaldal nad elasid ja milles Virginia oma elu võttis), mitmesugustest loodusteadlastest, mitmesugustest muudest tegelastest. Ühest suurest lahingust ja kuningakukutamiskatsetest (see peatükk tekitas mus päris võika taju, et inimesed on läbi aegade aeg-ajalt üksteist tükkideks rebinud) ja natuke lindudest-taimedest ka. See on selline kulgev ja looklev lugu nagu jõgigi - ei püüa anda kronoloogilist ajaloolist ülevaadet ega rääkida Woolfide elulugu, vaid põimib kõik mõttelõngad kokku nii nagu nad autoril parajasti seostuvad. Mulle nii meeldibki.
November 30, 2021
Places absorb the spirits of the beings that travel over and settle upon them, and retain echoes of experiences that happen on them - I believe that with all of me. This fascinating book rings like a bell, with a similar message.
The author, Olivia Laing, decides one day to walk from the source of the River Ouse to its end, the sea. It flows north and east, and has a fabulous history. Still, one of the most compelling aspects for the author, and which she discusses throughout her journey is Virginia Woolf - this was a favorite of hers - her river. It was the place she decided to end her life when hope was unconvincing, and an ending undeniable. One hundred forty-three miles the author hoofs it, and has interesting and regional observations. More than once, I felt James A. Michener reading along with me and nodding with satisfaction. She would take a pebble and from there, time travelled to creation of the pebble and all the people who'd been right there at that corner of the river, in that nook and eddy of the stream.
Very much about that part of England and all who have been there, it was a little vacation, and a long walk with a delightful woman, with a Virginia Woolf remembrance as a bonus. Highly Recommended.
The author, Olivia Laing, decides one day to walk from the source of the River Ouse to its end, the sea. It flows north and east, and has a fabulous history. Still, one of the most compelling aspects for the author, and which she discusses throughout her journey is Virginia Woolf - this was a favorite of hers - her river. It was the place she decided to end her life when hope was unconvincing, and an ending undeniable. One hundred forty-three miles the author hoofs it, and has interesting and regional observations. More than once, I felt James A. Michener reading along with me and nodding with satisfaction. She would take a pebble and from there, time travelled to creation of the pebble and all the people who'd been right there at that corner of the river, in that nook and eddy of the stream.
Very much about that part of England and all who have been there, it was a little vacation, and a long walk with a delightful woman, with a Virginia Woolf remembrance as a bonus. Highly Recommended.
October 29, 2016
I was extremely disappointed by this book. Of course I should know not to take too much notice of reviews but the people recommending this book were people I have enjoyed reading. I wonder if they have actually read it. There are so many things that annoyed me. I will pick just a few.
"Meanwhile the swallows were screaming the air into tatters. I sat on a bench and watched them drop, wings akimbo, shrieking as they fell" Swallows shrieking? Sounds like swifts to me. Not the sort of mistake I would expect.
In a description of valerian she describes what I can only assume is "Red Valerian" & not Common Valerian (Valeriana officinalis) . Herbalists use Common Valerian which is a very distinctive plant, a wonderful plant revered by the Druids which likes generally damp places (not entirely) & not the environment described by Laing.
Wheatears are described as a plump bird in a passage where the author appears to want to use a very unpleasant historical passage about a bird not present in her narrative. I love wheatears which I see on stonewalls in mountain areas & clifftops. They are distinctive with their pirate like faces & their active twitching. They are sleek, certainly not plump. I wonder where her description comes from. Is it the right bird?
She describes Leonard Woolf as being a good man & then gives a description of a far than pleasant man, prejudiced and holding discriminatory views about mental illness (when his wife suffered from a severe form of) & an uncaring attitude which involves the death of a child.She excuses his behaviour by calling it a sign of the times.
To compare the author with John Clare, sharing his sense of a connection with nature is far fetched.
There are occasional poetic passages & it did give me some sense of confidence that I might be able to write a book as an non expert on nature. This is the 2nd book written by someone who hasn't got a degree in environmental studies or the like that I have read recently. Amy Liptrot's book is a joy to read. This one isn't.
"Meanwhile the swallows were screaming the air into tatters. I sat on a bench and watched them drop, wings akimbo, shrieking as they fell" Swallows shrieking? Sounds like swifts to me. Not the sort of mistake I would expect.
In a description of valerian she describes what I can only assume is "Red Valerian" & not Common Valerian (Valeriana officinalis) . Herbalists use Common Valerian which is a very distinctive plant, a wonderful plant revered by the Druids which likes generally damp places (not entirely) & not the environment described by Laing.
Wheatears are described as a plump bird in a passage where the author appears to want to use a very unpleasant historical passage about a bird not present in her narrative. I love wheatears which I see on stonewalls in mountain areas & clifftops. They are distinctive with their pirate like faces & their active twitching. They are sleek, certainly not plump. I wonder where her description comes from. Is it the right bird?
She describes Leonard Woolf as being a good man & then gives a description of a far than pleasant man, prejudiced and holding discriminatory views about mental illness (when his wife suffered from a severe form of) & an uncaring attitude which involves the death of a child.She excuses his behaviour by calling it a sign of the times.
To compare the author with John Clare, sharing his sense of a connection with nature is far fetched.
There are occasional poetic passages & it did give me some sense of confidence that I might be able to write a book as an non expert on nature. This is the 2nd book written by someone who hasn't got a degree in environmental studies or the like that I have read recently. Amy Liptrot's book is a joy to read. This one isn't.
December 27, 2012
I have to say, this book took me by surprise. I knew little about the plot and thought it would be a plucky tale of a girl who gets cruelly dumped and then buys her first pair of hiking boots and sets out on a path of blisters and personal discovery.
I am happy to be quite mistaken in my initial impression. This is a wonderful and meandering book, it reminded me of Jim Harrison's "travel" writing minus the self-indulgence. Virginia Woolf (who I know nothing about) and her husband are major characters in the story and how the author weaves their biography into other theads of history and biology to form an overview of the last 1000 years of this river, is nothing short of masterful.
I am happy to be quite mistaken in my initial impression. This is a wonderful and meandering book, it reminded me of Jim Harrison's "travel" writing minus the self-indulgence. Virginia Woolf (who I know nothing about) and her husband are major characters in the story and how the author weaves their biography into other theads of history and biology to form an overview of the last 1000 years of this river, is nothing short of masterful.
July 30, 2024
Ho scoperto che Laing ha quella scrittura che piace a me, confortevole e tremenda insieme, quindi procederò a leggere qualsiasi cosa abbia scritto.
December 7, 2019
If this were a film, it would be called a Road Movie but this is a book and the road is a river. The River Ouse runs some 42 miles (68 km) from its source at Horsham, West Sussex, to Seaford, East Sussex, where it meets the English Channel. Typically, the protagonist makes a trip to learn something new, resolve an outstanding matter or have an adventure. In Olivia Laing’s book, it appears to be more about recovering from the break-up of a relationship. It’s more than that, though, as the break-up isn’t centre stage. We’re taken down several diversions that have nothing to do with her private life. Some are more interesting than others. Nonetheless, this is an engaging book and one that impresses.
“I was pulled to the Ouse as a magnet is pulled to metal returning on summer nights and during the short winter days to repeat some walks,” Laing explains. “And when things began to falter in my own life, it was the Ouse to which I turned.” (page 4) She was living nearby in Brighton when her partner left. “[I]t was then that the idea of walking the river locked hold of me.” (page 5) She told people she’s going to make a survey. She bought maps and planned her journey. “The truth was less easy to explain,” she confides. “I wanted somehow to get beneath the surface of the daily world, as a sleeper shrugs off the ordinary air and crests towards dreams.” (page 6)
The diversions include life histories of such local figures as Gideon Algernon Mantell (1790 – 1852) who was an obstetrician, geologist and palaeontologist. A curious mix as only the Regency time of Jane Austen could manage. Then there’s a contemplation of Kenneth Grahame’s classic children’s novel, The Wind in the Willows, where the characters and antics of Toad, Mole, and Badger also appeal to adults. There’s much discussion of the topography, the birds, the wild mammals, the insects, the plants, and the weather. She describes the people she sees, places she stays, and villages she visits. The descriptions are quite marvellous at times but sometimes I thought, “Get on with it!”
The book was first published in 2011. I recall from around that time hearing Laing speak at the Charleston Literary Festival. The annual festival takes the name of the Sussex farmhouse, Charleston, where artists Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant established in 1916 and lived in for the remainder of their lives. Today, the Charleston Trust manages the property which is open to the public and is recognised as the country home for the Bloomsbury Group. Charleston is in the village of Firle. The nearest town is Lewes, where Laing stays one night.
Bell is Virginia Woolf’s sister, who, with her husband, Leonard, lived in another village, Rodmell, which isn’t so very far away from Lewes. They bought Monk’s House in 1919. Virginia lived in it until she drowned herself in the River Ouse in 1941. Leonard died in Monk’s House in 1969. The Woolfs are an important diversion for Laing.
“Water in various guises features prominently in Virginia Woolf’s novels,” writes Laing. “The Voyage Out begins aboard a liner bound for South America, and To the Lighthouse is set so close to the edge of the Atlantic that the sound of the sea is heard on almost every page.” (page 194)
The Woolfs were atheists, as it seems is Laing. After Virginia’s suicide, Leonard sets a headstone in their Rodmell garden with an inscription from the end of her novel, The Waves: “Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!” (page 211)
In a fitting end to the journey, Laing concludes, “[t]he home we’ll ever have is here. This is it, this spoiled earth.” As she goes to catch the train to Brighton, she says, “We crossed the river then and pulled away and in the empty fields the lark still spilled its praise.” (page 268)
“I was pulled to the Ouse as a magnet is pulled to metal returning on summer nights and during the short winter days to repeat some walks,” Laing explains. “And when things began to falter in my own life, it was the Ouse to which I turned.” (page 4) She was living nearby in Brighton when her partner left. “[I]t was then that the idea of walking the river locked hold of me.” (page 5) She told people she’s going to make a survey. She bought maps and planned her journey. “The truth was less easy to explain,” she confides. “I wanted somehow to get beneath the surface of the daily world, as a sleeper shrugs off the ordinary air and crests towards dreams.” (page 6)
The diversions include life histories of such local figures as Gideon Algernon Mantell (1790 – 1852) who was an obstetrician, geologist and palaeontologist. A curious mix as only the Regency time of Jane Austen could manage. Then there’s a contemplation of Kenneth Grahame’s classic children’s novel, The Wind in the Willows, where the characters and antics of Toad, Mole, and Badger also appeal to adults. There’s much discussion of the topography, the birds, the wild mammals, the insects, the plants, and the weather. She describes the people she sees, places she stays, and villages she visits. The descriptions are quite marvellous at times but sometimes I thought, “Get on with it!”
The book was first published in 2011. I recall from around that time hearing Laing speak at the Charleston Literary Festival. The annual festival takes the name of the Sussex farmhouse, Charleston, where artists Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant established in 1916 and lived in for the remainder of their lives. Today, the Charleston Trust manages the property which is open to the public and is recognised as the country home for the Bloomsbury Group. Charleston is in the village of Firle. The nearest town is Lewes, where Laing stays one night.
Bell is Virginia Woolf’s sister, who, with her husband, Leonard, lived in another village, Rodmell, which isn’t so very far away from Lewes. They bought Monk’s House in 1919. Virginia lived in it until she drowned herself in the River Ouse in 1941. Leonard died in Monk’s House in 1969. The Woolfs are an important diversion for Laing.
“Water in various guises features prominently in Virginia Woolf’s novels,” writes Laing. “The Voyage Out begins aboard a liner bound for South America, and To the Lighthouse is set so close to the edge of the Atlantic that the sound of the sea is heard on almost every page.” (page 194)
The Woolfs were atheists, as it seems is Laing. After Virginia’s suicide, Leonard sets a headstone in their Rodmell garden with an inscription from the end of her novel, The Waves: “Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!” (page 211)
In a fitting end to the journey, Laing concludes, “[t]he home we’ll ever have is here. This is it, this spoiled earth.” As she goes to catch the train to Brighton, she says, “We crossed the river then and pulled away and in the empty fields the lark still spilled its praise.” (page 268)
July 17, 2021
I think in the end it comes down to the fact that I just don't connect to Laing's writing style. It made me feel the same way "The Lonely City" did, that, when the author embarks on these meandering, aimless, often dull (excluding the Virginia Woolf ones, of course) tangents, she's forgotten about her reader. To be fair, it's possible I entered into this with unfair expectations of what it would be about - I should probably just read a Woolf biography instead.
October 28, 2015
My favorite kind of non-fiction these days: A book of digressions formed of an interesting narrative frame hung with bits of natural, literary, and political history. I enjoyed this book immensely and am in awe of the amount of research it must have taken to make it, never mind that whole walking the length of a river thing.
January 24, 2018
An absolute delight.
August 20, 2022
“A river passing through a landscape catches the world and gives it back redoubled: a shifting, glinting world more mysterious than the one we customarily inhabit. Rivers run through our civilisations like strings through beads"
This was one of those meditative books I wished I had read in physical format to appreciate it better. Ms.Laing in a state of personal flux decides to trace the river Ouse from the source to sea. As though the river is a metaphor for time, through her journey she revisits the river ecosystem as a living microcosm of flora, fauna, history, stories and literature.
River Ouse has the claim to fame of being where Ms.Virginia Woolf drowned herself. As someone who hasn't read any serious Woolf and knowing only two relevant facts - she was a feminist and she killed herself - I couldn't appreciate the many allusions to Woolf's works. Also, the personal life of Ms.Woolf seems to have left a deep impact on Ms.Laing who keeps going to her as if she will guide her to the sea when she wanders off.
I loved the mythological tales and the history elements which involved rivers (not sure if it was Ouse) which she draws upon especially the tales of Thomas Cromwell who I couldn't see as a villian at all thanks to another distinguished author - Ms.Mantel. The other literary works were weaved into a meandering flow of thoughts and memories that goes beyond the here and now. Like the geologist who faked bones to find the missing link or the wind in the willows.
The writing is reminiscent of the English writing of the classics era - which is both beautful and difficult. I mean why is the blue plastic around cut grass "the exact shade of surgical scrubs"? I do not know enough to appreciate this work I guess.
An intricate piece for rumination rather than enjoyment.
This was one of those meditative books I wished I had read in physical format to appreciate it better. Ms.Laing in a state of personal flux decides to trace the river Ouse from the source to sea. As though the river is a metaphor for time, through her journey she revisits the river ecosystem as a living microcosm of flora, fauna, history, stories and literature.
River Ouse has the claim to fame of being where Ms.Virginia Woolf drowned herself. As someone who hasn't read any serious Woolf and knowing only two relevant facts - she was a feminist and she killed herself - I couldn't appreciate the many allusions to Woolf's works. Also, the personal life of Ms.Woolf seems to have left a deep impact on Ms.Laing who keeps going to her as if she will guide her to the sea when she wanders off.
I loved the mythological tales and the history elements which involved rivers (not sure if it was Ouse) which she draws upon especially the tales of Thomas Cromwell who I couldn't see as a villian at all thanks to another distinguished author - Ms.Mantel. The other literary works were weaved into a meandering flow of thoughts and memories that goes beyond the here and now. Like the geologist who faked bones to find the missing link or the wind in the willows.
The writing is reminiscent of the English writing of the classics era - which is both beautful and difficult. I mean why is the blue plastic around cut grass "the exact shade of surgical scrubs"? I do not know enough to appreciate this work I guess.
An intricate piece for rumination rather than enjoyment.
February 21, 2021
Best book I've read all year ! A thousand- no, a million stars for To The River !
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