Wendell Berry

Embody.

I was taking a sip of coffee and thought—who is my favorite author right now?  Wendell Berry, of course.  But, why Wendell Berry?

First of all, he writes beautifully.  Just reading his words is a pleasure.  Years of reading good fiction have spoiled me in that now I have difficulty savoring anything that is not written well.

Wendell Berry is a poet, writer, farmer, environmentalist, activist.  He is a man of the land.  He is opposed to machines that empower man beyond what man is designed to do.  While Berry will ride on an airplane and drive a car, he is not happy with himself for doing that.   He looks askance at those who spend their lives making money or reputations, while hardly living.

My favorite locale of his is a fictional place in Kentucky named Port William.  He writes about the hunting, farming, fishing, cooking, drinking, heartbreaks and triumphs of the men, women and children who lived there from the 1880’s to the 1960’s. 

I suppose I am vulnerable to this because I recall the lives and times of my grandfather, who arrived in Sonora, Texas, in the early 1880’s and my father who was born on a ranch near Sonora in 1917 and died in a nursing home in 2000.  I had the privilege of knowing West Texas men and women who embodied their culture and their place, just as Berry’s characters embody their culture and their place. 

I can’t help but think of the ways the lives of West Texas ranchers have changed from the time of plentiful sheep and goats, sheering crews, wool and mohair to the time in the 70’s and beyond when the only way you could keep your ranch was by leasing it to hunters—to persons who didn’t really care about the land--who cared mostly about the hunt and the camaraderie of the hunt.

Berry’s characters are endearing, even the ones who are smug, ignorant or just downright irritating.  There is a fundamental good that permeates Berry’s characters—a “good” that overrides mistakes, missed opportunities, failure and tragedy. 

The most common criticism I hear about Berry is that his writing is too nostalgic.  Maybe that is a valid criticism—I’m not so sure.  He certainly tugs at my heartstrings--inducing laughter, longing, sorrow.

Often, I laugh aloud—sometimes I even lose my breath I laugh so hard.  Lots of times I have a knot in my throat and tears in my eyes.  Putting the book down and crying?  I’m not saying.

And he does set me to longing—longing for a simpler time, for neighbors who are involved in each other’s lives, for children and grandchildren who live close by, for time to be together and enjoy and irritate each other.

I hate it when one of his characters die—even when they are old, and it is their time just as I hate it when one of my loved ones dies.  Though I do see clearly that dying is indeed part of living.

Berry has been prolific in his 89 years, writing many books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction as well as essays and short stories.  My current favorites are That Distant Land: The Collected Stories, Jayber Crow and Hannah Coulter.