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The Grampian Quartet #4
The Living Mountain: A Celebration of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland
'The finest book ever written on nature and landscape in Britain' Guardian In this masterpiece of nature writing Nan Shepherd describes her journeys into the Cairngorm mountains of Scotland. There she encounters a world that can be breathtakingly beautiful at times and shockingly harsh at others. Her intense poetic prose explores and records the rocks rivers creatures and hidden aspects of this remarkable landscape. Shepherd spent a lifetime in search of the 'essential nature' of the Cairngorms; her quest led her to write this classic meditation on the magnificence of mountains and on our imaginative relationship with the wild world around us. Composed during the Second World War the manuscript of The Living Mountain lay untouched for more than thirty years before it was finally published.
160 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1977
About the author
Nan Shepherd
15 books185 followersNan (Anna) Shepherd was a Scottish novelist and poet. She was an early Scottish Modernist writer, who wrote three standalone novels set in small, fictional, communities in North Scotland. The Scottish landscape and weather played a major role in her novels and were the focus of her poetry. Shepherd also wrote one non-fiction book on hill walking, based on her experiences walking in the Cairngorms. An enthusiastic gardener and hill-walker, she made many visits to the Cairngorms with students and friends. She also travelled further afield - to Norway, France, Italy, Greece and South Africa. Shepherd was a lecturer of English at the Aberdeen College of Education for most of her working life.
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January 11, 2018
One autumn afternoon, about ten years ago, I sat on a mountainside in Colorado surrounded by aspens. As the wind blew, I could hear the leaves rustle, first from far away, then closer and closer, until I felt the wind in my hair, with leaves rustling loudly overhead. Then slowly, the rustling moved further away, until the sequence started again. Sitting, listening with all my senses, made me feel a part of the mountain. I could smell the autumn leaves, feel a slight chill in the air, hear and feel the wind as a movement.
That experience came to mind as I read Nan Shepherd's The Living Mountain. Drafted in 1945, published in 1977, the slender book is a meditation on Scotland's Cairngorm Mountains, and a master class in listening to and seeing the landscape from someone who dedicated her life to being fully present in these mountains. Nan Shepherd is best known as the author of the The Quarry Wood, The Weatherhouse, and A Pass in the Grampians, novels which she wrote from 1928-1933. In Robert Macfarlane's sensitive introduction to The Living Mountain, he describes Shepherd's struggles with writing after that time. Those struggles make The Living Mountain even more precious, a beautifully written and observed account of Shepherd's beloved Cairngorms, based on a lifetime's worth of walks. As Macfarlane notes, "Reading The Living Mountain, your sight feels scattered – as though you’ve suddenly gained the compound eye of a dragonfly, seeing through a hundred different lenses at once. This multiplex effect is created by Shepherd’s refusal to privilege a single perspective."
Shepherd's writing conveys wonder in the face of these mountains because she was comfortable with uncertainty. Following the young River Dee, she notes,
"So back one climbs, to the sources. Here the life of the rivers begins—Dee and Avon, the Derry, the Beinnie and the Allt Druie. In these pure and terrible streams the rain, cloud and snow of the high Cairngorms are drained away. They rise from the granite, sun themselves a little on the unsheltered plateau and drop through air to their valleys. Or they cut their way out under wreaths of snow, escaping in a tumult. Or hang in tangles of ice on the rock faces. One cannot know the rivers till one has seen them at their sources; but this journey to the sources is not to be undertaken lightly. One walks among elementals, and elementals are not governable. There are awakened also in oneself by the contact elementals that are as unpredictable as wind or snow."
Shepherd keeps herself open to mysteries -- some atmospheric:
"These sultry blues have more emotional effect than a dry air can produce. One is not moved by china blue. But the violet range of colours can trouble the mind like music. Moisture in the air is also the cause of those shifts in the apparent size, remoteness, and height in the sky of familiar hills. This is part of the horror of walking in mist on the plateau, for suddenly through a gap one sees solid ground that seems three steps away, but lies in sober fact beyond a 2000 foot chasm. I stood once on a hill staring at an opposite hill that had thrust its face into mine. I stared until, dropping my eyes, I saw with astonishment between me and it a loch that I knew perfectly well was there. But it couldn’t be. There wasn’t room. I looked up again at that out-thrust brow—it was so near I could have touched it. And when I looked down, the loch was still there."
Some animal:
"It was near the leggy tree that I saw rise some way off down the stream, a bird so huge that I could only stare. It wheeled and vanished. Two enormous wings, with a span that I couldn’t believe. Yet I had seen it. And there it was coming back, upstream now, the same vast span of wing: no body that I could see; two great wings joined by nothing, as though some bird had at last discovered how to be all flight and no body. And then I saw. The two great wings were a duck and a drake, following one another in perfect formation, wheeling and dipping and rising again with an unchanging interval of space between them, each following every modulation of the other; two halves of one organism."
And some, most movingly, related to the experience of being human and fully engaged in a living landscape:
"How can I number the worlds to which the eye gives me entry?—the world of light, of colour, of shape, of shadow: of mathematical precision in the snowflake, the ice formation, the quartz crystal, the patterns of stamen and petal: of rhythm in the fluid curve and plunging line of the mountain faces. Why some blocks of stone, hacked into violent and tortured shapes, should so profoundly tranquillise the mind I do not know. Perhaps the eye imposes its own rhythm on what is only a confusion: one has to look creatively to see this mass of rock as more than jag and pinnacle—as beauty. Else why did men for so many centuries think mountains repulsive? A certain kind of consciousness interacts with the mountain-forms to create this sense of beauty. Yet the forms must be there for the eye to see. And forms of a certain distinction: mere dollops won’t do it. It is, as with all creation, matter impregnated with mind: but the resultant issue is a living spirit, a glow in the consciousness, that perishes when the glow is dead. It is something snatched from non-being, that shadow which creeps in on us continuously and can be held off by continuous creative act. So, simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence."
In her final chapter, Shepherd notes that she understands why Buddhist pilgrims travel to mountains; her journey mirrors theirs: "It is a journey into Being; for as I penetrate more deeply into the mountain’s life, I penetrate also into my own. For an hour I am beyond desire. It is not ecstasy, that leap out of the self that makes man like a god. I am not out of myself, but in myself. I am. To know Being, this is the final grace accorded from the mountain." And Shepherd's book is a grace accorded to her readers, who seek inspiration to engage with mountains and geese, deer and rivers, clouds and mist, and by doing so, to regain a sense of their humanity in a world that rarely takes the time to listen, really listen.
That experience came to mind as I read Nan Shepherd's The Living Mountain. Drafted in 1945, published in 1977, the slender book is a meditation on Scotland's Cairngorm Mountains, and a master class in listening to and seeing the landscape from someone who dedicated her life to being fully present in these mountains. Nan Shepherd is best known as the author of the The Quarry Wood, The Weatherhouse, and A Pass in the Grampians, novels which she wrote from 1928-1933. In Robert Macfarlane's sensitive introduction to The Living Mountain, he describes Shepherd's struggles with writing after that time. Those struggles make The Living Mountain even more precious, a beautifully written and observed account of Shepherd's beloved Cairngorms, based on a lifetime's worth of walks. As Macfarlane notes, "Reading The Living Mountain, your sight feels scattered – as though you’ve suddenly gained the compound eye of a dragonfly, seeing through a hundred different lenses at once. This multiplex effect is created by Shepherd’s refusal to privilege a single perspective."
Shepherd's writing conveys wonder in the face of these mountains because she was comfortable with uncertainty. Following the young River Dee, she notes,
"So back one climbs, to the sources. Here the life of the rivers begins—Dee and Avon, the Derry, the Beinnie and the Allt Druie. In these pure and terrible streams the rain, cloud and snow of the high Cairngorms are drained away. They rise from the granite, sun themselves a little on the unsheltered plateau and drop through air to their valleys. Or they cut their way out under wreaths of snow, escaping in a tumult. Or hang in tangles of ice on the rock faces. One cannot know the rivers till one has seen them at their sources; but this journey to the sources is not to be undertaken lightly. One walks among elementals, and elementals are not governable. There are awakened also in oneself by the contact elementals that are as unpredictable as wind or snow."
Shepherd keeps herself open to mysteries -- some atmospheric:
"These sultry blues have more emotional effect than a dry air can produce. One is not moved by china blue. But the violet range of colours can trouble the mind like music. Moisture in the air is also the cause of those shifts in the apparent size, remoteness, and height in the sky of familiar hills. This is part of the horror of walking in mist on the plateau, for suddenly through a gap one sees solid ground that seems three steps away, but lies in sober fact beyond a 2000 foot chasm. I stood once on a hill staring at an opposite hill that had thrust its face into mine. I stared until, dropping my eyes, I saw with astonishment between me and it a loch that I knew perfectly well was there. But it couldn’t be. There wasn’t room. I looked up again at that out-thrust brow—it was so near I could have touched it. And when I looked down, the loch was still there."
Some animal:
"It was near the leggy tree that I saw rise some way off down the stream, a bird so huge that I could only stare. It wheeled and vanished. Two enormous wings, with a span that I couldn’t believe. Yet I had seen it. And there it was coming back, upstream now, the same vast span of wing: no body that I could see; two great wings joined by nothing, as though some bird had at last discovered how to be all flight and no body. And then I saw. The two great wings were a duck and a drake, following one another in perfect formation, wheeling and dipping and rising again with an unchanging interval of space between them, each following every modulation of the other; two halves of one organism."
And some, most movingly, related to the experience of being human and fully engaged in a living landscape:
"How can I number the worlds to which the eye gives me entry?—the world of light, of colour, of shape, of shadow: of mathematical precision in the snowflake, the ice formation, the quartz crystal, the patterns of stamen and petal: of rhythm in the fluid curve and plunging line of the mountain faces. Why some blocks of stone, hacked into violent and tortured shapes, should so profoundly tranquillise the mind I do not know. Perhaps the eye imposes its own rhythm on what is only a confusion: one has to look creatively to see this mass of rock as more than jag and pinnacle—as beauty. Else why did men for so many centuries think mountains repulsive? A certain kind of consciousness interacts with the mountain-forms to create this sense of beauty. Yet the forms must be there for the eye to see. And forms of a certain distinction: mere dollops won’t do it. It is, as with all creation, matter impregnated with mind: but the resultant issue is a living spirit, a glow in the consciousness, that perishes when the glow is dead. It is something snatched from non-being, that shadow which creeps in on us continuously and can be held off by continuous creative act. So, simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence."
In her final chapter, Shepherd notes that she understands why Buddhist pilgrims travel to mountains; her journey mirrors theirs: "It is a journey into Being; for as I penetrate more deeply into the mountain’s life, I penetrate also into my own. For an hour I am beyond desire. It is not ecstasy, that leap out of the self that makes man like a god. I am not out of myself, but in myself. I am. To know Being, this is the final grace accorded from the mountain." And Shepherd's book is a grace accorded to her readers, who seek inspiration to engage with mountains and geese, deer and rivers, clouds and mist, and by doing so, to regain a sense of their humanity in a world that rarely takes the time to listen, really listen.
March 12, 2020
This was gorgeous, short, and profound. It's like a long prose poem, based on numerous trips into the mountains.
I think the Robert Macfarlane quote on the back of the book sets it up really nicely: "Most works of mountain literature are written by men, and most of them focus on the goal of the summit. Nan Shepherd's aimless, sensual exploration of the Cairngorms is bracingly different."
I've never really thought about mountains before. I've lived near mountains, or at least near enough to see them in the background when I walked or drove around. I live in a terribly flat country right now (Denmark), but reading this, I felt like I was there in Scotland, climbing my way through the looming crags and glimpsing the wondrous little worlds they contain. There are little glimpses into human lives in the mountains too, how the mountains create sensory feelings for mountain climbers and hikers on different days. I loved each description of beautiful metallic green colors, the transparency or glimmer of water in each little loch and pond and waterfall, the changing soundscape of the howling swirl of the winds, and the shades of sunlight against the rocks.
One other thing I love is, after looking at pictures of the Cairgorms, the mountains look a bit short. Certainly Shepherd says that you can make it up any of them with just a quick walk. But looking at photos, I can just imagine all the little nuances and details hiding there, ready to share with anyone attentive enough to take their time.
I think the Robert Macfarlane quote on the back of the book sets it up really nicely: "Most works of mountain literature are written by men, and most of them focus on the goal of the summit. Nan Shepherd's aimless, sensual exploration of the Cairngorms is bracingly different."
I've never really thought about mountains before. I've lived near mountains, or at least near enough to see them in the background when I walked or drove around. I live in a terribly flat country right now (Denmark), but reading this, I felt like I was there in Scotland, climbing my way through the looming crags and glimpsing the wondrous little worlds they contain. There are little glimpses into human lives in the mountains too, how the mountains create sensory feelings for mountain climbers and hikers on different days. I loved each description of beautiful metallic green colors, the transparency or glimmer of water in each little loch and pond and waterfall, the changing soundscape of the howling swirl of the winds, and the shades of sunlight against the rocks.
One other thing I love is, after looking at pictures of the Cairgorms, the mountains look a bit short. Certainly Shepherd says that you can make it up any of them with just a quick walk. But looking at photos, I can just imagine all the little nuances and details hiding there, ready to share with anyone attentive enough to take their time.
April 18, 2019
The Cairngorm mountains of Scotland, explored in extraordinary depth, and over many years, by the poet, novelist and academic Nan Shepherd. She wrote four books in six years, and then there was nothing. She didn't publish another book for 43 years. She wrote The Living Mountain in the last years of The Second World War - and then it was put away in a drawer for 40 years. It was finally published by Aberdeen University in 1977.
Each chapter covers a different facet of the mountains -"The Plateau", "Water", "Frost and snow", "Man"..... Other reviews here have described the strength of Shepherds writing, and I don't feel I have anything to add - I am just going to end with some extracts from the book.
Each chapter covers a different facet of the mountains -"The Plateau", "Water", "Frost and snow", "Man"..... Other reviews here have described the strength of Shepherds writing, and I don't feel I have anything to add - I am just going to end with some extracts from the book.
June 14, 2020
I came across this novel by complete accident. I had never heard of Nan Shepherd. It was an Amazon Kindle recommendation based on my recent purchases. This spectacularly beautiful and memorable book has gone straight to my all time favourites list. And I am pretty discriminate with my favourites! I cannot believe that this treasure sat in the author’s desk drawer for decades as sort of field notes or musings before it was submitted to print!
If one word encapsulates this novel it is observant. It is deeply perceptive, even meditative, I would go as far as saying, therapeutic. It is literally nourishment for the heart, mind and soul. Shepherd, a Scottish highland native, is a wily woman of her environment, but she is also a very skilled writer. Her ace card is her capacity to lead the reader by the hand through the stunning Scottish Cairngorm ranges, walking together with her as an experienced and well seasoned guide along the marshy tracks, along the heathen plateaus and through the disorienting mist, seeing this magic world through her wide eyes that seem to take in every macro and micro detail. For Shepherd, ‘we learn by scrutiny of the close-at-hand,’ we do not have to travel far but we do need to open our eyes and really observe rather than just look.
The brilliant introduction notes that ‘Reading The Living Mountain, your sight feels scattered – as though you’ve suddenly gained the compound eye of a dragonfly, seeing through a hundred different lenses at once…’ I couldn’t think of a more fitting description. It is ephemeral and transcendent, but completely couched in the very real earthiness of the inhospitable environment. We feel the chill of the gales, the crisp delicacy of crunching new snow beneath our boots, the verdant scent of damp moss and marvel at the resplendent abundance of the flora and fauna in so harsh an environment.
According to Shepherd, ‘in the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields – these are as much as a man can fully experience…’ this is really her doctrine, the beauty of the minutiae as much as what is visible through a wide angle lens. Shepherd remarks and records ‘the coil over coil’ of a golden eagle’s ascent on a thermal, ‘the immature scarlet cups of the lichen’, the flight of the ‘white-winged ptarmigan’, a pool of ‘small frogs jumping like tiddly-winks’, a white hare crossing sunlit snow with its accompanying ‘odd ludicrous leggy shadow-skeleton’.
Her language is also original and playful, who would think of describing moths as ‘tart’ – ‘On a wet windy sunless day, when moths would hardly be expected to be visible at all, we have found numbers of these tart little creatures on the milk-vetch clumps…’ or hare in flight like ‘rising smoke…’
The chapters are titled according to different sensory perceptions, in Light and Air, she describes how ‘the mountain world, like the desert world, is filled with mirages: tricks of light and perspective….Every shade of blue, from opalescent milky-white to indigo, is there. They are most opulently blue when rain is in the air. Then the gullies are violet. Gentian and delphinium hues, with fire in them, lurk in the folds.’
Her work is truly poetic, to be read and reread, and come back to time and again. There are not just snippets of good writing, from start to finish this novel is a pleasure to read. The language is rich, evocative and accurately records the author’s vision and experience, as though we are there too. I think the environmentalists and nature lovers amongst us also gain an even deeper enjoyment from this novel – anyone who pleasures in simply going for a hike knows what deep therapy the natural world offers.
This was one of my favourite passages: ‘the fox himself with his fat red brush—the red-brown squirrel in the woods below, whacking his tail against the tree-trunk and chattering through closed lips (I think) against the intruder—gold-brown lizards and the gold-brown floss of cocoons in the heather—small golden bees and small blue butterflies—green dragon flies and emerald beetles—moths like oiled paper and moths like burnt paper – water-beetles skimming the highest tarns—small mice so rarely seen but leaving a thousand tracks upon the snow—ant-heaps of birch-twigs or pine-needles (preens, in the northern word) flickering with activity when the sun shines—midges, mosquitoes, flies by the hundred thousand, adders and a rare strange slowworm—small frogs jumping like tiddly-winks—rich brown hairy caterpillars by the handful and fat green ones with blobs of amethyst, a perfect camouflage on heather—life in so many guises…’
Shepherd makes it clear, that is really is ‘the living mountain…’ Read it and be enchanted.
If one word encapsulates this novel it is observant. It is deeply perceptive, even meditative, I would go as far as saying, therapeutic. It is literally nourishment for the heart, mind and soul. Shepherd, a Scottish highland native, is a wily woman of her environment, but she is also a very skilled writer. Her ace card is her capacity to lead the reader by the hand through the stunning Scottish Cairngorm ranges, walking together with her as an experienced and well seasoned guide along the marshy tracks, along the heathen plateaus and through the disorienting mist, seeing this magic world through her wide eyes that seem to take in every macro and micro detail. For Shepherd, ‘we learn by scrutiny of the close-at-hand,’ we do not have to travel far but we do need to open our eyes and really observe rather than just look.
The brilliant introduction notes that ‘Reading The Living Mountain, your sight feels scattered – as though you’ve suddenly gained the compound eye of a dragonfly, seeing through a hundred different lenses at once…’ I couldn’t think of a more fitting description. It is ephemeral and transcendent, but completely couched in the very real earthiness of the inhospitable environment. We feel the chill of the gales, the crisp delicacy of crunching new snow beneath our boots, the verdant scent of damp moss and marvel at the resplendent abundance of the flora and fauna in so harsh an environment.
According to Shepherd, ‘in the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields – these are as much as a man can fully experience…’ this is really her doctrine, the beauty of the minutiae as much as what is visible through a wide angle lens. Shepherd remarks and records ‘the coil over coil’ of a golden eagle’s ascent on a thermal, ‘the immature scarlet cups of the lichen’, the flight of the ‘white-winged ptarmigan’, a pool of ‘small frogs jumping like tiddly-winks’, a white hare crossing sunlit snow with its accompanying ‘odd ludicrous leggy shadow-skeleton’.
Her language is also original and playful, who would think of describing moths as ‘tart’ – ‘On a wet windy sunless day, when moths would hardly be expected to be visible at all, we have found numbers of these tart little creatures on the milk-vetch clumps…’ or hare in flight like ‘rising smoke…’
The chapters are titled according to different sensory perceptions, in Light and Air, she describes how ‘the mountain world, like the desert world, is filled with mirages: tricks of light and perspective….Every shade of blue, from opalescent milky-white to indigo, is there. They are most opulently blue when rain is in the air. Then the gullies are violet. Gentian and delphinium hues, with fire in them, lurk in the folds.’
Her work is truly poetic, to be read and reread, and come back to time and again. There are not just snippets of good writing, from start to finish this novel is a pleasure to read. The language is rich, evocative and accurately records the author’s vision and experience, as though we are there too. I think the environmentalists and nature lovers amongst us also gain an even deeper enjoyment from this novel – anyone who pleasures in simply going for a hike knows what deep therapy the natural world offers.
This was one of my favourite passages: ‘the fox himself with his fat red brush—the red-brown squirrel in the woods below, whacking his tail against the tree-trunk and chattering through closed lips (I think) against the intruder—gold-brown lizards and the gold-brown floss of cocoons in the heather—small golden bees and small blue butterflies—green dragon flies and emerald beetles—moths like oiled paper and moths like burnt paper – water-beetles skimming the highest tarns—small mice so rarely seen but leaving a thousand tracks upon the snow—ant-heaps of birch-twigs or pine-needles (preens, in the northern word) flickering with activity when the sun shines—midges, mosquitoes, flies by the hundred thousand, adders and a rare strange slowworm—small frogs jumping like tiddly-winks—rich brown hairy caterpillars by the handful and fat green ones with blobs of amethyst, a perfect camouflage on heather—life in so many guises…’
Shepherd makes it clear, that is really is ‘the living mountain…’ Read it and be enchanted.
March 9, 2020
Nan Shepherd logged decades in Scotland's Cairngorms, a mountain range in that country's northeast, and wrote a book about her relationship with those mountains in the 1940s. The Living Mountain did not see print, however, until the 1970s. And now, among a subset of nature-writing fans, it is a mini-classic of sorts, a Scottish Walden born of the mountains instead of a pond.
Will you like it? We all love the natural world, as a rule, but the true test is how much you love description. Though there are some narrative threads run through in the form of brief anecdotes, this just-over-100-page nugget is chiefly rich description of mountains, weather, seasons, plants, animals, and humans related to the Cairngorms. For some people, reading so much description might be akin to reading poetry---requiring more attention to the page because there is no plot, little dialogue, and absolutely no suspense. Breathe deep, then, because this is a small meditative journey.
Shepherd's eureka moment comes when she concludes that there is an "inner" mountain as well as the much more distracting outer one. It is, in a sense, alive, if you choose to see it that way, with its moods and beauties and terrors, with its propensity to make like an Old Testament God by giving and taking away.
The twelve chapter headings, like disciples, give you a hint as to the book's Cairngorm worship: "The Plateau," "The Recesses," "The Group," "Water," "Frost and Snow," "Air and Light," "The Plants," "Birds, Animals, Insects," "Man," "Sleep," "The Senses," and "Being." It is in this last chapter that the word "Buddhism" gets mentioned for the first and last time, but its presence is there throughout, especially if you are aware of mountains' role in Buddhist history. Personally, I need go no farther than the hermit Hanshan's Cold Mountain to make the connection.
For a brief example of the book, here is an excerpt from "Being" where Shepherd writes about taking her shoes and socks off:
"By setting foot sideways to the growth of the heather, and pressing the sprays down, one can walk easily enough. Dried mud flats, sun-warmed, have a delicious touch, cushioned and smooth; so has long grass at morning, hot in the sun, but still cool and wet when the foot sinks into it, like food melting to a new flavour in the mouth. And a flower caught by the stalk between the toes is a small enchantment."
That last line did it for me particularly. Why? Because this book is a small enchantment, just like the stalk of a flower caught between your toes. You just have to be patient with it, read it slowly, and be prepared, as I am, to read it again some day because it surely has more to offer upon rereading.
Will you like it? We all love the natural world, as a rule, but the true test is how much you love description. Though there are some narrative threads run through in the form of brief anecdotes, this just-over-100-page nugget is chiefly rich description of mountains, weather, seasons, plants, animals, and humans related to the Cairngorms. For some people, reading so much description might be akin to reading poetry---requiring more attention to the page because there is no plot, little dialogue, and absolutely no suspense. Breathe deep, then, because this is a small meditative journey.
Shepherd's eureka moment comes when she concludes that there is an "inner" mountain as well as the much more distracting outer one. It is, in a sense, alive, if you choose to see it that way, with its moods and beauties and terrors, with its propensity to make like an Old Testament God by giving and taking away.
The twelve chapter headings, like disciples, give you a hint as to the book's Cairngorm worship: "The Plateau," "The Recesses," "The Group," "Water," "Frost and Snow," "Air and Light," "The Plants," "Birds, Animals, Insects," "Man," "Sleep," "The Senses," and "Being." It is in this last chapter that the word "Buddhism" gets mentioned for the first and last time, but its presence is there throughout, especially if you are aware of mountains' role in Buddhist history. Personally, I need go no farther than the hermit Hanshan's Cold Mountain to make the connection.
For a brief example of the book, here is an excerpt from "Being" where Shepherd writes about taking her shoes and socks off:
"By setting foot sideways to the growth of the heather, and pressing the sprays down, one can walk easily enough. Dried mud flats, sun-warmed, have a delicious touch, cushioned and smooth; so has long grass at morning, hot in the sun, but still cool and wet when the foot sinks into it, like food melting to a new flavour in the mouth. And a flower caught by the stalk between the toes is a small enchantment."
That last line did it for me particularly. Why? Because this book is a small enchantment, just like the stalk of a flower caught between your toes. You just have to be patient with it, read it slowly, and be prepared, as I am, to read it again some day because it surely has more to offer upon rereading.
June 20, 2019
At first glance, this seems like a deceptively simple and modest book: Nan Shepherd describes her experiences and explorations in the Cairgorm Mountains in northeastern Scotland, a region she has lived in for decades, in the first halve of the 20th century. The Cairgorms is in essence a huge granite plateau (one of the highest in Europe), with a few bulges, cut through by unsightly rivers, some lochs and especially overgrown with heather. All in all a very scanty landscape where the wind is the master.
It is the way in which Shepherd describes this inhospitable landscape that is really captivating. She brings a very detailed picture of what can be seen and experienced on the Cairgorms: the sights, the sounds, the light, the water, the smells , the plants and animals, the human tracks, and so on. That does not seem spectacular, especially in the beginning. But gradually, the mountain comes ”to live" and that is foremost due to the writing process. Shepherd makes the utmost of her senses while walking through the region, often also sleeping outdoors, or experiencing extreme weather phenomena. And she always makes a link between what she sees/hears/smells... and what this does with her, mentally and physically. That way she really sucks you into that special landscape.
Step by step she also shows how for her the mountains have an inner, almost a soul, which also influences everything that lives on it or walks on it. Of course, she doesn't mean this religiously, but it comes very close to it. She explicitly refers to Taoism and Buddhism and the way in which interaction between human physicality (being in the body) and seemingly 'lifeless' matter is nevertheless possible. Amazing how subtle she does this, without falling into New Age-like or esoteric grumbling. It reminded me very much of Gregory Bateson and his intuition about everything being pervaded by 'mind'.
Her emphasis is on human activity and in that sense, as Robert Macfarlane rightly states in his introduction, she presents a specific form of humanism. A humanism that emerges in a special way in the activity of walking, as a merging into the landscape and a moving experience of existence through physicality: “Walking thus, hour after hour, the senses keyed, one walks the flesh transparent. But no metaphor, transparent, or light as air, is adequate. The body is not made negligible, but paramount. Flesh is not annihilated but fulfilled. One is not bodiless, but essential body. It is therefore when the body is keyed to its highest potential and controlled to a harmony profound deepening into something that resembles trance, that I discover most nearly what it is to be. I have walked out of the body and into the mountain. I am a manifestation of its total life, as is the starry saxifrage or the white-winged ptarmigan”.
This is an unsightly but very pure and intense booklet. I read this on a walking holiday in the German Eifel, and it was as if my senses were sharpened through the reading. While walking, I saw, heard, felt, smelled considerably more than usual; just as Shepherd describes, I felt like I was coming under the spell of the landscape. Only a truly great book can do something like that to you.
It is the way in which Shepherd describes this inhospitable landscape that is really captivating. She brings a very detailed picture of what can be seen and experienced on the Cairgorms: the sights, the sounds, the light, the water, the smells , the plants and animals, the human tracks, and so on. That does not seem spectacular, especially in the beginning. But gradually, the mountain comes ”to live" and that is foremost due to the writing process. Shepherd makes the utmost of her senses while walking through the region, often also sleeping outdoors, or experiencing extreme weather phenomena. And she always makes a link between what she sees/hears/smells... and what this does with her, mentally and physically. That way she really sucks you into that special landscape.
Step by step she also shows how for her the mountains have an inner, almost a soul, which also influences everything that lives on it or walks on it. Of course, she doesn't mean this religiously, but it comes very close to it. She explicitly refers to Taoism and Buddhism and the way in which interaction between human physicality (being in the body) and seemingly 'lifeless' matter is nevertheless possible. Amazing how subtle she does this, without falling into New Age-like or esoteric grumbling. It reminded me very much of Gregory Bateson and his intuition about everything being pervaded by 'mind'.
Her emphasis is on human activity and in that sense, as Robert Macfarlane rightly states in his introduction, she presents a specific form of humanism. A humanism that emerges in a special way in the activity of walking, as a merging into the landscape and a moving experience of existence through physicality: “Walking thus, hour after hour, the senses keyed, one walks the flesh transparent. But no metaphor, transparent, or light as air, is adequate. The body is not made negligible, but paramount. Flesh is not annihilated but fulfilled. One is not bodiless, but essential body. It is therefore when the body is keyed to its highest potential and controlled to a harmony profound deepening into something that resembles trance, that I discover most nearly what it is to be. I have walked out of the body and into the mountain. I am a manifestation of its total life, as is the starry saxifrage or the white-winged ptarmigan”.
This is an unsightly but very pure and intense booklet. I read this on a walking holiday in the German Eifel, and it was as if my senses were sharpened through the reading. While walking, I saw, heard, felt, smelled considerably more than usual; just as Shepherd describes, I felt like I was coming under the spell of the landscape. Only a truly great book can do something like that to you.
April 3, 2012
Considering it was barely 100 pages long, this book took a long time to read, even taking into account the 2 week break when I left it behind when going on holiday. It took time because it deserved time - to give it a thoroughly focused, slow reading. The chapters layered different aspects of the Cairngorms, one on top of another. beginning with the geology and overall structure of them, she worked through a variety of natural aspects of them, leading up to plants, birds & man.
However, this was no scientific or geological piece, although those disciplines had their place. This was a drawing together and fusion of her own knowledge and experience of the area, of her interest in spirituality and philosophy and literature and people annealed into a beautiful end product. She had a great economy and compression in the way she wrote, drawing out the essence of each of her very varied experiences of these mountains in a paragraph or two. This was one of the reasons for reading slowly and savouring the book. Read with any speed and you risked losing the richness and beauty of each sentence. Read one of her paragraphs with real attention to detail and you had a very vivid reflection of what the walking and climbing experience is like.
Another reason for reading slowly was to savour her exquisite use of language. She wrote prose with the skill and succinctness that it takes a poet to achieve.
My favourite chapter was the one about Man in the Cairngorms. The various characters she sketched were a delight to read about. The final chapter, although very short, compressed all the layers of reflection, knowledge and experience, into something jewel-like, as she celebrated the holistic nature of her overall experience of those mountains, and the unending experiences and insights to be gained by concentration on the simplest of objects or happenings or from the landscape.
This book was a joy to read, and will be an equal joy to re-read. A number of books I have read recently have convinced me that I am not taking enough time to re-read the best of what I have read in the past. This book is the final convincing factor in sending me to re-read and enjoy the richness of the best.
However, this was no scientific or geological piece, although those disciplines had their place. This was a drawing together and fusion of her own knowledge and experience of the area, of her interest in spirituality and philosophy and literature and people annealed into a beautiful end product. She had a great economy and compression in the way she wrote, drawing out the essence of each of her very varied experiences of these mountains in a paragraph or two. This was one of the reasons for reading slowly and savouring the book. Read with any speed and you risked losing the richness and beauty of each sentence. Read one of her paragraphs with real attention to detail and you had a very vivid reflection of what the walking and climbing experience is like.
Another reason for reading slowly was to savour her exquisite use of language. She wrote prose with the skill and succinctness that it takes a poet to achieve.
My favourite chapter was the one about Man in the Cairngorms. The various characters she sketched were a delight to read about. The final chapter, although very short, compressed all the layers of reflection, knowledge and experience, into something jewel-like, as she celebrated the holistic nature of her overall experience of those mountains, and the unending experiences and insights to be gained by concentration on the simplest of objects or happenings or from the landscape.
This book was a joy to read, and will be an equal joy to re-read. A number of books I have read recently have convinced me that I am not taking enough time to re-read the best of what I have read in the past. This book is the final convincing factor in sending me to re-read and enjoy the richness of the best.
October 21, 2019
The full title of this book is The Living Mountain: A Celebration of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland. The author and poet, Nan Shepherd (1893-1981), was born, spent much of her life and died in Aberdeen, Scotland. Her Alma mater was Aberdeen University and after graduation she lectured English at the Aberdeen College of Education. Aberdeen was home to Nan and the Cairngorm Mountains, sixty-six miles distant, might be called her “back yard”.
Here in this book she writes of what she has experienced over the years walking, rambling, sleeping in the mountains. They are old mountains, eroded and no longer high. They reach up to a plateau, split and fissured. She draws them with all her senses—sight, sound, smell, taste and touch. Reading, one becomes aware of what one has missed, what one has failed to pay attention to when walking. Have you considered the unique aroma of a sodden birch forest? A place can come to speak to us with more than just the five senses. She asks if perhaps there are other senses we fail to recognize. She goes on to show us that life is a constant search for knowledge and understanding, that often cannot be attained. It is the search itself that is important. The book goes beyond one of nature writing; it takes on a philosophical bent.
At the start of the book I failed to see what Nan was describing. I saw only that which I myself had experienced before. Give the book time. You get caught up in it. You come to understand where she is heading and what she is speaking about. Walking, rambling, on a hike, one gets an intimate sense of place. How? Through the use of all one’s senses piled together, and then….you get something more. A walker will know what I mean and will understand what Nan is saying.
The book was written in the last years of the Second World War. You catch this in the details. It was put in a drawer and not published until 1977. Complaints were made that maps and photos should be added. In fact, I thought this myself, but only at the start. You must pay attention and listen. You do not want to be diverted. The writing is lyrical, and it leaves you thinking.
The audiobook puts the introduction by Robert Macfarlane at the book’s end. He expresses how he interprets Nan’s lines. It is right to put the introduction at the book’s end! There is an additional follow-up essay by Jeanette Winterson. Here she expresses her thoughts on Nan’s writing. Both the introduction and the follow-up essay are extremely good. They add to the value of the book. They further open readers’ eyes to the wide scope of Nan’s writing.
In the audiobook, Tilda Swinton reads the original writing by Nan Shepherd. Robert Macfarlane reads his section and Jeanette Winterson hers. All are easy to follow and clearly read. I have given the narration a four star rating. It is all very well done.
Nan Shepherd has written novels. I sure would like to read them too!
Here in this book she writes of what she has experienced over the years walking, rambling, sleeping in the mountains. They are old mountains, eroded and no longer high. They reach up to a plateau, split and fissured. She draws them with all her senses—sight, sound, smell, taste and touch. Reading, one becomes aware of what one has missed, what one has failed to pay attention to when walking. Have you considered the unique aroma of a sodden birch forest? A place can come to speak to us with more than just the five senses. She asks if perhaps there are other senses we fail to recognize. She goes on to show us that life is a constant search for knowledge and understanding, that often cannot be attained. It is the search itself that is important. The book goes beyond one of nature writing; it takes on a philosophical bent.
At the start of the book I failed to see what Nan was describing. I saw only that which I myself had experienced before. Give the book time. You get caught up in it. You come to understand where she is heading and what she is speaking about. Walking, rambling, on a hike, one gets an intimate sense of place. How? Through the use of all one’s senses piled together, and then….you get something more. A walker will know what I mean and will understand what Nan is saying.
The book was written in the last years of the Second World War. You catch this in the details. It was put in a drawer and not published until 1977. Complaints were made that maps and photos should be added. In fact, I thought this myself, but only at the start. You must pay attention and listen. You do not want to be diverted. The writing is lyrical, and it leaves you thinking.
The audiobook puts the introduction by Robert Macfarlane at the book’s end. He expresses how he interprets Nan’s lines. It is right to put the introduction at the book’s end! There is an additional follow-up essay by Jeanette Winterson. Here she expresses her thoughts on Nan’s writing. Both the introduction and the follow-up essay are extremely good. They add to the value of the book. They further open readers’ eyes to the wide scope of Nan’s writing.
In the audiobook, Tilda Swinton reads the original writing by Nan Shepherd. Robert Macfarlane reads his section and Jeanette Winterson hers. All are easy to follow and clearly read. I have given the narration a four star rating. It is all very well done.
Nan Shepherd has written novels. I sure would like to read them too!
November 24, 2017
This is something of a lost nature classic that has been championed by Robert Macfarlane (who contributes a 25-page introduction to this Canongate edition). Composed during the later years of World War II but only published in 1977, it’s Shepherd’s tribute to her beloved Cairngorms, a mountain region of Scotland. But it’s not a travel or nature book in the way you might usually think of those genres. It’s a subtle, meditative, even mystical look at the forces of nature, which are majestic but also menacing: “the most appalling quality of water is its strength. I love its flash and gleam, its music, its pliancy and grace, its slap against my body; but I fear its strength.” Shepherd dwells on the senses, the mountain flora and fauna, and the special quality of time and existence (what we’d today call mindfulness) achieved in a place of natural splendor and solitude: “Yet often the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have gone out merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him.”
October 24, 2022
"Submeter o ouvido ao silêncio é descobrir quão raramente esse silêncio se faz ouvir. Há sempre algo que se mexe. Quando o ar está quase parado, há sempre água que corre (...) Mas, de quando em quando, há um momento em que o silêncio é quase absoluto, e escutarmo-lo faz com que resvalemos para fora do tempo. Tal silêncio não é uma mera negação do som. É como se fosse um novo elemento, e se a água ainda se fizer ouvir num murmúrio baixo e distante, esse silêncio não é mais do que a orla de um elemento que estamos a deixar para trás, tal como a orla de terra paira suspensa no horizonte do marinheiro."
Página 165
Página 165
November 11, 2018
It’s hard for me to rate this because I know how revered Nan Shepherd’s writing is. Perhaps if I knew the Cairngorms better, I would have enjoyed this more. I’ve read many books about places I’ve never visited though and that hasn’t made a difference to me. 4 stars because the writing is sometimes beautiful but it’s just not for me.
August 10, 2021
Heel fijn onthaastend boek om te lezen, prachtig geschreven vol liefde voor de bergen van de Cairngorms, waar ze in een dorpje aan de voet ervan, haar hele leven heeft gewoond. Zo subtiel in al haar waarnemingen, heel herkenbaar, het brengt al die keren in mijn leven dat ik liep in de Schotse bergen terug. Het is er zó mooi!
Er staan zulke mooie zinnen en waarnemingen in... een paar:
Er staan zulke mooie zinnen en waarnemingen in... een paar:
'Yet often the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have gone out merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him.'
'Up on the plateau nothing has moved for a long time. I have walked all day, and seen no one. I have heard no living sound. Once, in a solitary corrie, the rattle of a falling stone betrayed the passage of a line of stags. But up here, no movement, no voice. Man might be a thousand years away.'
'To bend the ear to silence is to discover how seldom it is there. Always something moves. When the air is quite still, there is always running water; and up here that is a sound one can hardly lose, though on many stony parts of the plateau one is above the watercourses. But now and then comes an hour when the silence is all but absolute, and listening to it one slips out of time. Such a silence is not a mere negation of sound. It is like a new element, and if water is still sounding with a low far-off murmur, it is no more than the last edge of an element we are leaving, as the last edge of land hangs on the mariner’s horizon. Such moments come in mist, or snow, or a summer’s night (when it is too cool for the clouds of insects to be abroad), or a September dawn. In September dawns I hardly breathe—I am an image in a ball of glass. The world is suspended there, and I in it.'
July 6, 2023
A change of pace. Bought and read while holidaying in the Cairngorms, where Nan Shepherd lived and wrote. A peaceful contemplation of the landscape, nature and our place in it of the mounatin range, written during WWII years but not published until 1977. Contemplative and calming, even when the ice storms are being whipped up. Beautifully presented by Canongate, although the afterword by Jeanette Winterson completely misses the mark and descends into the banal wishy-washy thoughts that Shepherd has expertly managed to avoid in this short piece.
May 14, 2020
Opgetekend in de jaren 40, gepubliceerd in 1977 en nu pas vertaald: de vitale ode van Nan Shepherd aan haar beminde Schotse bergketen Cairngorms bewandelde een talmend pad. De sublieme natuurschrijver Robert MacFarlane (voorwoord) en literair icoon Jeanette Winterson (nawoord) omringen deze editie toepasselijk als reuzen. Shepherd’s trektochten die enkel gericht waren op de glorie van onbegrensde ontdekkingen en haar zintuiglijke zinnen die zonder poëtische opsmuk de natuurelementen deden zingen, vormen het ideale alternatief voor uw afgelaste klimvakantie.
4 sterren
4 sterren
September 27, 2012
Where was my epiphany? I am sure it said on the tin that I was due one and I feel rather ripped off.
There is no doubt that The Living Mountain is a nice bit of writing and there were moments when I felt transported to the Cairngorms and into Shepherd's inner most musings on nature.
This is why I sat for so long on my rating. 3 or 4 star? What should it be? What did it deserve? Does the fact that I want to give it an uninspired 3 star mean that I am somehow less than cerebral and lacking depth of thought?
There are many things that go into my rating a non fiction on Goodreads. Skill with the written word is most definitely a necessity if a book wants 3 star or higher out of me, but to get into the 4 and 5 star range a book has to offer more than fine writing and nice structure. It must make me feel something. And to be a 5 star, I must be feeling something pretty special.
I live in nature. Work in it, with it, amoung it.
I am a Naturalist (not a Naturist which are the type that run around nude, holding hands and giggling on blankets in the sun), but a Naturalist. An appreciator and observor of all things nature. Birds, insects, plants, landscape and so on and so forth, and I regard myself as a fair to middling judge of nature writing.
Claims of 'lyrical testament' and 'poetic and philosophical meditations' did not resonate with me and I found the work in its entirety borderline dull, and lacking in the whimsical passion that the natural world should imprint upon you. If you like nature, that is.
As opposed to lyrical I found the prose far too literal. As opposed to poetic I found it sometimes nudging prosaic.
That is not to say that you, whomever is reading this review, would feel the same way. You, who is an individual in your own right, who sees nature in your unique way and who reacts to prose work with distinctly differing reflections.
It is less than 100 pages, so it will give you no real pain if you were to try it for yourself. You may judge it transformative and I would believe you. It did not work for me, does not mean it will not work for you.
There is no doubt that The Living Mountain is a nice bit of writing and there were moments when I felt transported to the Cairngorms and into Shepherd's inner most musings on nature.
This is why I sat for so long on my rating. 3 or 4 star? What should it be? What did it deserve? Does the fact that I want to give it an uninspired 3 star mean that I am somehow less than cerebral and lacking depth of thought?
There are many things that go into my rating a non fiction on Goodreads. Skill with the written word is most definitely a necessity if a book wants 3 star or higher out of me, but to get into the 4 and 5 star range a book has to offer more than fine writing and nice structure. It must make me feel something. And to be a 5 star, I must be feeling something pretty special.
I live in nature. Work in it, with it, amoung it.
I am a Naturalist (not a Naturist which are the type that run around nude, holding hands and giggling on blankets in the sun), but a Naturalist. An appreciator and observor of all things nature. Birds, insects, plants, landscape and so on and so forth, and I regard myself as a fair to middling judge of nature writing.
Claims of 'lyrical testament' and 'poetic and philosophical meditations' did not resonate with me and I found the work in its entirety borderline dull, and lacking in the whimsical passion that the natural world should imprint upon you. If you like nature, that is.
As opposed to lyrical I found the prose far too literal. As opposed to poetic I found it sometimes nudging prosaic.
That is not to say that you, whomever is reading this review, would feel the same way. You, who is an individual in your own right, who sees nature in your unique way and who reacts to prose work with distinctly differing reflections.
It is less than 100 pages, so it will give you no real pain if you were to try it for yourself. You may judge it transformative and I would believe you. It did not work for me, does not mean it will not work for you.
January 27, 2021
"So there I lie on the plateau, under me the central core of fire from which was thrust this grumbling grinding mass of plutonic rock, over me blue air, and between the fire of the rock and the fire of the sun, scree, soil and water, moss, grass, flower and tree, insect, bird and beast, wind, rain and snow--the total mountain. Slowly I have found my way in."
"The Living Mountain" is poetic prose in praise of the Cairngorm Mountains of northeastern Scotland. It's nature writing with a philosophical feeling to it. Nan Shepherd started exploring the Cairngorms at an early age, and continued mountain walking until she was aged. Although she was well-traveled, she always returned to her home near the eastern side of the mountain range. Shepherd had climbed its peaks, but she seemed to draw more pleasure from the plateau--observing wildlife, exploring the lochs, and following springs to their natural source. She was a very observant person who often took in the activity of the natural world while she maintained stillness. Shepherd wrote descriptions that use all the senses in appreciating the beautiful, but sometimes unforgiving, mountains.
Nan Shepherd was also the author of three modernist novels, essays, and a collection of poetry about her beloved Cairngorms. She wrote "The Living Mountain" during World War II, but it sat in a drawer for thirty years before being published in 1977. Her image is on Scotland's five-pound note. Robert Macfarlane wrote an excellent introduction to "The Living Mountain" with biographical details and an appreciation of Shepherd's writing. This is a contemplative book that I will tuck away to be enjoyed again. 4.5 stars rounded up.
"The Living Mountain" is poetic prose in praise of the Cairngorm Mountains of northeastern Scotland. It's nature writing with a philosophical feeling to it. Nan Shepherd started exploring the Cairngorms at an early age, and continued mountain walking until she was aged. Although she was well-traveled, she always returned to her home near the eastern side of the mountain range. Shepherd had climbed its peaks, but she seemed to draw more pleasure from the plateau--observing wildlife, exploring the lochs, and following springs to their natural source. She was a very observant person who often took in the activity of the natural world while she maintained stillness. Shepherd wrote descriptions that use all the senses in appreciating the beautiful, but sometimes unforgiving, mountains.
Nan Shepherd was also the author of three modernist novels, essays, and a collection of poetry about her beloved Cairngorms. She wrote "The Living Mountain" during World War II, but it sat in a drawer for thirty years before being published in 1977. Her image is on Scotland's five-pound note. Robert Macfarlane wrote an excellent introduction to "The Living Mountain" with biographical details and an appreciation of Shepherd's writing. This is a contemplative book that I will tuck away to be enjoyed again. 4.5 stars rounded up.
April 16, 2016
The Cairngorms are a mountain range roughly in the middle of Scotland, it is can be a breathtaking beautiful part of the world, but in bad weather can be harsh, unforgiving and unrelenting. This was a part of the world that Shepherd loved and lived close to all her life.
It is a short book, originally written during the Second World War, containing 12 chapters centred around aspects of the mountain range. She writes about the quality of the light up in the mountains, the water, how the landscape changes when it snows. There are chapters on the plants that scratch out a living and the animals and birds, in particular the eagle, and even though it is a harsh place the impact that man still has had.
Even though it is so short, Shepherd still manages to covey the sense of place, the beauty and the wildness of the Cairngorms with such amazing brevity. The prose is lyrical and poetic with an incredible eye for detail, as she describes the colours of the earth and heathers or the pure quality of the streams and rivers, or the luminosity of the light.
Breathtakingly good writing. Well worth reading.
It is a short book, originally written during the Second World War, containing 12 chapters centred around aspects of the mountain range. She writes about the quality of the light up in the mountains, the water, how the landscape changes when it snows. There are chapters on the plants that scratch out a living and the animals and birds, in particular the eagle, and even though it is a harsh place the impact that man still has had.
Even though it is so short, Shepherd still manages to covey the sense of place, the beauty and the wildness of the Cairngorms with such amazing brevity. The prose is lyrical and poetic with an incredible eye for detail, as she describes the colours of the earth and heathers or the pure quality of the streams and rivers, or the luminosity of the light.
Breathtakingly good writing. Well worth reading.
May 13, 2019
A perfect miniature of nature writing, this book encapsulates a wide range of experiences amassed over years of exploring the high Cairngorms.
February 2, 2019
This slim book of essays is an account of Nan Shepherd's lifelong explorations of the Cairngorm mountains of Scotland. The Living Mountain is not a memoir (we learn little about Nan Shepherd beyond who she is when she's in the Cairngorms). Nor is it an adventure story filled with triumph and camaraderie and testosterone. It is perhaps described best as a love story between one person and a place.
It's become increasingly rare to have an intimate and lasting relationship with a wild space. If you have one, I think you will identify with many of Shepherd's experiences; if you don't, perhaps this book will provide the impetus to get out there and find your own living mountain (or dune, or forest, or whatever).
The essays are loosely themed (water, light, plants, sleep), meandering both physically and introspectively all over the Cairngorms and highlighting Shepherd's favorite sights, sensations, events. From the chapter on water:
And the essay on plants in the Cairngorms:
I am really picky about my nature writing. As a biologist, I have an aversion to the overly sentimental or anthropomorphized - and get especially pissed off by so-called nature writing that just uses the natural world as a springboard for crappy finding-my-true-self journeys. God damn hippies. Nor am I interested in nature writing that reads like a field guide. I can just read field guides if that's what I'm in the mood for (and I do). Nan Shepherd's writing is meditative without being soppy, observant without being pedantic, poetic without being self-consciously overwritten. And I appreciate the way she captures the non-scientific feelings of wonder without either trying to explain them or blow their significance up into Life-Changing Transcendental Experiences:
And:
The Living Mountain is by no means a page turner and took me (yikes!) half a year to finish, with a long hiatus in the summer because a California summer doesn't have much in common with a Scottish winter and I wasn't in the mood. But it's a keenly observed and deeply felt piece of writing that makes me want to a) visit the Cairngorms myself and b) turn off my computer and visit my own (rather less dramatic) wooded hills.
It's become increasingly rare to have an intimate and lasting relationship with a wild space. If you have one, I think you will identify with many of Shepherd's experiences; if you don't, perhaps this book will provide the impetus to get out there and find your own living mountain (or dune, or forest, or whatever).
The essays are loosely themed (water, light, plants, sleep), meandering both physically and introspectively all over the Cairngorms and highlighting Shepherd's favorite sights, sensations, events. From the chapter on water:
The sound of all this moving water is as integral to the mountain as pollen to the flower. One hears it without listening as one breathes without thinking. But to a listening ear the sound disintegrates into many different notes - the slow slap of a loch, the high clear trill of a rivulet, the roar of spate. On one short stretch of burn the ear may distinguish a dozen different notes at once.
And the essay on plants in the Cairngorms:
The dead wood has a grey silk skin, impervious to rain. In the wettest season, when every fir branch in the woods is sodden, the juniper is crackling dry and burns with a clear heat. There's nothing better under the girdle when scones are baking - unless perhaps small larch twigs, fed into a fire already banked.
I am really picky about my nature writing. As a biologist, I have an aversion to the overly sentimental or anthropomorphized - and get especially pissed off by so-called nature writing that just uses the natural world as a springboard for crappy finding-my-true-self journeys. God damn hippies. Nor am I interested in nature writing that reads like a field guide. I can just read field guides if that's what I'm in the mood for (and I do). Nan Shepherd's writing is meditative without being soppy, observant without being pedantic, poetic without being self-consciously overwritten. And I appreciate the way she captures the non-scientific feelings of wonder without either trying to explain them or blow their significance up into Life-Changing Transcendental Experiences:
Yet often the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have merely gone out to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him.
And:
Such sleep [outdoors] may last for only a few minutes, yet even a single minute serves this end of uncoupling the mind. It would be merely fanciful to suppose that some spirit or emanation of the mountain had intention in thus absorbing my consciousness, so as to reveal itself to a naked apprehension difficult otherwise to obtain. I do not ascribe sentience to the mountain; yet at no other moment am I sunk quite so deep into its life. I have let go my self. The experience is peculiarly precious because it is impossible to coerce.
The Living Mountain is by no means a page turner and took me (yikes!) half a year to finish, with a long hiatus in the summer because a California summer doesn't have much in common with a Scottish winter and I wasn't in the mood. But it's a keenly observed and deeply felt piece of writing that makes me want to a) visit the Cairngorms myself and b) turn off my computer and visit my own (rather less dramatic) wooded hills.
March 22, 2016
I'm a bit embarrassed when I say that I haven't explored much of Scotland, my home country. The parts I have explored have been incredible. The Isle of Harris (Western Isles) is one of my most recent explorations of Scotland, and what a beautiful part of the world it is. The edgy and cragged land of greens and greys, the long, winding single roads on the twisted hills, the purest, clearest waters, a piece of land far from conventional settlements.
Nan Shepherd's The Living Mountain has got me wanting to explore more of Scotland. Her intense love of the Cairngorm Mountains shows with the wonderfully visual prose she puts in the pages. Lovingly described, the mountain's mysteries are revealed by Shepherd: "for as I penetrate more deeply into the mountain's life, I penetrate also into my own." The more I read, the more I realised just how beautiful Scotland is; well and truly beautiful. The stories she tells in a 110 page book is astounding.
The first nine chapters detail Shepherd's exploration of the Cairngorms. Here she lovingly describes the plateaus, the air and light, the plant and animal life, the water and weather, and man's relation to the Cairngorms, historically and socially. The final few chapters did if for me, as Shepherd goes deep within herself to find her purpose in her external surroundings. Her prose turns philosophical, but also playful, as the final short chapters explore her purest feelings towards the mountains, embracing a strong spiritual connection to the land, a love that can barely be described analytically, only fully experienced. And a connection like that, I'd say is an example of purest living, an existence of love and respect to nature.
"It is therefore when the body is keyed to its highest potential and controlled to a profound harmony deepening into something that resembles trance, that I discover most nearly what is is to be. I have walked out of the body and into the mountain. I am a manifestation of its total life..."
Nan Shepherd's The Living Mountain has got me wanting to explore more of Scotland. Her intense love of the Cairngorm Mountains shows with the wonderfully visual prose she puts in the pages. Lovingly described, the mountain's mysteries are revealed by Shepherd: "for as I penetrate more deeply into the mountain's life, I penetrate also into my own." The more I read, the more I realised just how beautiful Scotland is; well and truly beautiful. The stories she tells in a 110 page book is astounding.
The first nine chapters detail Shepherd's exploration of the Cairngorms. Here she lovingly describes the plateaus, the air and light, the plant and animal life, the water and weather, and man's relation to the Cairngorms, historically and socially. The final few chapters did if for me, as Shepherd goes deep within herself to find her purpose in her external surroundings. Her prose turns philosophical, but also playful, as the final short chapters explore her purest feelings towards the mountains, embracing a strong spiritual connection to the land, a love that can barely be described analytically, only fully experienced. And a connection like that, I'd say is an example of purest living, an existence of love and respect to nature.
"It is therefore when the body is keyed to its highest potential and controlled to a profound harmony deepening into something that resembles trance, that I discover most nearly what is is to be. I have walked out of the body and into the mountain. I am a manifestation of its total life..."
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June 24, 2023Nan Shepherd, a Scots woman, spent her life hiking the Cairngorms, essentially her backyard mountain range. She wrote three novels, then stopped that. She wrote this, about the mountain and about her love affair with the mountain, then hid it for a few decades. The Guardian called it "the finest book ever written on nature and landscape in Britain." I don't know. There was a lot of rapture.
Shepherd's story is only 108 pages, so the publishers added a way over-long Forward by Robert Macfarlane and an Afterword by Jeanette Winterson to beef it up.
Don't go by me. Hiking-obsessed people would probably love this.
Shepherd's story is only 108 pages, so the publishers added a way over-long Forward by Robert Macfarlane and an Afterword by Jeanette Winterson to beef it up.
Don't go by me. Hiking-obsessed people would probably love this.
April 23, 2023
****1/2
January 19, 2021
Thoughts soon.
December 15, 2021
This contains some of the most beautiful prose I’ve read in a long time but is not going to please everyone. In spite of talking about little else than nature, it is far more an interior rumination on the author’s part.
After reading the introduction by Robert MacFarlane, a renowned nature writer himself, I wasn’t sure I was going to really like this. I’m not particularly interested in Shepherd’s having been influenced by Buddhism, Taoism and the French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty, a contemporary of hers. However, in this book one can dig into the more intellectual/philosophical approach if wanted, or like me glance off the spots that don’t necessarily interest.
No doubt this is gorgeous nature writing. Shepherd lived her entire life near the Scottish Cairngorms, a place generally accepted as the wildest spot in the British Isles. I get the impression she spent every spare moment there. Her story of her beloved mountains is not for a reader who wants to get from here to there. It is more a circular trip if anything. In the introduction MacFarlane calls her trip “circumambulatoy.” She’s not particularly interested in conquering the heights. She prefers to feel “inside,” for instance inside the light or inside the granite. It sometimes feels almost hallucinogenic and is a very personal book. She deeply appreciates “her” mountain but sometimes my own appreciation of her book is limited to the beauty of her language and her talent.
After reading the introduction by Robert MacFarlane, a renowned nature writer himself, I wasn’t sure I was going to really like this. I’m not particularly interested in Shepherd’s having been influenced by Buddhism, Taoism and the French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty, a contemporary of hers. However, in this book one can dig into the more intellectual/philosophical approach if wanted, or like me glance off the spots that don’t necessarily interest.
No doubt this is gorgeous nature writing. Shepherd lived her entire life near the Scottish Cairngorms, a place generally accepted as the wildest spot in the British Isles. I get the impression she spent every spare moment there. Her story of her beloved mountains is not for a reader who wants to get from here to there. It is more a circular trip if anything. In the introduction MacFarlane calls her trip “circumambulatoy.” She’s not particularly interested in conquering the heights. She prefers to feel “inside,” for instance inside the light or inside the granite. It sometimes feels almost hallucinogenic and is a very personal book. She deeply appreciates “her” mountain but sometimes my own appreciation of her book is limited to the beauty of her language and her talent.
February 9, 2017
A wonderful tribute to the Cairngorm mountains.
This short book is beautifully written by someone who not only knew the mountains inside and out but is also passionate about walking and our relationship to the natural world.
This short book is beautifully written by someone who not only knew the mountains inside and out but is also passionate about walking and our relationship to the natural world.
September 14, 2021
He quedado profundamente conmovido con la forma que tuvo esta señora de ver y sentir la montaña. Mucho más allá de una experiencia mística, espiritual o física, ella se adentró y vivió la montaña como si fuera una parte indivisible de ella. Para ella la montaña con todos sus elementos: árboles, pájaros, animales, microclimas, sol, luna, ríos, arrollos, flores, nubes, etc, etc, incluyéndose a ella misma, era un todo, un conjunto casi indivisible. Hay capítulos de este libros los cuales he tenido que releer. Hermosamente escrito, un lenguaje que rosa lo poético, no se lee, se desgusta.
August 6, 2021
2.5 Stars!
With all this talk of yodelling deer and soaring eagles, Shepherd’s prose can be pretty powerful, one moment it has a dreamy almost hallucinogenic quality and other times its can feel as intimate and confessional as whispered words by candlelight. Her love for the mountains is everywhere and never in any doubt.
From what I can see Shepherd’s skill or specialty appears to be in capturing the small but significant moments and bringing out the beauty in them, but I feel that she struggles to maintain coherent commentary for longer periods. I’m not sure exactly why, but it’s almost as if her experiences are so personal and meaningful to her that she can’t seem to break out of herself to fully articulate them in a way that we can gain equal benefit from.
Yes she paints some rich and vivid pictures and yes she shows a talent for a phrase here and a scene there, but she cannot seem to bring all of those little moments together and build them into a bigger and bolder picture, so in that sense, she is maybe more of a sprinter than a marathon runner?...But nevertheless this has some really special moments buried here and there, but as an entire work it falls a little short too many times to really hit the heights.
February 5, 2013
The Living Mountain is a poetic and philosophical account of the author's decades of wandering in the Cairngorms. Genre-defying, at times aimless, it is an intensely lyrical piece of writing, full of humility. Shepherd asserts that 'knowing another is endless' and over the years her wanderings took her across the plateaus and 'inside' the nooks and crannies of the hills. Not for her a quick tick of the summit.
I read this book before a winter climbing trip to the Cairngorms, and know I will revisit this book as often as I revisit the mountains. There is much we can learn from Shepherd, who trained and disciplined her senses - 'the eye to look, the ear to listen, the body ... to move with the right harmonies'. Her vision is a pantheistic one, which means as she 'penetrates more deeply into the mountain's life' so she does into her own.
The edition I bought was introduced by a fine essay by Robert Macfarlane. A writer who more than any other has captured the all consuming compulsion to reach a summit, Macfarlane's thoughts on Shepherd's 'hymn to "living all the way through"' the world, perfectly complemented this beautiful little book.
I read this book before a winter climbing trip to the Cairngorms, and know I will revisit this book as often as I revisit the mountains. There is much we can learn from Shepherd, who trained and disciplined her senses - 'the eye to look, the ear to listen, the body ... to move with the right harmonies'. Her vision is a pantheistic one, which means as she 'penetrates more deeply into the mountain's life' so she does into her own.
The edition I bought was introduced by a fine essay by Robert Macfarlane. A writer who more than any other has captured the all consuming compulsion to reach a summit, Macfarlane's thoughts on Shepherd's 'hymn to "living all the way through"' the world, perfectly complemented this beautiful little book.
June 7, 2018
This is an attempt to experience and sing the living, total mountain. Not as a thing, or even as an ecosystem, but as a pulsating holon, of which the tiniest slivers of light and matter reflects the delicacy and wonder of the whole. Human beings who want to experience the grace of partaking in this web of life have to hone their humility, patience and quiescence, their powers of observation, curiosity and willingness to stray from the beaten path. And so the mountain turns into a metaphor for our own lives, enmeshed as they are in a wondrous cosmos. Nan Shepherd’s tribute to the Cairngorm mountains, a hybrid of an essay, a travelogue and a prose poem, is a uniquely perceptive contribution to the alpine literature. The introductory essay by Robert MacFarlane is very worthwhile too. A book to read and reread.
image: http://www.challengesophie.com/blog/c...
image: http://www.challengesophie.com/blog/c...
July 13, 2020
‘... naarmate ik dieper doordring in het leven van de berg, dring ik ook dieper door in mijn eigen leven. Voor een uur ontstijg ik het verlangen. Het is geen extase, die sprong uit het zelf waardoor de mens zich even een god kan voelen. Ik ben niet buiten mijzelf, maar in mijzelf. Ik ben. Om het Zijn te kennen, dat is de ultieme genade die de berg verleent.’
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