Guest blog – Natural Remedies – Gender and Pathography in Nature Writing by Jennifer Thompson

Jennifer Thompson is an ecologist and writer based in Devon. Her work has featured in print and online, including Nature Makes Us Better and Oh Magazine. If not writing, you’ll find her by the sea with her head in a book. She has just completed an MA in Travel and Nature Writing at Bath Spa, and you can follow her on Twitter @jennymht  

Natural Remedies – Gender and Pathography in Nature Writing

As nature writing has risen in popularity in Britain over the past two decades, so too has pathography and its place in the genre. While many believe that this strain of nature writing is damaging to the genre and to the environment, I believe that many of these criticisms are levelled at female writers more so than their male counterparts, who are often credited with the rise of pathography in “new nature writing”.

By understanding this aspect of nature writing we can assess why many female writers face more criticism, and what it is that female authors provide for the genre and its readers.

So, what is pathography? The term pathography, derived from the Greek pathos and graphia (evoking pity or sadness and to study respectively), was first used in 1899 by psychiatrist Möbius to describe the study of genius and associated mental health disorders. Pathography soon began a transition from medicine to literature, with Anne Hunsaker Hawkins stating in 1999 that pathographies were narratives based on the experience of illness. The phrase really gained traction in the literary world when used by author Joyce Carol Oates in 1988. Reflecting on biographies, Oates stated that rather than observing the accomplishments and scattered dramatic landscapes of people’s lives, pathography focuses on the smaller and more sensational aspects of life, not just illness. She wrote;

“Pathography typically focuses upon a far smaller canvas, sets its standards much lower. Its motifs are dysfunction and disaster, illnesses and pratfalls, failed marriages and failed careers, alcoholism and breakdowns and outrageous conduct”.

The reliance on frequent personal drama finds itself in many literary genres, from biography to fiction. Indeed, one of the most famous examples of pathography in fiction from recent years is “A Little Life” by Hanya Yanagihara, in which a young man deals with sexuality, chronic pain, mental health and grief. Pathographies have also seen a surge in nature writing (now dubbed ‘new-nature writing’ to the disdain of many) with authors such as Helen Macdonald and Raynor Winn leading the way. Indeed, in an article for the New Statesman, Mark Cocker attributes the success of this genre to Macdonald’s 2014 memoir “H is for Hawk”, which won the Costa Book of the Year award and became a Sunday Times bestseller within two weeks of publication. From Raynor Winn’s memoir “The Salt Path” to Richard Mabey’s “The Nature Cure”, new nature writing continues to inspire many authors and attract a growing readership, but what is it about using physical landscapes to make sense of the internal landscapes that has caused a spike in the popularity of pathography in this genre?

The Healing Power of Nature

Seeking solace in nature after suffering from illness or trauma is not a new phenomenon; in Nature, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote “I feel that nothing can befall me in life…which nature cannot repair”. Our ancestors led nomadic lifestyles, connected to the earth by sleeping under the sky and through the soles of their feet, but with the domestication of livestock, fires, food and the industrial revolution we have become an increasingly indoor species. Spending time in “the great outdoors” has been proved to lower cortisol levels and blood pressure, with the RSPB and NHS Scotland partnering up to prescribe nature to help patients with their health and wellbeing. Despite this, however, an American study found that adults spend only 7% of their time outside.

This is where new nature writing comes in. Bookshops in urban areas often boast a display or table dedicated to nature writing says Oakley et al (2018), and they believe its rise in popularity is due to increasing environmental activism and the lack of access to nature. With access to nature becoming increasingly difficult in our ever developing and industrial world, reading provides an instant portal to these landscapes and helps us to reconnect with them. Furthermore, when access to the natural world is slim, what easier way to connect to it than through shared experience? Few people have the in-depth knowledge to understand the inner workings of the environment around them or whether an animal is one species or the next, but what people do share is common, human experience. Grief, illness, family and health are experiences we all share, and we can see ourselves reflected back through the page when we read; whether it is Keats writing “Ode to a Nightingale” while suffering from illness or Richard Mabey coming to terms with depression in “The Nature Cure”.

Help or Hinderance?

Criticisms

Despite being a rising and popular genre in nature writing, pathography has faced a great deal of criticism. Joyce Carol Oates wrote in 1988 that pathography is “hagiography’s diminished and prurient twin”, and following her description of the genre she wrote;

“Its scenes are sensational, wallowing in squalor and foolishness; its dominant images are physical and deflating; its shrill theme is ”failed promise” if not outright ”tragedy.”

This sentiment towards pathography is one that is echoed by many. The use of “failed promise” and “tragedy” in literature is one that has grown since the mid-1990s, not just in nature writing but also in fiction and autobiography. Often termed “misery memoir”, this genre has drawn criticism for the trivialisation of trauma within the text.

Regarding its presence in new nature writing, many authors believe that the lyricism exhibited in this genre strays too far from its scientific origin. In addition to this, many environmentalists feel that the form reinforces tropes such as the “excursion narrative”. The most concerning criticism of pathography and new nature writing, however, is that aesthetic and romanticism heavily contrast to, and disguise, the state of Britain’s wildlife. Mark Cocker in 2015 believed that pathography relies on the “re-enchantment” of natural landscapes in the eyes of the author, but states that these “enchanting” landscapes are declining and many do not exist anymore. We would rather reminisce about the nature of the past than the nature of the present, using middle class escapism reflective of this feeling and genre. Cocker claims that by using new nature writing and pathography to heal the bridges built between ourselves and the natural world we are distracted from the state of the natural environment.

Pathography and new nature writing also draws criticism from a societal perspective as well as an environmental one. In an interview with Patrick Barkham, poet and essayist Kathleen Jamie claimed that nature writing has been “colonised by middle class white men”. Jamie also coined the term “Lone Enraptured Male” for those privileged enough to write the “excursion narratives” mentioned above.

“What’s that coming over the hill? A white, middle-class Englishman! A Lone Enraptured Male! From Cambridge! Here to boldly go, “discovering”, then quelling our harsh and lovely and sometimes difficult land with his civilised lyrical words.”

Lastly, is the inherent “whiteness” of pathography and nature writing, as disclosed by Kathleen Jamie. In another interview, Patrick Barkham spoke to Zakiya Mckenzie, a writer selected by the Forestry Commission as one of the first Writers in the Forest. Her work often covers the lack of black and minority ethnic representation in the genre;

“There is a deeper cultural obstacle: she feels alone and awkward, being frequently the only black face in the forest. “We are often the uncomfortable ones,” she says, adding her belief that conservationists and wildlife organisations need to come to her territory “and be uncomfortable, too.””

Benefits

Pathographies centred in the natural environment allow people who might not otherwise be able to engage with landscapes and wildlife, whether as the result of geography or accessibility. Though remembered, people can now connect with nature through the lived experience of others. Furthermore, while environmentalists are concerned that these books may hinder the progress of ecological conservation through complacency and romanticism, some may argue that the genre generates an interest in nature that is otherwise slowly being lost due to booming industry and commercial capitalism.

Despite calling new nature writing “tame”, and addressing the valid flaws in these works over the last 20 years, Mark Cocker was quick to point out the many benefits of the genre, hailing Macdonald’s “H is for Hawk“ as a “triumph”, in part because it was written by a woman. Pathography as a subgenre of nature writing now has a rising number of female authors.

The benefits and pitfalls of pathographies and new nature writing are a double-edged sword, from the balance between ecological engagement and misdirection, to publishing a more diverse authorship but not quite hitting the mark (in the case of people of colour). While these subjects are common in cultural and societal discourse today, progress within nature writing is just beginning.

The Gender Gap

Before looking into the subject of gender disparity in new nature writing, I had a sense that works written by women were viewed and received differently to those written by men. When talking to a friend about a new nature pathography by a female author we had both read, they told me that they didn’t enjoy the text because “it was like reading a teenage girl’s diary”. Another friend claimed that they had lost respect for the author when she left her children in the care of another to go travelling. On the other hand, before Kathleen Jamie proclaimed him the “lone enraptured male”, I had not heard of any criticism levelled at Robert Macfarlane (another leading nature writer) the leaving behind of his wife and young daughter. Indeed, when discussing Wainwright’s notebooks with family, “apparently he spent barely any time with his family and was incredibly grumpy” was more of a throwaway comment than a criticism. It is clear from these comments that new nature writing, especially pathographies, is gendered; women are too feminine, until they partake in more stereotypically male pursuits and are not feminine enough.

It is not just the public who respond to female and male nature writers differently. Kathleen Jamie found that the ratio of male to female nominees for the Wainwright Prize for travel and nature writing in the UK was 5:1. Even articles exploring the lives of female authors and the way they are portrayed reflects this. Joyce Carol Oates draws attention to David Roberts’ pathography of Jean Stafford whose work, both fiction and non-fiction, had themes of place and identity, which focused on her decline of which there were “several causes”.  Women who write pathography are often seen as “pityful, hysterical and immodest”, whilst the trope of the male, suffering artist is lauded, from Hemingway to Ed Stafford, the man who walked the amazon between 2008 and 2010.

There is an inherent acceptance of male exploration of the world and of the self that, as yet, is not fully open to women. Despite this, the growing criticism of new nature writing’s diversity is proof that more people are seeking the perspectives of female authors in this genre.

The Female Gaze

“‘Nature is a woman’s best friend’, she often said, ‘If you’re having troubles, you just swim in the water, stretch out in a field or look up at the stars. That’s how woman cures her fears.’”

– Fatima Mernissi (1994)

When looking up sources for this article, a Google search of female travel and nature writers offered up meagre results; “11 Books Every Solo Female Traveller Needs to Read” and “The Solo Female Travel Book: Tips and Inspiration”. The texts were not about women’s interactions and experiences with the natural world, but instead how to survive in it. Already, this creates the sense that women are not welcome, and when they are, they should proceed with caution. But more and more women are being drawn to nature writing. Why?

At the close of “The Outrun”, Amy Liptrot’s memoir about returning to her childhood home in Orkney following alcohol addiction, she remarks;

“Rain on me. Strike me with fire. I feel like lightning in slow motion. I am one fathom deep and contain the unknown. I am vibrating at a frequency unknown to man and I’m ready to be brave.”

By reacquainting herself with the place that she grew up, Liptrot sees herself reflected in the landscape, as something that has overcome obstacles and triumphs, and is healed by it. The wild, in all its forms, is the setting for many books by women for one simple reason; it is not gendered. Pathography thrives best when self-exploration is not limited by expectation. From the workplace to the home, even what we see and hear in the arts, expectations are formed by society’s views on gender. Simply put, nature doesn’t care. In a world in which being a woman can feel limiting, self-exploration in the wild has no limits.

It is clear that with more female authors writing nature based pathography, there is indeed an audience for these books. But what is it about the female perspective that appeals to people, and what do these writers bring to the genre that has otherwise been missing?

In “Findings”, Kathleen Jamie writes about her interactions with nature around her everyday life. Domesticity is woven through the text, watching birds “between the laundry and fetching the kids from school” and “Christmas shopping and kids’ parties”. While this domesticity is often criticised (“I don’t want to read about children,” said my friend mentioned above) it is precisely this that draws a female readership. It is far easier to relate to the everyday experience than to that of those privileged enough to spend their time on great adventures. While this feeling isn’t mutually exclusive, men too can relate to everyday domesticity, it is something that even Jamie herself has noticed, saying of JA Baker in “Findings”;

“Who was this man who could spend ten years following peregrines? Had he no job? Perhaps he was landed gentry. What allowed him to crawl the fields and ditches all day, all winter?”

By writing about nature in a domestic context, Jamie and other writers such as Clover Stroud and Raynor Winn, heighten our awareness of the “everyday nature” around us which, as Mark Cocker pointed out, may soon be all that is left.

With domesticity comes accessibility. Slowly, with the rise of female nature writers, the landscape of a somewhat stale genre is renewed. More people find that the doors otherwise only open to the “middle class white man” are now open to them too. Pathography in nature writing is not just healing to those who write and read it, but it creates, and mends, the bridges that are needed to diversify the genre, paving the way for writers such as Zakiya Mckenzie and Louisa Adjoa Parker. 

Perhaps we need to redefine nature writing and assess where its boundaries lie. Should it be left primarily to naturalists and scientists, the lucky middle classes or the lone wolf? Or should “nature writing” and “pathography” as labels be left behind?

By exploring pathography, the way humans use nature to heal and the roles traditionally expected of women, we can observe that their voices in new nature writing are just as important as their male contemporaries. Female pathographic authors provide nature writing with a specific bravery and accessibility that comes solely from being female. By using landscapes as a means of healing and self-exploration, women open the doors to a world in which our place is not gendered for us.

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