But a big part of me is a Londoner, and I’m proud of that. When I moved to Suffolk, the idea was to live in both places and have both kinds of life. So there’s a big life change covered by the course of the book. Then, I was living in South London with my husband and dog, and now I’m living by myself and sharing the dog. Recently you released The Stubborn Light of Things, a book linked to your hit podcast of the same name, which is based on your contributions to The Times’s nature notebook. There’s this sense of ripening, of momentum. I’m a big fan of your novel All Among the Barley, where the setting is incredibly vivid.
I was interested in what you said about how you approached a new book-with setting and season. What is the weather doing? When is it full moon? But for those lucky enough to be able to make these choices, I think we should choose to be as aware as we can. If your safety, or your access to the basics of life, are not guaranteed, then you won’t worry too much if you’ve been in touch with soil bacteria or not. I’m aware that there are more important things for some people to worry about. We increase convenience, but it can eat away at something. When we insulate ourselves from it, I think we suffer very insidious harms.
Our gut flora respond to the natural world.
That’s why we are finding out all these amazing things, like touching soil boosts our mood due to bacteria. We evolved to know these things, to be connected by our body and our bones to the outside. So: when is sunset? These things become part of your general awareness. In winter, I have to think: have I got enough wood in the house, or will I have to go out and chop it? I should do that before sunset. I have a few plug-in radiators, but they won’t heat the house. I live in a 300-year-old house with no central heating. I can’t escape the weather and the seasons. You live in Suffolk now, in the English countryside. There are many things you can do to keep that groundedness. You can note the first blackbird song of spring. Pick one and bring it indoors, or plant one in a windowbox. You can go out and look for the first snowdrop in late January, early February. The only change is what you wear.īut if you choose to engage with the seasons, you get this wonderful richness. You can be almost unaware of the natural world-go from your home, where you can keep the lights on whenever you like, to an air-conditioned office, via the tube. It’s completely possible to be deeply connected to the natural world in cities, but it takes a little bit more deliberate attention. Foreign Policy & International Relationsįor a while I lived in London.
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