Meet The Judge: Kat Hill

Kat Hill is a writer and creative practitioner, and the author of Bothy: In Search of Simple Shelter, which was previously shortlisted for the Wainwright Prize in 2024. As a judge this year, she brings a deep appreciation for the power of nature writing to help us notice the world around us – while also recognising the challenge of writing about nature in an increasingly fractured and uncertain time.

In our latest Meet the Judges interview, Kat reflects on the evolving nature of the genre, the books that have shaped her understanding of the natural world, and why a connection to shifting light continues to awaken her senses. She also shares her hopes for a future filled with more experimentation, new voices and unusual ways of telling stories.

How does it feel to be a judge on this year’s Wainwright Prize?

It goes without saying that it is a special privilege to be a judge and to have this opportunity to read and discuss a wonderful selection of books alongside the rest of the panel. The Wainwright Prize is a bright point in the literary calendar and showcases such fantastic talent. To be part of that and to be part of the conversations shaping the field is immensely exciting.

What do you think has been the biggest challenge and change in nature writing in the last 10 years?

For me, one of the biggest challenges is how we write in a fractured and uncertain time, when we can see the impacts of climate change, when political and social instability impacts efforts to raise awareness about nature, and when it can sometimes feel as if we are fighting a losing battle. So, I think, there’s this inherent dilemma for nature writing to balance the need for hope with a demand to face the hard realities of living in the Anthropocene. Nature writing is concerned with beauty, wonder, and curiosity, but the challenge has been to convey all this while also being able to explore that harder edge of loss, damage, injustice and even violence. Not every book has to do that, of course, but I think it’s hard to write about nature now without also having awareness of such issues. In that respect, we have seen more varied voices and different perspectives come into the conversation, and this has only deepened the field of nature writing.

Why do you believe nature writing is so important, both for yourself and others?

Personally, even if I am writing something which will never be published, it’s a way to notice the world around me and to pay attention to the changing seasons and shifting moods of a landscape. And I hope that is what nature writing can do for others through this noticing: open their eyes anew to worlds they know or allow them to explore places they might never visit. This ability of nature writing to give time and space to the living worlds around us, worlds which nourish us and bring so much joy, is just a wonderful thing. Exquisite and evocative nature writing can just hold you for a moment in a place, and I think that’s why people value it so much. Writers and creators have a special opportunity and responsibility, I think, to do justice to the natural world.

Do you have a favourite nature book that you’ve read previously that’s deepened your understanding of the natural world?

That’s a tricky one as there are so many wonderful, stimulating books out in the world. Whilst it’s not a new book, it is a timely one because there’s a new film – On Time and Water by Andri Snær Magnason. When I first read it, it really changed how I imagined writing about the natural world could be done because it interweaves history, memory and myth in a deeply personal but also expansive narrative.

More recently, I found Neil Ansell’s The Edge of Silence: In Search of the Disappearing Sounds of Nature very moving as a reflection on the embodied and emotional dimension of being in nature and what happens when we think about the shared losses of the human and non-human world.

Kapka Kassabova’s work is always stunning, and Borrowed Land is on my to-read pile, but I loved Anima and her profound, lyrical evocation of pastoral worlds in a place that I knew little about.

Do you have a place you visit that feels intrinsic to your connection with nature?

Perhaps because I have moved around a lot, I wouldn’t say there is one particular place, but I think something that feels intrinsic to me is a connection to light and the shifting light and dark. Whether dappled sunlight coming through trees, the arc of a rainbow above the sea or the glow of a full moon on snow, something about the feel of natural light awakens my senses and connection to the natural world. Perhaps that’s because we so often work and live in artificial light and darkened spaces.

What’s your hope for the next 10 years, either for the nature publishing sector or the wider planet as a whole?

For the publishing sector, I would really like to see a trend of innovation and experimentation in the way in which people approach nature writing. Playing with different forms and voices and telling unusual stories in ways we have not heard before. I hope, too, that the publishing sector as a whole has the continued courage to support writing like this.

And likewise for the planet, I really hope we can have courage in this moment and emerge from what is a time of crisis with a focus on a stronger, more hopeful future. We will have to face difficult choices and losses, but I hope we can build on the energy and positivity in communities around the world.