How does it feel to be a judge on this year’s Wainwright Prize?
It’s always a wonderful thing to receive a package of a dozen books in the post, but having followed the Wainwright Prize for some years now, it feels surreal to be asked to pass judgment on them! The range of subjects, writing styles, viewpoints and experiences I’ve encountered whilst reading the longlisted books has been nothing short of inspiring.
Do you have a favourite book that you’ve read previously that’s deepened your understanding of the natural world?
I was first introduced to Nan Shepherd’s The Living Mountain by one of my university lecturers, and it’s probably the book about the natural world I return to most often, both for its remarkable prose that seems to flood every sense and for its attitude towards nature. Unlike much mountain literature that precedes it, most of it written by men, it doesn’t approach the natural world as something to be dominated, but emphasises the interconnectedness between all aspects of the natural world and our place within it, not atop it.
Do you have a place you visit that feels intrinsic to your connection with nature?
There’s a particularly comfortable tree right on the shores of Buttermere (a tranquil reading spot) that is the perfect vantage point from which to trace the line of surrounding mountains and crags, before your eye falls upon the majesty of Fleetwith Pike at the opposite end of the lake. At the same time, it’s a place that I view very differently than I once did, as much-needed conversations about overgrazing and nature depletion in the area have become more prevalent.
What do you think has been the biggest challenge and change in nature/conservation writing in the last 10 years?
In a time where the climate and biodiversity crises are accelerating, tipping points are approaching with frightening speed, and the fight for climate justice is only becoming more crucial, the balance between communicating the magnitude of the crises we face while allowing room for introspection and hope is difficult, to say the least. Also, while there has been a welcome increase in the number of books that platform underrepresented and indigenous people whose voices have either been marginalised or co-opted by others, there is a great deal more to be done in that space.
“While there has been a welcome increase in the number of books that platform underrepresented and indigenous people whose voices have either been marginalised or co-opted by others, there is a great deal more to be done in that space.”
Why do you believe nature/conservation writing is so important, both for yourself and others?
I know how easy it can be to view climate change through the lens of news media, which is often very reactive and short-termist. While the rolling news agenda absolutely forms a vital part of the climate media ecosystem, long-form nature and conservation writing allows you to develop a deeper sense of understanding of the places, people, animals and ideas that we may briefly encounter in other media, but never form a true connection with. Furthermore, we’re told all the time about people experiencing climate fatigue – we need talented writers to jolt their imaginations back into a place where they feel engaged and eager to learn more.
What’s your hope for the next 10 years, either for the nature publishing sector or the wider planet as a whole?
In the opening chapter of Not Too Late, an anthology of climate essays collated by Rebecca Solnit and Thelma Young Lutunatabua, Solnit writes that hope “means recognising the uncertainty of the future and making a commitment to try to participate in shaping it”. If everyone tries to find their own place in the climate movement, however big or small it may be, then the future will hopefully become a less uncertain place.