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The Island Within
Here is Nelson's luminously wise account of his exploration of an unnamed island in the Pacific Northwest. This book revises our own relationship with nature, allowing us to observe it and also to participate in it with reverence and a sense of wonder.
284 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1989
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1,103 people want to read
About the author
Richard K. Nelson
18听books29听followersRichard K. Nelson (born 1941) was a cultural anthropologist and writer whose work has focused primarily on the indigenous cultures of Alaska and, more generally, the relationships between people and nature. He was the host to a public radio series called Encounters aired nationally.
Richard K. Nelson, known to his many friends in community of environmental writers as 鈥淣els,鈥� died on November 4, 2019, having asked that he spend his final minutes, after being taken off of life support, listening to the recorded sound of ravens. For those familiar with Nels鈥檚 life and work, such a request was fully in keeping with his tremendous passion for the natural world, especially for animals, and most especially for ravens and other animals he knew well from many decades of living in Sitka, Alaska. Born in Madison, Wisconsin, on December 1, 1941, Nels earned his B.S. and M.S. in anthropology at the University of Wisconsin and his Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Nels first began to live among the Eskimo hunting communities in Alaska as a master鈥檚 student at Wisconsin in 1964, eventually producing the book Hunters of the Northern Ice (1969). He later published such works as Shadow of the Hunter: Stories of Eskimo Life (1980) and Make Prayers to the Raven: A Koyukon View of the Northern Forest (1983). from his memoriam by Scott Slovic.
Richard K. Nelson, known to his many friends in community of environmental writers as 鈥淣els,鈥� died on November 4, 2019, having asked that he spend his final minutes, after being taken off of life support, listening to the recorded sound of ravens. For those familiar with Nels鈥檚 life and work, such a request was fully in keeping with his tremendous passion for the natural world, especially for animals, and most especially for ravens and other animals he knew well from many decades of living in Sitka, Alaska. Born in Madison, Wisconsin, on December 1, 1941, Nels earned his B.S. and M.S. in anthropology at the University of Wisconsin and his Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Nels first began to live among the Eskimo hunting communities in Alaska as a master鈥檚 student at Wisconsin in 1964, eventually producing the book Hunters of the Northern Ice (1969). He later published such works as Shadow of the Hunter: Stories of Eskimo Life (1980) and Make Prayers to the Raven: A Koyukon View of the Northern Forest (1983). from his memoriam by Scott Slovic.
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January 30, 2023
I see a compelling reason to live as much as possible not only on the island but also from it- the meat and fish and fruit it provides. In this way, I can bring the island inside me, binding my body and my soul more closely with this place. Living from wild nature joins me with the island as no disconnected love ever could. The earth and sea flow in my blood; the free wind breathes through me; the clear sky gazes out from within my eyes. These eyes that see the island are also made from it; these hands that write of the island are also made from it; and the heart that loves the island has something of the island's heart inside. When I touch my self, I touch a part of the island. It lives within me as it also gives me life. I am the island and the island is me.
This was another reread of a book I read many years ago. There is so much I learned from this book that I absorbed without remembering where I learned them from: mainly, saying a prayer to food that I am about to eat, to thank it for dying for me, to give me life; that there is magic in consuming another life force and to use it for positive spiritual and physical development; and the interconnectedness of me, the planet, the life on the planet.
Nelson passed in 2019 and was not a naturalist or a poet, but rather an anthropologist that spent most of his 25 year career with Eskimos and Native American Indians who live in the north. He settled in the Pacific Northwest, which time has revealed to be Sitka, Alaska, trying to understand his connection to the land through an island that is wild and fresh, using a lot of indigenous wisdom along the way.
I am amazed when I read about his encounters with hundreds of seals; dozens of bald eagles; hundreds of sea otters; river otters; exotic sounding birds like kittiwakes, glaucous winged gulls, storm-petrels, tufted puffins, cormorants, murres, pigeon guillemots, oystercatchers, and whales, with which he seems to have a weekly encounter with on his small boat and whose description gives me chills.
鈥� 鈥淚鈥檝e often thought of the forest as a living cathedral, but this might diminish what it truly is. If I have understood Koyukon teachings, the forest is not merely an expression or representation of sacredness, nor a place to invoke the sacred; the forest is sacredness itself. Nature is not merely created by God; nature is God. Whoever moves within the forest can partake directly of sacredness, experience sacredness with his entire body, breathe sacredness and contain it within himself, drink the sacred water as a living communion, bury his feet in sacredness, touch the living branch and feel the sacredness, open his eyes and witness the burning beauty of sacredness.鈥�
鈥� 鈥溾€oyukon beliefs would consider鈥rreverent remarks dangerous, like shouting insults at a nun, throwing rocks at the president, and desecrating a church altar at the same time鈥ow can someone not raised in such a tradition find the faith to follow it鈥o behave as if everything in nature has moral status and social rights鈥o believe that bears or brooks or buttercups have something akin to a soul鈥fter some discussion, we agree that what really matters is the rightness of living respectfully with the community of nature, making gestures to acknowledge that respect and trying to be mindful of the equality `of all living things鈥s the Zen teacher Robert Aitken has written, 鈥渋f it could be shown that Shakyamuni never lived, the myth of his life should be our guide.鈥�
鈥� 鈥渨hat obligation is more binding than to protect the cherished, to defend whoever or whatever cannot defend itself, and to nurture in turn that which has given nourishment? I鈥檓 reminded of words written by John Seed. an Australian environmentalist. When he began considering these questions, he belied, 鈥淚 am protecting the rain forest.鈥� But as his thought evolved, he realized, 鈥� I am part of the rain forest protecting myself.鈥�
鈥� 鈥渢he mountain has left me feeling renewed, more content and positive than I鈥檝e been for weeks, as if something has been given back after a long absence, as if my eyes have opened once again. for this time at least, I鈥檝e let myself rooted in the unshakable sanity of the senses, spared my mind the burden of too much thinking, turned myself outward to experience the world and inward to savor the pleasures it has given me.鈥�
鈥� Or I would be the rain itself, wreathing over the island, mingling in the quiet of moist places, filling its pores with its saturated breaths. And I would be the wind, whispering through the tangled woods, running airy fingers over the island鈥檚 face, tingling in the chill of concealed places, sighing secrets in the dawn. And I would be the light, flinging over the island, covering it with flash and shadow, shining on rocks and pools, softening to a touch in the glow of dusk. if I were the rain and wind and light, I would encircle the island like the sky surrounding earth, flood through it like a heart driven pulse, shine from inside it like a star in flames, burn away to blackness in the closed eyes of its night. There are so many ways I could love this island, if I were the rain.鈥�
鈥� 鈥淚 breathe in the soft, saturated exhalations of cedar trees and salmonberry bushes, fireweed and wood fern, marsh hawks and meadow voles, marten and harbor seal and blacktail deer. I breathe in the same particles of air that made songs in the throats of hermit thrushes and gave voices to humpback whales, the same particles of air that lifted the wings of bald eagles and buzzed in the flight of hummingbirds, the same particles of air that rushed over the sea in storms, whirled in high mountain snows, whistled across the poles, and whispered through lush equatorial gardens鈥ir that has passed continually through life on earth. I breathe it in, pass it on, share it in equal measure with billions of other living things, endlessly, infinitely.鈥�
Third reread quotes:
Throughout this book, I have used fictitious place names and have altered elements of geography while trying faithfully to recount my experiences. I have made this choice for several reasons: First, to respect the island鈥檚 right of privacy and to preserve its solitude. Second, to leave intact for others the privilege of discovering a place on earth. And third, to emphasize my belief that all places are created equal. I undertook this work not as a travel guide but as a guide to non-travel. My hope is to acclaim the rewards of exploring the place in which a person lives rather than searching afar,
becoming fully involved with the near-at-hand, of nurturing a deeper and more committed relationship with home, and of protecting the natural community that sustains all who live there.
In the months to come, I鈥檒l return as often as I can, to explore and watch, to use my presence as a question, to wait whatever may unfold, and to pour myself through it like the clouds of rain.
I could grumble about the rain and the discomfort, but after all, rain affirms what this country is. Today I stand face to face with the maker of it all, the source beauty and abundance, and I love the rain as desert people love the sun. I remember that the human body is ninety-eight percent water, and so more than anything else, rain is the source of my own existence. I imagine myself transformed back to the rain from which I came. My hair is a wispy, wind-torn cloud. My eyes are rainwater ponds, glistening with tears. My mind is sometimes a clear pool, sometimes an impenetrable bank of fog. My heart is a thunderstorm, shot through with lightning and noise, pumping the flood of rainwater that surges inside my veins. My breath is the misty wind, whispering and soft moment, laughing and raucous another. I am a man made of rain.
As I watch the eagle rise above the bay, I let myself drift out beyond an edge, as though I were moving across the edge of sleep. I feel his quickened heartbeat in my temples, stare up through his eyes at the easy invitation of the sky, turn and look back at the figure of myself. Fixed within the eagle, I see the bay slowly dilating below, and the long black line of the island鈥檚 border, stretched out for ten miles against the gray waters of Haida Strait and ending at the point. The island is a variegated pattern of dark forest and snow-covered muskeg, splayed out beneath the slopes of the mountains. At three thousand feet, the feathered sails of his wings flex and shake against a torrent of wind. Kluksa Mountain stands like a rock in a swift river; the wind whirls and eddies in its lee, rolls over its summit, and tumbles in breaking waves. Nearly lost in the bottom edge of clouds, the bird has risen until his eyes take in the whole encircling horizon. He looks out over the island鈥檚 whitened mass, beyond its western shore, where the Pacific lies. For the eagle, the crest of land is a ridge to glide across, a spangle of streams that brings the feasts of salmon each year, and gray tiers of ranges that fade into the interior beyond.
There is the eagle鈥檚 world, and there is mine, sealed beyond reach within ourselves. But despite these differences, we are also one, caught in the same fixed gaze that contains us. We see the earth differently, but we see the same earth. We breathe the same air and feel the same wind, drink the same water, and eat the same meat. We share common membership in the same community and are subject to the same absolutes.
A mix of drizzle, sleet, and snow begins to fall, but when we slip back beneath the canopy of trees, there are no needling flakes, no icy droplets, and the chilling breeze is gone. I realize this is one of the purest stands of aged spruce and hemlocks I鈥檝e found on the island. The forest unfolds like a lovely and complex symphony, heard for the first time. It has a dark, baritone richness, tinkled through with river sounds and chickadees. And everything is covered with a deep blanket of moss that mounds up and over stumps and fallen trunks like a shroud laid atop the furnishings in a great hall. The sense of life in this temperate jungle is as pervasive and palpable as its wetness. Even the air seems organic- rich and pungent like the moss itself. I breathe life into my lungs, feel life against my skin, move through a thick, primordial ooze of life, like a Paleozoic lungfish paddling up to gasp mouthfuls of air.
The water seems empty, yet we know the porpoises are still nearby, hidden beneath the line that divides our worlds. What would it be like if there was no shining edge between us? if the sea were as clear as the air itself? We could look through miles of limpid water filled with suspended life- porpoises, sea lions, seals, sea otters, schools of fish wheeling in the currents like a sky full of birds. Beneath them, we could trace the island鈥檚 ridges and furrowed flanks, sloping away below us, toward the distant chasm of the continental shelf.
Evening sun flares beside the peak, and I am blinded by it, made small and frail, overwhelmed, transfigured, and taken down inside. And what god resides there? The god who stands humbled in the mountain shadows, humbled at the ocean鈥檚 edge, humbled beside grains of sand and shaking droplets. The god who looks across creation and then looks back at craton itself. The god who sees through every eye, cries out from the beaks of ravens, surges in the mountain鈥檚 veins, streams down from shattered storm clouds, drinks rain from the rivers, and bursts out in blinding glory above the peaks at sunrise.
There is far too much, and the distance is too vast. I鈥檝e left everything of myself there, and brough everything I am away. I stare at my own hand, trembling in the twilight, open it, and find a mountain inside.
This was another reread of a book I read many years ago. There is so much I learned from this book that I absorbed without remembering where I learned them from: mainly, saying a prayer to food that I am about to eat, to thank it for dying for me, to give me life; that there is magic in consuming another life force and to use it for positive spiritual and physical development; and the interconnectedness of me, the planet, the life on the planet.
Nelson passed in 2019 and was not a naturalist or a poet, but rather an anthropologist that spent most of his 25 year career with Eskimos and Native American Indians who live in the north. He settled in the Pacific Northwest, which time has revealed to be Sitka, Alaska, trying to understand his connection to the land through an island that is wild and fresh, using a lot of indigenous wisdom along the way.
I am amazed when I read about his encounters with hundreds of seals; dozens of bald eagles; hundreds of sea otters; river otters; exotic sounding birds like kittiwakes, glaucous winged gulls, storm-petrels, tufted puffins, cormorants, murres, pigeon guillemots, oystercatchers, and whales, with which he seems to have a weekly encounter with on his small boat and whose description gives me chills.
鈥� 鈥淚鈥檝e often thought of the forest as a living cathedral, but this might diminish what it truly is. If I have understood Koyukon teachings, the forest is not merely an expression or representation of sacredness, nor a place to invoke the sacred; the forest is sacredness itself. Nature is not merely created by God; nature is God. Whoever moves within the forest can partake directly of sacredness, experience sacredness with his entire body, breathe sacredness and contain it within himself, drink the sacred water as a living communion, bury his feet in sacredness, touch the living branch and feel the sacredness, open his eyes and witness the burning beauty of sacredness.鈥�
鈥� 鈥溾€oyukon beliefs would consider鈥rreverent remarks dangerous, like shouting insults at a nun, throwing rocks at the president, and desecrating a church altar at the same time鈥ow can someone not raised in such a tradition find the faith to follow it鈥o behave as if everything in nature has moral status and social rights鈥o believe that bears or brooks or buttercups have something akin to a soul鈥fter some discussion, we agree that what really matters is the rightness of living respectfully with the community of nature, making gestures to acknowledge that respect and trying to be mindful of the equality `of all living things鈥s the Zen teacher Robert Aitken has written, 鈥渋f it could be shown that Shakyamuni never lived, the myth of his life should be our guide.鈥�
鈥� 鈥渨hat obligation is more binding than to protect the cherished, to defend whoever or whatever cannot defend itself, and to nurture in turn that which has given nourishment? I鈥檓 reminded of words written by John Seed. an Australian environmentalist. When he began considering these questions, he belied, 鈥淚 am protecting the rain forest.鈥� But as his thought evolved, he realized, 鈥� I am part of the rain forest protecting myself.鈥�
鈥� 鈥渢he mountain has left me feeling renewed, more content and positive than I鈥檝e been for weeks, as if something has been given back after a long absence, as if my eyes have opened once again. for this time at least, I鈥檝e let myself rooted in the unshakable sanity of the senses, spared my mind the burden of too much thinking, turned myself outward to experience the world and inward to savor the pleasures it has given me.鈥�
鈥� Or I would be the rain itself, wreathing over the island, mingling in the quiet of moist places, filling its pores with its saturated breaths. And I would be the wind, whispering through the tangled woods, running airy fingers over the island鈥檚 face, tingling in the chill of concealed places, sighing secrets in the dawn. And I would be the light, flinging over the island, covering it with flash and shadow, shining on rocks and pools, softening to a touch in the glow of dusk. if I were the rain and wind and light, I would encircle the island like the sky surrounding earth, flood through it like a heart driven pulse, shine from inside it like a star in flames, burn away to blackness in the closed eyes of its night. There are so many ways I could love this island, if I were the rain.鈥�
鈥� 鈥淚 breathe in the soft, saturated exhalations of cedar trees and salmonberry bushes, fireweed and wood fern, marsh hawks and meadow voles, marten and harbor seal and blacktail deer. I breathe in the same particles of air that made songs in the throats of hermit thrushes and gave voices to humpback whales, the same particles of air that lifted the wings of bald eagles and buzzed in the flight of hummingbirds, the same particles of air that rushed over the sea in storms, whirled in high mountain snows, whistled across the poles, and whispered through lush equatorial gardens鈥ir that has passed continually through life on earth. I breathe it in, pass it on, share it in equal measure with billions of other living things, endlessly, infinitely.鈥�
Third reread quotes:
Throughout this book, I have used fictitious place names and have altered elements of geography while trying faithfully to recount my experiences. I have made this choice for several reasons: First, to respect the island鈥檚 right of privacy and to preserve its solitude. Second, to leave intact for others the privilege of discovering a place on earth. And third, to emphasize my belief that all places are created equal. I undertook this work not as a travel guide but as a guide to non-travel. My hope is to acclaim the rewards of exploring the place in which a person lives rather than searching afar,
becoming fully involved with the near-at-hand, of nurturing a deeper and more committed relationship with home, and of protecting the natural community that sustains all who live there.
In the months to come, I鈥檒l return as often as I can, to explore and watch, to use my presence as a question, to wait whatever may unfold, and to pour myself through it like the clouds of rain.
I could grumble about the rain and the discomfort, but after all, rain affirms what this country is. Today I stand face to face with the maker of it all, the source beauty and abundance, and I love the rain as desert people love the sun. I remember that the human body is ninety-eight percent water, and so more than anything else, rain is the source of my own existence. I imagine myself transformed back to the rain from which I came. My hair is a wispy, wind-torn cloud. My eyes are rainwater ponds, glistening with tears. My mind is sometimes a clear pool, sometimes an impenetrable bank of fog. My heart is a thunderstorm, shot through with lightning and noise, pumping the flood of rainwater that surges inside my veins. My breath is the misty wind, whispering and soft moment, laughing and raucous another. I am a man made of rain.
As I watch the eagle rise above the bay, I let myself drift out beyond an edge, as though I were moving across the edge of sleep. I feel his quickened heartbeat in my temples, stare up through his eyes at the easy invitation of the sky, turn and look back at the figure of myself. Fixed within the eagle, I see the bay slowly dilating below, and the long black line of the island鈥檚 border, stretched out for ten miles against the gray waters of Haida Strait and ending at the point. The island is a variegated pattern of dark forest and snow-covered muskeg, splayed out beneath the slopes of the mountains. At three thousand feet, the feathered sails of his wings flex and shake against a torrent of wind. Kluksa Mountain stands like a rock in a swift river; the wind whirls and eddies in its lee, rolls over its summit, and tumbles in breaking waves. Nearly lost in the bottom edge of clouds, the bird has risen until his eyes take in the whole encircling horizon. He looks out over the island鈥檚 whitened mass, beyond its western shore, where the Pacific lies. For the eagle, the crest of land is a ridge to glide across, a spangle of streams that brings the feasts of salmon each year, and gray tiers of ranges that fade into the interior beyond.
There is the eagle鈥檚 world, and there is mine, sealed beyond reach within ourselves. But despite these differences, we are also one, caught in the same fixed gaze that contains us. We see the earth differently, but we see the same earth. We breathe the same air and feel the same wind, drink the same water, and eat the same meat. We share common membership in the same community and are subject to the same absolutes.
A mix of drizzle, sleet, and snow begins to fall, but when we slip back beneath the canopy of trees, there are no needling flakes, no icy droplets, and the chilling breeze is gone. I realize this is one of the purest stands of aged spruce and hemlocks I鈥檝e found on the island. The forest unfolds like a lovely and complex symphony, heard for the first time. It has a dark, baritone richness, tinkled through with river sounds and chickadees. And everything is covered with a deep blanket of moss that mounds up and over stumps and fallen trunks like a shroud laid atop the furnishings in a great hall. The sense of life in this temperate jungle is as pervasive and palpable as its wetness. Even the air seems organic- rich and pungent like the moss itself. I breathe life into my lungs, feel life against my skin, move through a thick, primordial ooze of life, like a Paleozoic lungfish paddling up to gasp mouthfuls of air.
The water seems empty, yet we know the porpoises are still nearby, hidden beneath the line that divides our worlds. What would it be like if there was no shining edge between us? if the sea were as clear as the air itself? We could look through miles of limpid water filled with suspended life- porpoises, sea lions, seals, sea otters, schools of fish wheeling in the currents like a sky full of birds. Beneath them, we could trace the island鈥檚 ridges and furrowed flanks, sloping away below us, toward the distant chasm of the continental shelf.
Evening sun flares beside the peak, and I am blinded by it, made small and frail, overwhelmed, transfigured, and taken down inside. And what god resides there? The god who stands humbled in the mountain shadows, humbled at the ocean鈥檚 edge, humbled beside grains of sand and shaking droplets. The god who looks across creation and then looks back at craton itself. The god who sees through every eye, cries out from the beaks of ravens, surges in the mountain鈥檚 veins, streams down from shattered storm clouds, drinks rain from the rivers, and bursts out in blinding glory above the peaks at sunrise.
There is far too much, and the distance is too vast. I鈥檝e left everything of myself there, and brough everything I am away. I stare at my own hand, trembling in the twilight, open it, and find a mountain inside.
September 11, 2013
After 48 pages, it became apparent that most paragraphs in every chapter are completely interchangeable without consequence to the ideals of the book (a theory that was tested and substantiated in my mind). To that end, if you are looking for a soulful description of the rain forest and coastline of the American Northwest then read the first chapter. If you are looking for variation after variation of that same description, then read subsequent chapters. For me, the first couple of variations on the same theme were quite enough.
August 5, 2016
I cannot recommend this book highly enough, to anyone interested in relations between humans and the living world. For me it was thoroughly formative, probably more so than anything else I have read. Extraordinarily deep lyrical meditations on the food web and our place in it, and on appropriate relations with other living beings and the world around us. This is possibly the only book that has ever made me cry. (Spoiler alert) The title derives in part from Nelson's profound reflections on the fact that all organisms - including us - are literally made from each other and from the materials of the environment, with matter constantly cycling among the members of ecological community.
When I read a book I think is going to be important, I like to make notes and copy out key passages. I nearly wore out my keyboard with this one! I am tempted to throw up a few choice quotes but no short quote would do the work justice. Mixed in with the environmental philosophy is intensely descriptive natural history, and a bit of personal memoir. I wouldn't have minded if there was less of each, and did skim through those passages a little. It would take a lot more than that to dampen my enthusiasm for the philosophical content of this work.
A good taster of this book, for those sitting on the fence, is the final chapter of Nelson's later book, Heart and Blood. Its thirty-odd pages covers a lot of the same ground as The Island Within, though in its brevity, this chapter naturally misses much of the poignant lyricism of the much longer book.
When I read a book I think is going to be important, I like to make notes and copy out key passages. I nearly wore out my keyboard with this one! I am tempted to throw up a few choice quotes but no short quote would do the work justice. Mixed in with the environmental philosophy is intensely descriptive natural history, and a bit of personal memoir. I wouldn't have minded if there was less of each, and did skim through those passages a little. It would take a lot more than that to dampen my enthusiasm for the philosophical content of this work.
A good taster of this book, for those sitting on the fence, is the final chapter of Nelson's later book, Heart and Blood. Its thirty-odd pages covers a lot of the same ground as The Island Within, though in its brevity, this chapter naturally misses much of the poignant lyricism of the much longer book.
September 7, 2015
I first read this classic nature memoir in the mid-1990s. I'd just moved to southeast Alaska. To me, Richard Nelson's evocative descriptions of hunting, berry-picking, hiking and even surfing his unnamed island and its waters embodied all that was celebratory and intimate and challenging about having a personal relationship with a place. I was eager to feel about Southeast the way Nelson felt, and to know it as deeply as he did. I never achieved that, eventually leaving after eight long years of light deprivation (it rains a lot, and I mean, A LOT). Reading the book again now reminded me how much I wanted to love Southeast back then, and how much I still miss it. But instead of igniting a desire to return and try again, the book inspired me to get to know my new home better. We can all appreciate our own home place more deeply and with a greater awareness of its natural beauty --- just the way Nelson knows his.
July 3, 2015
This was such a crazy beautiful book. It's not for everyone: there's not really a narrative arc (though there are small narratives that flow throughout); it's more a series of meditations about living in and loving a place. The author has an amazing way with words and description. It's a particularly dense feeling book: you want to read it slowly and savor it. It's not propulsive, it's meditative -- nice to read in small doses and really chew on. I know I connected strongly with it because there are aspects of the little corner of Washington where I grew up that remind me of the landscape he describes; but, his philosophy of nature, his curiosity, and his love for the ocean and the island also resonated deeply with me. If I ever get around to being a writer, this is the kind of writer I want to be.
Stasia, this one made me think of you. :)
Stasia, this one made me think of you. :)
June 28, 2017
Much of the book reflects on how to live with death. How do we live with how living is made possible by the death of other beings? Nelson gives this question not only a philosophical approach but a shifting, down-to-earth one that develops out of personal experiences with hunting and with how the Koyukon think about it. What happens after we die? He honors the faith in heaven with which his mother-in-law takes strength as she dies of cancer. He reflects that immortality for him would be still being a part of his beloved island. (And his reflections on what it means to be nature were another thoughtful part of the book. A favorite passage cites an environmentalist who says he is not so much trying to save the rain forest, but a part of the rain forest trying to save itself.)
June 13, 2012
LOVING this book, despite how long it's taking me to read it. If anyone wants to know what it's like to live in SE AK, read this! Stunningly written, reflective, fueled by observing and being in nature . . . my kind of book!
Nelson is a master of observing nature and fusing that with insight into our human condition. I particularly enjoyed his explanations of Koykuon ways. At times Nelson's writing can feel a little overdone, but overall this book was a spectacular mental ride. The ending is still ringing in my head and is EXACTLY how I feel about humanity.
Nelson is a master of observing nature and fusing that with insight into our human condition. I particularly enjoyed his explanations of Koykuon ways. At times Nelson's writing can feel a little overdone, but overall this book was a spectacular mental ride. The ending is still ringing in my head and is EXACTLY how I feel about humanity.
July 10, 2012
I completely enjoyed the whole book. Whether he is talking about the lands, the different waters or the sky above and/or birds, animals and marine life. I only found it shame that I have found this book now in my thirties rather than when i was a child and in school.
Read
March 23, 2013Beautiful, personal and wordy. It really takes you on a journey, if you are willing to go, and invest the time.
November 1, 2011
Hauntingly beautiful.
January 8, 2021
I read this book on my summer holidays, before I had to head back to the office and the humdrum routines of the working life.
It鈥檚 hard not to contrast the numbing rituals of the rat race to the descriptions of abundant life and nature in this book. Nelson is a writer of great sensitivity and he writes lyrically of the world he inhabits, an island somewhere off the coast of Alaska. He takes us through the seasons, through episodes of exploration and encounters with wildlife, drawing upon the wisdom of the native Americans of past experience.
I found this a beautiful book. I had tears in my eyes as I finished it because, it seemed to me, the book contained truths we too readily forget.
There is a reverence for nature that is spiritual. It鈥檚 an enlarged view of nature that includes so much that we commonly overlook: respect and humility, grace and love.
I was reminded of the greater world around me and the multitude of nature. We see ourselves at the top of the food chain, greedy and arrogant with it so often. This book is a reminder that we are a part of nature - a part of earth.
It took me from petty concerns to a greater understanding of where I belong in the schema, another - hopefully enlightened - beast on earth.
I wish I could have met this author. I鈥檇 have liked to look in his eyes and hear his stories and share some of his wisdom. This is the next best thing - a great book for the receptive reader.
It鈥檚 hard not to contrast the numbing rituals of the rat race to the descriptions of abundant life and nature in this book. Nelson is a writer of great sensitivity and he writes lyrically of the world he inhabits, an island somewhere off the coast of Alaska. He takes us through the seasons, through episodes of exploration and encounters with wildlife, drawing upon the wisdom of the native Americans of past experience.
I found this a beautiful book. I had tears in my eyes as I finished it because, it seemed to me, the book contained truths we too readily forget.
There is a reverence for nature that is spiritual. It鈥檚 an enlarged view of nature that includes so much that we commonly overlook: respect and humility, grace and love.
I was reminded of the greater world around me and the multitude of nature. We see ourselves at the top of the food chain, greedy and arrogant with it so often. This book is a reminder that we are a part of nature - a part of earth.
It took me from petty concerns to a greater understanding of where I belong in the schema, another - hopefully enlightened - beast on earth.
I wish I could have met this author. I鈥檇 have liked to look in his eyes and hear his stories and share some of his wisdom. This is the next best thing - a great book for the receptive reader.
December 30, 2020
While I had difficulty immersing myself in this book at times, I fully believe that is more a problem with me than with the story or the writing. The times I did manage to get taken in with the story brought some of the most beautiful and richly detailed nature storytelling I鈥檝e come across...
鈥淎nd I wonder, does the sea that bends down across half the Earth鈥檚 surface care that I鈥檝e flecked its edge and given back the token of a grateful voice? Does it matter, this acknowledgement amid the immensity and power and fecundity of an ocean? I can only trust the rightness of what Koyukon elders teach - that no one is ever alone, unseen, or unheard, and that gratitude kindles the very heat of life鈥� Pg. 44
鈥淭he desire for company is so strong that it鈥檚 often tempting to let the solitude in nature slip away. But when I do this, I eventually feel out of balance; my mind clutters with work and personal concerns, and only a good immersion into the island can cleanse it. I come back from the wild places feeling renewed.鈥� Pg. 46
鈥淪ometimes I wonder if I鈥檒l ever hear or see anything as it truly is, or if a lifetime is only enough to begin learning how to watch and listen.鈥� Pg. 84
鈥淗ow sad that people ignore the near and search for truth afar: like someone in the midst of water crying out in thirst鈥� Pg. 173
鈥淎nd I wonder, does the sea that bends down across half the Earth鈥檚 surface care that I鈥檝e flecked its edge and given back the token of a grateful voice? Does it matter, this acknowledgement amid the immensity and power and fecundity of an ocean? I can only trust the rightness of what Koyukon elders teach - that no one is ever alone, unseen, or unheard, and that gratitude kindles the very heat of life鈥� Pg. 44
鈥淭he desire for company is so strong that it鈥檚 often tempting to let the solitude in nature slip away. But when I do this, I eventually feel out of balance; my mind clutters with work and personal concerns, and only a good immersion into the island can cleanse it. I come back from the wild places feeling renewed.鈥� Pg. 46
鈥淪ometimes I wonder if I鈥檒l ever hear or see anything as it truly is, or if a lifetime is only enough to begin learning how to watch and listen.鈥� Pg. 84
鈥淗ow sad that people ignore the near and search for truth afar: like someone in the midst of water crying out in thirst鈥� Pg. 173
February 13, 2023
nelson's experience is a great story, and he tells it well...enough. my only issue with it is it's not as compelling the 2nd time around. bill lent me this book long ago and i didn't remember that when he lent it to me again. now reading it, i start to recognize the stories he tells--arranged in chapters--i find myself racing through the ones with too many adjectives.
what i mean by that is, language that describes the inner workings of a curious, sensitive mind can be a bit much. it's a fine line in this case--working well until it falls over that cliff into the void of annoyance, whatever that is.
if the intersection of wildness and indigenous ways with the intellect attracts you, this is one you will want to read.
what i mean by that is, language that describes the inner workings of a curious, sensitive mind can be a bit much. it's a fine line in this case--working well until it falls over that cliff into the void of annoyance, whatever that is.
if the intersection of wildness and indigenous ways with the intellect attracts you, this is one you will want to read.
April 28, 2020
Deeply spiritual and meditative, Nelson鈥檚 reflections on life entwined with nature on an Island In South East Alaska are not only a journey through a timeless and expansive land, but the ideals of those connected closely to it. With not only spiritual insight and connection to the land, it鈥檚 animals, and it鈥檚 people, but also a background in anthropology, Richard creates a conversation of juxtaposition and ideals, often striking balance between the two in his own way. Each paragraph in this book is a calming, immersive, and meditative journey through the woods, the sea, and the mountains, fostering a serene awe and respect for the natural world around us.
October 15, 2020
4.5 This is a wonderful book for meditation. It doesn't have a plot. It is about the author's connection to the wilderness around the Alexander Archipelago. Lots of very peaceful thoughts about plants, animals, water and mountains. I really enjoyed his connection to animals and the Koyukon people whom he lived with for many years. It also reminded me of Walden. I personally like it more than Thoreau's writing which I find mostly pretentious rather than profound. I would highly recommend it if you like Thoreau and want something more than just Walden Pond. I found it a powerful read while I was working in Juneau.
April 10, 2022
鈥淭he Island Within鈥� is a very personal, impressionistic memoir of the authors relationship with an unnamed paradisiacal island off the coast of Alaska. The author is an anthropologist by training and has spent years living among Koyukon Athabaskan people of Alaska. Koyukon culture pervades his emotional connection to the environment of coastal southeastern Alaska. He writes of his time hiking, mountain climbing, fishing and hunting with profound reverence and respect for the animals and plant life. The reader is invited to share the intimacy with which Nelson experiences nature. Lovers of nature and those who care deeply about protecting and preserving wilderness will love this book.
June 11, 2023
Wonderful, poetic- like stories in this book. Though at times repetitive in style and messaging it is a relaxing read, especially for those who love Alaska. Having just spent time in the area he writes about, I can see his descriptions and feelings about a place he never reveals. It is all that beautiful. My only complaint was the repetitiveness of some descriptions and jumping back to lessons learned during earlier experiences.
August 8, 2023
This book is thick with descriptive details and folds you into Richard鈥檚 mind space as he experiences the island. A little slow moving due to the richness of his descriptions, but clearly written with a heart of gratitude and peppered with nuggets of personal reflections on life, nature & the human鈥檚 place in it all. Maybe a 3.5 rounded up because this particular human has my whole heart.
September 17, 2018
NF - Natural History Writing
280 pages
Richard Nelson takes you into his world, sharing his
discoveries and thoughts, as he immures himself in nature.
280 pages
Richard Nelson takes you into his world, sharing his
discoveries and thoughts, as he immures himself in nature.
December 18, 2018
I didn鈥檛 finish this one but still enjoyed the bits I did read- very transporting and calming. I just have too many other things I want to read right now!
December 25, 2018
So glad to end the year with this book. One of the most powerful writers I have read in a long while. Can take a single moment and turn it into a epoch encounter.
August 27, 2019
A quiet, contemplative book filled with wonderful phrases to reread and savor. You can feel the sea spray, hear the gulls and soak up the silence as the island is revealed.
August 15, 2024
It took me a long time to read it, but that was just my own path to the end. I savored every bit of it along the way.
August 23, 2024
Pretty slow and boring. I also thought the author was hypocritical in constantly criticizing technology/modernity but then participating in the same things he criticized.
December 29, 2024
The book that opened the real wonder of nature to me. Amazing descriptions of things both common and extraordinary.
April 19, 2025
3 1/2 stars. Poetically written, clearly with a love for life and nature.
April 24, 2023
I read this book in a leisurely manner. Detailed writing from the eye and the hand of a keen observer. Nelson immersed himself in the exploration of this island and also of his own deep longings and personal discoveries. There are scenes that I will forever hold fast in my mind. Delightful.
January 22, 2023
I really wanted to like this, especially after reading Heart and Blood. But after 40 or so pages of countless descriptions of muskeg, I had to put it down. I understand that the point of the book is to show harmony with nature, and to emphasize a state of being rather than tell a story, but that made for a dry, boring read.
January 24, 2021
"The mountain鈥檚 face is constantly transformed, but there is no struggle against age, no decrepitude or senescence; and in its vanishing there will be no death. A mountain wears its time like a crown.鈥�
Richard Nelson was an American anthropologist and outdoorsman, and this book retells a series of his most meaningful visits to an untamed southwest Alaskan island. His memories are suffused by an abiding, infectious appreciation for life in all its forms and challenges - by 鈥榤aking his presence a question鈥� for the seasons, for the weather, for time itself, for the raw gifts of existence. It is also a haunting, honest attempt to make sense of the duality of life and the hardships and heartbreaks that we all experience. Why do we love people (and places) most when we cannot go to them? Why is our species willing to despoil some part of the earth and pretend that we can move on? Will Americans ever spend enough time in one place, any place, to make it meaningful? Nelson鈥檚 writing is animated by a complete willingness to immerse himself in experience and to give up security elsewhere for exposure to the things he loves. This collection is a clarion call against complacency, of intellect, senses or soul.
Recommended by: Michael Pollan鈥檚 Omnivore's Dilemma chapter on hunting references an essay called 鈥楾he Gift of Deer鈥�, which comprises the finale of this book.
Richard Nelson was an American anthropologist and outdoorsman, and this book retells a series of his most meaningful visits to an untamed southwest Alaskan island. His memories are suffused by an abiding, infectious appreciation for life in all its forms and challenges - by 鈥榤aking his presence a question鈥� for the seasons, for the weather, for time itself, for the raw gifts of existence. It is also a haunting, honest attempt to make sense of the duality of life and the hardships and heartbreaks that we all experience. Why do we love people (and places) most when we cannot go to them? Why is our species willing to despoil some part of the earth and pretend that we can move on? Will Americans ever spend enough time in one place, any place, to make it meaningful? Nelson鈥檚 writing is animated by a complete willingness to immerse himself in experience and to give up security elsewhere for exposure to the things he loves. This collection is a clarion call against complacency, of intellect, senses or soul.
Recommended by: Michael Pollan鈥檚 Omnivore's Dilemma chapter on hunting references an essay called 鈥楾he Gift of Deer鈥�, which comprises the finale of this book.
February 28, 2016
"Richard Nelson doesn't name the uninhabited island that is the setting and subject of this luminous book. He doesn't even tell us where it is, other than somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. What Nelson does tell us is far more important, however: what it's like to share a pristine ecosystem with deer and bear and humpback whale; how a trained scientist transcends his cultural biases in order not just to observe nature, but to partiipate in it; what it really means to claim the place one lives -- and to allow oneself to be claimed by it. Wise and unfailingly eloquent, Th Island Within offers an indelible glimpse of a wilderness most of us will never visit, one that fills us with reverence and a genuine sense of wonder."
~~basck cover
I initially abandoned this book because I found it overly wordy, tedious, too much havering about the author's quest to "become one with nature." Then I joined a challenge that included reading a book you had abandoned, and this was the only book I still had that met that criteria. So I finished reading it. And I didn't change my original response -- it was overly wordy, too "touchy feel-ly" for my taste.
Except for the part that talked about his mother-in-law dying of cancer. That portion was beautifully written, and put into words the pain of grief that we all feel when someone who is close to us and whom we love dies. It brought teard to my eyes: remembering my fther's death, and contemplating my own mortality which has been on my mind lately. I wouldn't go so far as to say this portion was worth reading the book for, but it was well and lovingly and honestly written.
But overall, I could have given this book a miss and not been the poorer for that.
~~basck cover
I initially abandoned this book because I found it overly wordy, tedious, too much havering about the author's quest to "become one with nature." Then I joined a challenge that included reading a book you had abandoned, and this was the only book I still had that met that criteria. So I finished reading it. And I didn't change my original response -- it was overly wordy, too "touchy feel-ly" for my taste.
Except for the part that talked about his mother-in-law dying of cancer. That portion was beautifully written, and put into words the pain of grief that we all feel when someone who is close to us and whom we love dies. It brought teard to my eyes: remembering my fther's death, and contemplating my own mortality which has been on my mind lately. I wouldn't go so far as to say this portion was worth reading the book for, but it was well and lovingly and honestly written.
But overall, I could have given this book a miss and not been the poorer for that.
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