The Apocalyptic Narrative of Silent Spring

In “A Fable for Tomorrow,” Rachel Carson shows great skill in tackling an environmental theme using a literary genre. Her piece highlights the tension that underlies most of the readings for this week: the story of human progress and growth juxtaposed with the deadly results which this progress might cause to the environment and the human race. Through an apocalyptic narrative, she takes on the chemical industry and raises important questions about the future of the human race and the biodiversity of the planet. However, her gloomy narrative does not lack hope. Not only does she portray the situation as one that can be fixed, but she proposes ways to overcome the problem of insect infestation without using chemicals. She writes, “the problem could have been solved easily by a slight change in agricultural practice—a shift to a variety of corn with deep-set ears not accessible to the birds—but the farmers had been persuaded of the merits of killing by poison, and so they sent in the planes on their mission of death” (375). In her ecological vision, we are presented with possible alternatives and solutions to the problem.





Killingsworth and Palmer describe "A Fable for Tomorrow" as a "brief experiment in science fiction,” one that “invokes the specter of ‘evil science’ (embodied in popular culture as the mad scientists of comic books and the egghead aliens of science fiction movies).” In a sense, Killingsworth and Palmer suggest that Carson presents to the reader a narrative in which scientific progress and human mastery of the physical environment are unable to coexist without compromise and consciousness. Carson criticizes the anthropocentric approach that scientists adopt in their desire to control and improve nature, which leads to its “abuse.” This agenda backfires and brings about the destruction of “nature” per se and its elements. Obviously, Carson is against the scientific approach that locates the scientist-researcher above “nature” and assumes the superiority of science over any other discipline (as illustrated by the rhetorical model for environmental discourse in Herndl and Brown’s introduction on p.11). However, as Killingsworth and Palmer suggest, she “criticizes science while holding out hope for scientific solution” (30). I’m wondering how hard it was for her to become a nature writer after encompassing the science community for most of her career.




Carson urges the reader to think about the severity of the situation and to take action. By starting with “A Fable of Tomorrow,” Carson does not prepare her readers for what they are about to read. She shocks her readers! The use of an apocalyptic narrative that functions as a “shock tactic,” alarms her readers and make them feel uncomfortable to attract their attention. Although Carson’s warning prose is evident, she adopts a millennialist approach that does not view the end of the world as absolute. After all, there is an implication that human progress and the preservation of nature can go hand in hand.




Carson knew when to speak up about these issues that place her work among the most celebrated environmental discourses. Around the time of the book’s publication, the public was growing uneasy over science and the military in the Cold War era (K&P 22). This provided a good opportunity for starting a counterhegemony, a term Cooper uses to describe “a new common sense and with it a new culture and a new philosophy which will be rooted in the popular consciousness with the same solidity and imperative quality as traditional beliefs,” that helped set the stage for the environmental movement and questioned humanity's faith in technological and industrial progress (241). Although she identifies the “villains” as the people themselves (the users of DDT), science, technology, progress, and growth are not referred to as the enemies in her narrative. On the contrary, she writes, “It is not science per se that is to blame for the wrong doings of the pesticide industry, but a particular approach to science, a paradigm” (29). She argues for a “paradigm shift”—a holistic work-with-nature model. This holistic vision makes her “appeal to the readers simultaneously threatened and encouraged by scientific advances” (31).

Her ability to recognize the dangers of this technological progress and her appeal for a more responsible utilization of science provided a catalyst that affected not only her environment, but also the world of future generations. It was her expose that led to the ban of the use of DDT and opened the eyes of the public to the complexity of the balance between human needs and natural resources. I’m wondering what role gender played in Carson’s ultimate success. How did she recognize the urgency facing the nation and the world as it began to understand the limitations of natural resources? How do we read the apocalyptic narrative of Carson’s Silent Spring as relevant to a modern reader’s perspective?

Natives, Locals, and “Others”

Ursula Heise emphasizes the importance of being familiar with one’s local environment and reconnecting to local places in an attempt to defy the sense of alienation from nature generated by the modern way of living. The sense of estrangement from one's surrounding feeds this alienation and the ability to connect not only to the local environment, but to the ecological systems in which humans’ actions and decisions are both affected by the environment and affect the surroundings. Heise values the vision of global ecology that manifests itself in the “willingness to emerge physically and psychologically with the environment so as to communicate with it,” a notion that parallels Osden’s experience in “Vaster than Empires.” Osden became part of the environment he intended to study and finally understood the “underlying planetary connectedness” of the ecosystem (18).

This merging of the individual with the surroundings is echoed in bell hooks’ “Touching the Earth,” in which she suggests that the struggle of African Americans stems from their distance from the land. For hooks, restoring this relationship with the land facilities the African American self-recovery from the white man’s racism. Since there is a correlation between environmental matters and different forms of oppression, hooks believes that the farther African Americans are from nature, the more racism and oppression they face. The bond that African Americans and Native Americans have with the land goes beyond the boundaries of the physical to establish a kind of camaraderie with natural elements. hooks quotes Chief Seattle’s reflection on this bond:



“We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man— all belong to the same family” (105).

Unlike the Native Americans and African Americans, the white man (the representative of industrial capitalism) doesn’t understand the connection and the “infusion” that the natives have with the land. The surrounding natural elements are far from being the white man’s brothers and sisters, and his pragmatic perception of the land blinds him from appreciating the underlying planetary connectedness. In a sense, the white man’s sense of superiority makes him feel entitled to disrupt the ecological harmony.



hooks suggests that the African American internalization of white racist assumptions are caused by the estrangement from the land and their migration from the south, where the connection to the land is deep, to the industrialized north, where the white man controls the land and the mind/body split takes place. And because of this mind/body split that the African American experienced, their bodies were abused. She writes, “Living close to nature, black folks were able to cultivate a spirit of wonder and reverence for life. Growing food to sustain life and flowers to please the soul, they were able to make a connection with the earth that was ongoing and life-affirming” (105). This realization led her to start her own garden so as to feel connected to her ancestors who were self-sufficient, “work[ing] with the body to feed the body” (107). Renewing her connection to nature allows hooks to experience and preserve her racial identity and appreciate the historic relationship that her ancestors had with the land.

In Storyteller, Leslie Silko suggests that the white man and the natives perceive the land differently. The narrator describes the unsuccessful attempts of white men (the Gussucks) to penetrate the ice with their heavy machinery and their helplessness in confronting the spirit of Native Americans represented by the land and the people. Silko crafts a harmonious relationship between the land and the people, a relationship the white man doesn’t understand. Unlike the white man, the native is one with the land. Silko emphasizes the “boundaryless” relationship between all natural elements including the physical bodies of natives:



“The tundra rose up behind the rover but all boundaries between the river and hills and sky were lost in the destiny of the pale ice” (18).

And

“The wolf pelts were creamy colored and silver, almost white in some places, and when the old lady had walked across the tundra in the winter, she was invisible in the snow” (21).

Going along with Heise’s global vision that embraces a “complex formal framework able to accommodate social and cultural multiplicity,” (20) the white man and the native can live together in nature harmoniously if the white man abandons his industrial, colonial agenda and becomes, like the Native American, just another element of nature. Momaday reiterates the same theme in “A First American Views His Land.” In his racial memory, Momaday secures the land and celebrates the sacred trust he and his ancestors have with it. The relationship that Native Americans have with the land encompasses both the spiritual and the moral dimensions. For him, language and imagination derive from the land and remain faithful to it.

Buell & Others

In “The Place of Place,” Buell comments on the fact that places are constantly changing by emphasizing that “the place where you were born is not the same place anymore” (68). This communicates the type of anxiety which is echoed in Sanders’ piece. Revisiting his hometown, Sanders notices that a dam was built in his native town and the river that was the source of life in that area is dead. His realization that his hometown is not the same anymore parallels what Buell labels as “the shock of awakened perception” (35). Upon his arrival and the realization of the distortion that took place in his hometown, Sanders resorts to his memory to construct the old images of the town while noticing the changes that took place. However, denial doesn’t last for long; reality checks in. He writes, “Memory was defeated by the blank gray water. No effort of mind could restore the river or drain the valley. I surrendered to what my eyes were telling me. Only then was I truly exiled” (11). This eventual failure of what Buell calls “memory-of-place retrieval” (83) and the “horrified realization that there is no protective environmental blanket” to shield his natural surroundings provoke in Sanders the reactions that Buell would predict: “outrage, acquiescence, impotence, denial, desperation” (36).



Sanders sense of loss goes beyond his individual experience; it expands to all dwellers of areas that have been or will be subject to change due to human agency and misjudgments which lead to the deterioration of the natural soundings. According to Buell, the nature of the toxic discourse has been modified by humans to produce a different version of it, a more modern one (45). This “modern nature” doesn’t meet the expectations of Sanders’ imagination and provokes feelings of loss and anger. It is true that Sanders’ return to his hometown was a painful experience; however, “his loss is mild compared to what others have lost” (13). It is here that the personal in Sanders’ piece becomes collective.

It is interesting to see how Buell’s formula of “toxicity” and “place” triggers Sanders’ environmental awareness. In a sense, the awareness of the place toxic discourse cannot be achieved without a strong bond with a place threatened by ecological threats. These threats are not necessarily toxic since according to Buell, “toxicity as such need not be the central issue; it could be any number of ecocultural concerns” (78). Sanders’ place-connectedness and its cultural significance function as a “galvanizing force” of environmental concern.



Buell stresses the idea that the environment is not separate from our physical existence as humans, but “part of our being” (55). This marriage between us, humans, and our surrounding is echoed in Hogan’s piece in which a thread from her skirt and her daughter’s hair are among the components of a bird’s nest that she found near her house. Hogan’s realization of “the remnants of [hers and her daughter’s] lives carried up the hill that way and turned into shelter” makes her feel one with nature (814). Although Hogan blurs the boundaries between human existence and nature, her sanctuary is a place in the wilderness “where a human hand has not been in everything” and “where a dream or life wouldn’t be invaded” (810). Ironically, she did what humans do best: she interfered. She took the nest out of its environment. This behavior might indicate the dominion of humans over the natural world; on the other hand, it might suggest that civilization and human interference are part of wilderness and continue to be felt within that place. What motivated her to save the mice and drown the ants? How do we justify our interference? Is that what Garrard and Buell refer to as “second nature”/ “modified nature/ “modern nature”? Hogan’s detailed description of her natural surroundings, her understanding of nature, and her acknowledgement of the cycle of life and death remind us that humans are part of the earth and therefore humans are not only affected, but also affect the ecosystem, a notion Garrard stresses all throughout his book.




In “Preserving Wilderness,” Berry chooses not to support the nature-culture dichotomy, but urges us to lead a life that cerebrate the harmonious relationship between nature and culture. In a sense, he rejects the dominance of humans over the natural world, calling for a “space” in which “the only thing we have to preserve nature with is culture; the only thing we have to preserve wildness with is domesticity” (522). Garrard’s definition of ecocriticism emphasizes “the complex negotiations of nature and culture,” and just like Berry, stresses the reliance of these two elements on each other for continuity and survival (4). But how is this reconciliation possible? Berry discusses the importance of the inseparability of the spiritual and the practical (524). By emphasizing the importance of changing the economy to preserve the wildernesses, Berry’s appeal corresponds to the consensus that “[a] healthy environment is necessary for a healthy economy” (Buell 34). After all, there is a depth of meaning in finding the interaction of the practical culture and the spiritual nature.


In his piece, Berry describes his places through a historical lens that unfolds the destruction of previous generations and communities and surfaces the suffering of the people. For him and for Buell, “places have histories” and they are constantly changing (Buell 67). Furthermore, in stating that “the worst disease of the world now is probably the ideology of technological heroism,” (528) Berry voices Buell’s anxiety that arises from the “chemical” and the destruction brought by human agency (Buell 31). When such an ideology is adopted by the industrial middle-class it causes destruction in the environment since the priority of this class is to ensure “success of their careers.” This ideology causes many communities to be destroyed through acts of exploitation and negligence.

Garrard’s Ecocriticism

In Ecocriticism, Greg Garrard proposes a comprehensive vision of the relationship between nature, culture, and literature. Using an ecocritical framework, he argues for the study of the physical environment from a literary perspective which takes into account the interdisciplinary nature of the field of ecocriticism and its diverse applications. The nature-culture dialogical approach that Garrard adopts in his book gives him the proper foundation to argue for the integration and the cause-effect relationship between these elements, and to investigate major tropes related to ecocriticism, such as pollution, wilderness, apocalypse, dwelling, etc. Garrard calls for a serious consideration of the effect that nature has on culture and vise versa as he writes, “ecocriticism is essentially the demarcation between nature and culture, its construction and reconstruction” (179). Rather than dealing with nature and culture as two extremes of the dichotomy and disregarding the effects of their encounter, Garrard urges us to investigate “the shifting, pragmatic sense of the relationship of culture and nature” (179). This is not to limit the exploration of nature and culture, but to suggest that within a globalised frame, nature and culture can be explored in relation to other genres and fields.

Garrard’s ecocritical approach goes beyond the physical “place” used in literary theory, which refers to the social implications of a certain setting (society/ culture/ community), to include the entire ecosystem. He addresses the domino effect that each entity has on the other in this complex system. In other words, humans are not only affected by the ecosystem, but also affect the ecosystem. In a sense, ecocriticism functions as a mediator between humans and non-humans, and negotiates the interaction between materialism and “reality” on the one hand, and aestheticism and literature on the other hand. Applying the ecocritical tropes to our interpretation of a novel or a literary text expands our understanding and enhances our appreciation of the literary text since these tropes are “assumed to take part in wider social struggles between genders, classes, and ethnic groups” (8).




According to Garrard, ecocriticism does not only resist a human-centered philosophy and the logic of domination, but also rejects the fixed entities and categories; everything is socially constructed and liable to development and change (9). For example, being aware of the historical development of the ecocritical metaphor, the pastoral, enhances one’s interpretation of Wordsworth’s poetry. Wordsworth’s enthusiasm for nature goes beyond the appreciation of nature as a physical entity to the “relationship of the non-human nature to the human mind” (43). This encounter between the non-human and human/ nature and culture suggests multiple venues for us as readers to explore. Garrard addresses a variety of topics and concepts, from ecofeminism and its rejection to the “androcentric dualism man/woman” and the “logic of domination” (23) to the differences between American and British readings of pastoral and their ecocritical connections. Garrard believes that the main challenge that faces ecocriticism is its engaging/ reinterpreting texts that are not directly related to nature and the environment.




What I find fascinating in Garrard’s approach is his ability to incorporate scholarship from different disciplines, such as philosophy, history, sociology, psychology, etc. into the study of ecocriticism. In my mind, his interdisciplinary approach works both ways—it expands the field of ecocriticism to reach other disciplines and expands other disciplines to encompass ecocriticism. On the other hand, taking such an interdisciplinary approach might raise the question of the validity of such an evolving “theory”/ "discipline" since it lacks specific subject matter per se. After all, its subject matter is the interconnections between nature and culture (the interconnections of two different fields).

The publication of Garrard’s book indicates the change that is taking place in English studies since the integration of ecocriticism into our field reflects the recognition of ecocriticism as an important “theory” and indicates the status of environmental approaches in English. This integration raises some questions for me: What role does “place” in general and “nature” in particular play in English studies? How can we use Garrard’s tropes to expand rather than limit our interpretation of a literary text? How does “place” affect our performance as English teachers, writers of English texts, and audience of English texts? What limitations and possibilities does “place” entail? If ecocriticism became a new critical theory, how would that affect our interpretation of space in English in general and literature and composition studies in particular? How does “place” affect the writing process? How does composing in cyberspace (blogs, for example) differ from that on paper? How does "place" complicate the perception of public and private?