In the early months of the pandemic,听as travel ground to a halt, news outlets and random Twitter users breathlessly pointed out that听smog was clearing up, animals were roaming the streets, and even听 were looking better than ever. Many of these 鈥渘ature is healing, we are the virus鈥 factoids were eventually , then听, then shown to be a blip of as global warming听. Looking back, they mostly seem like a听 to celebrate the side effects of a virus that has devastated听millions of people. It felt odd to be reminded of this early pandemic phenomenon in the afterword of beloved nature writer听Gretel Ehrlich鈥檚 new book, . 鈥淎s the pandemic spreads, animals wander through empty cities as if to say that we humans have been in the way all this time,鈥 she writes in an ever-so-brief nod to the coronavirus. I certainly don鈥檛 wish she鈥檇 written more about COVID-19. It鈥檚 just that the sentiment, vaguely waving as it does at a complex global catastrophe, encapsulates the elements of the book that left me feeling cold.听听听 听 听 听 听听
Ehrlich describes Unsolaced as a follow-up to , a series of essays about life in Wyoming published in 1986, which remains a treasured piece of outdoor literature for many. In this new memoir, she revisits friends and familiar landscapes听from Wyoming to Greenland,听despairing at how they鈥檝e been affected by climate change. As a work of nature writing, Unsolaced is a demonstration of what Ehrlich does best: use lush prose to breathe life into landscapes that have brought her comfort. But when she turns her analysis to the proliferating signs of a warming world, Ehrlich鈥檚 insights fall short.听
In just 256 pages, Ehrlich provides a quick overview of four decades of her life, often expanding on topics she鈥檚 covered in her many other books. She听describes dedicating herself to ranching in Wyoming after her partner died when they were both 29. She recounts being struck by lightning in 1991, then spending a couple painful years recovering before traveling around the world, writing about dramatic landscapes and regenerative land practices. There鈥檚 plenty to like in these pages. Ehrlich devotes lots of space to fascinating acquaintances like Jens Danielsen, a hunter in northern Greenland whom she first introduced to readers in her book . And her descriptions of land and animals are as evocative as always. A听basin in northern Greenland, for instance, is 鈥渄istinct, direct, precise. Yet everything seemed to overlap everything else: crumbling glacier ice, meltwater splashing against pincushions of moss, moss edged by shoaling gravels.鈥
These stories are not just a rehashing of Ehrlich鈥檚 past work:听she clearly means to set this book apart with an undercurrent of unease about melting ice and increasing land desertification. But while Ehrlich usually writes about her inner life with precision, she analyzes her climate despair in nihilistically broad strokes. 鈥淲e indulge in delusional behavior to protect ourselves from painful realities,鈥 she writes late in the book. 鈥淲e鈥ake demands on the earth without ever inquiring what the needs of the earth might be.鈥 These sweeping observations are, disappointingly, the most thorough analysis Ehrlich provides on climate change as a whole. To be fair, maybe we shouldn鈥檛 expect Ehrlich to provide in-depth climate analysis in a memoir. But she doesn鈥檛 apply her usual self-awareness to the personal aspects of climate change, like the carbon footprint听she generates from traveling so much. Instead, the climate crisis is something to be pointed at from a distance;听it appears in terms that barely mean anything.听This gives the book a feeling of impotence at best and dangerously misdirected blame at worst.听
Although 100 companies are responsible for of the world鈥檚 carbon emissions, Ehrlich mentions the specific causes of climate change only a handful of times听and names corporations even less frequently. In one of the few passages that mention听extractive industries in any detail, Ehrlich recalls driving behind Halliburton oil field trucks near her home in California. She spends only a paragraph on Halliburton, mostly to wave a hand at the 鈥渟ocial ills that come with oil and gas extraction: drugs, prostitution, and domestic violence.鈥 Earlier in the book, in western Zimbabwe, she describes farmers who burn fields rather than use natural fertilizer, as if they鈥檙e contributing as much to the problem as extractive industries. 鈥淚t鈥檚 right here that we are causing your beloved Greenland ice to melt!鈥 jokes her companion,听ecologist Allan Savory. Unsolaced so often turns its gaze away from the responsible corporations听and toward groups of people who hardly have any impact听that it starts to feel willfully ignorant.
In these moments, the book feels like a callback to writers like Henry David Thoreau, who idealized nature while being unwilling to think critically about the 鈥渦nnatural鈥濃攑olitics, capitalism, other people. But in the 21st century, that wilderness versus humans binary just blocks the way to seeing our crisis clearly: to argue that 鈥渨e are the virus,鈥 as Ehrlich so often does, dispels any responsibility for more rigorous thought. Writers like Wendell Berry and听 have demonstrated that it鈥檚 possible to be a steward of the environment while acknowledging that wilderness is not something separate from where humans live鈥攊n fact, it鈥檚 counterproductive to set the two in opposition.听
When Ehrlich describes man-made global warming without addressing politics, extractive industries, or socioeconomic nuances, it鈥檚 not just dismissive. It gives a听completely听inaccurate idea of what climate change really looks like, as it鈥檚 already disproportionately affecting and 听and not just the untouched landscapes Ehrlich holds dear. She does see humans as a part of the solution, but her narrow mindset clouds her vision of a brighter future: she points only to the broad idea that we must all embrace regenerative land practices, and to the oddly specific example of Pleistocene Park, a Siberian reserve that recreates an ancient grazing ecosystem. It鈥檚 no wonder her writing on climate change feels so self-defeating; Unsolaced presents a world in which those who don鈥檛 have access to pristine, unpeopled nature aren鈥檛 even worth including in the conversation.听
In the end, one of the book鈥檚 greatest strengths turns out to be a weakness as well. After all, Ehrlich is just applying the tools of nature writing to climate change,听laying out a series of images and observations to give more of an impression than a thesis. Ehrlich does often share striking descriptions of what climate change looks like on the ground: 鈥淎s we flew north the next day, the icebergs鈥 rounded shoulders suggested premature old age,鈥 she writes of one visit to Greenland. But this particular set of fleeting images and pointed statements doesn鈥檛 add up to a very enlightening portrait of climate change. Just as it seems increasingly difficult to write nature books that don鈥檛 address global warming, it seems half-baked to write about climate change in the purely aesthetic terms of nature writing. It鈥檚 easy to point out all the ways nature suffers in a warming world; the equally beloved David Attenborough did this just as in his 2020 documentary, A Life on This Planet. But most of those who love the work of Ehrlich听or Attenborough have probably been worried about climate change for years, and younger readers don鈥檛 need a reminder of how much better it used to be. It鈥檚 worth holding our most established nature writers to a higher standard than pointing out the obvious.听听