An Arboreal Education in Lynn Buckle’s What Willow Says
What Willow Says by Lynn Buckle. Époque Press, 2021, €9.33, 116 pages.
“She asks me what the tree thinks of the state it is living in. ‘It doesn’t.’ how do you know?”
From the moment she first learnt to read lips, Grandchild was swaddled in tales of princely herons, mother goddesses and water kelpies, leaving her with an endless imagination. Such is the enchanting story conjured by Lynn Buckle in What Willow Says (2021), a novella which has certainly earned its place among other arboreal (or tree-related) works, such as Richard Powers’ The Overstory (2018) and Elif Shafak’s The Island of Missing Trees (2022). Through constructing the narrative around a deaf child, Buckle invites us to consider the young character’s unlikely perspective on all things arboreal. She is untouched by the colloquial objectification of trees, that Buckle may be implying literature has played a part in. As her novel breaks from this tradition, recognising the trees’ aliveness, in addition to their ability to speak; albeit in a manner alien to most. Grandchild embodies these ideas, insisting that Grandmother learn not only ISL – “you should know sign language” – but the language in which the trees are fluent – “listen tell me what it says”. For their predicament mirrors her own, inspiring an empathy within. It is this compassion which encourages Grandmother to try and understand the natural world which so fascinates Grandchild, a journey which proves the driving force of the novella.
Grandmother is not unfamiliar with trees. They act as her muse, inspiring not only her art, but her stories. Yet, her ignorance is laid bare as early as the opening line – “We struggle to hear in our household”, an observation that applies not just to Grandchild, but Grandmother also, who, despite her connection to nature, fails to truly acknowledge their presence: – “All those years studying their structures, weights and textures while missing their inherent languages”. Resultingly, her initial attempts to understand them are as fruitless as her attempts at Irish Sign Language (ISL). Whether it be hands or branches, people or trees, she is outside comprehension. However, as the novel progresses, she comes to realise that there is something of people in plants, and of plants in people. That the histories “stored within [the] scarred bark and wounded limbs” of a tree, are not unlike the “folded character [within] hands”. Lines, dents and bumps prove universal storytellers. There is so much to be said in the movement of living things, the swaying of branches cognate to the signs of hands. Thus, although rudimentary, her knowledge of ISL allows for her integration into the conversations of the woods, with the trees’ speech echoing that of her Granddaughter’s.
Buckle’s handling of familial love and loss is as striking as it is gentle. Bordering on the poetic, her writing softens each heavy blow effortlessly, capturing the hearts of its readers in 116 pages. The author’s portrayal of deafness is revolutionary, drawing upon her own personal experiences to adequately translate ISL into text. This is most clearly seen through the gaps permeating Grandchild’s speech, which imply the time taken in constructing more complex signs. However, what is so often overlooked is the novel’s arboreal theme. In dealing with the different forms language can take, Buckle invites us to not just hear, but listen to the world around us. Her expert harnessing of the power of the literary imagination encourages a greater comprehension of nature overall, as seen through the chapter subtitles that convey weather and geolocation. In this way, the novel is unconventional, for it is less of a direct commentary on our relationship with trees, but an experience, through which the reader can draw their own conclusions alongside that of the characters.