The forties Book

There is much to like about this spare collection of essays, most of which contain a plain-spoken spiritual mysticism I could relate to. Sanders is a keen observer of nature--both human and otherwise. He plumbs the depths of his soul, searching for connections to these natures and finding it here and there in the wind generated by the wings of birds, in the crevices between mitered pieces of wood, in the silence people allow to fall between them like sincere and sublime pauses in a hectic world.

The title essay, first in the book, is easily the most powerful one in the collection. Focused on Sanders' dying father-in-law, it reveals the humanity we find within the will to live and the desire to die with dignity. I also appreciated Sanders' unique spins on religion, particularly in "Amos and James" and in "Silence." And the strong connection he feels to the outdoors in several other essays is moving and heartfelt.

Ultimately, though, this is a scatter-shot collection. Two of the essays are letters the author wrote for his son and daughter on the advent of their respective marriages. While these were published in the Indiana Alumni Magazine, and are certainly keenly felt pieces, they nevertheless seem too personal and precious to be of much interest to average readers. Two other essays center on the topic of writing. To someone who writes every day, these essays feel overly complicated, analytic, even didactic.

Then, Sanders occasionally misses opportunities to go deep. "Hawk Rising" begins with a reference to feeling the spirit of his deceased father in the body of the hawk. This is a fascinating premise (and mirrors an experience I felt after my own father's death), but Sanders quickly veers away from doing any real digging into what this connection might mean. Instead, he contents himself with describing the hawk in all of its glorious detail, avoiding the murky places I really wanted the essay to explore.

Overall, there was little connective tissue to the book. The relationship between the essays is tenuous at best. It seemed more of a random compendium of recently published material than it did a collection of linked ideas and experiences meant to build upon itself. The essays rarely illuminate each other, and the book suffers because of it.