Rivers are an integral part of the human story. They hold cultural, spiritual, political, geographical significance, as well as holding an intrinsic value of their own. Or, as Macfarlane phrases it, ‘Our fate flows with that of rivers, and always has.’
Macfarlane frames this book through the personal experiences of journeying in and around rivers in Ecuador, India and Canada. He does this to allow the readers to explore the narrative between humans and rivers and to hopefully create a new story which allows protection and love, in multiple forms, for the rivers of the future. There is a thorough immersion into cloud-forests, mycology, waterfalls, paddling through rapids, and forging lasting relationships with water-defenders.
The title of the book has been formed as a question, rather than a declarative sentence to begin to form a community of those who can tell the new stories of rivers. Whether these be those who can make the legal arguments to create legal identities for rivers through the ‘Rights of Nature’ movement, or those who work as river guardians against extractivist developers around the world, we all have a part to play to ensure that the intergenerational value of rivers and life continues. Macfarlane refers to these actors as the ‘ghosts, monsters and angels’ of a watershed.
It is no accident then that the book closes where it begins, with generations of a family cherishing and valuing a river, standing alongside the ghosts of the past and the future. Macfarlane asks the question of what he would say to his descendants, in the hope that he has done enough to be a good ancestor. ‘What would I tell them? That the river is time, and we are always within it, even when we’re standing dry-footed on the bank, watching the current past.’
Language plays its part in creating narratives, but the grammatical and lexical limits can create challenges. Macfarlane notes this when he comments, ‘I wonder how on earth to write about the anima of this place; what language might meet its aboundingly relational being; could convey this emerald pluriverse…’ Rivers are sadly still referred to as objects, with ‘which’ being used, rather than a subject ‘you’. Changing the language changes the relationships in thought and connection.
As Macfarlane journeys in India and Chennai especially, the lament goes up that ‘Cities grow along riversides’, writes Yuvan [Aves], then slowly forget their ecological, hydrological genesis.’ The human sprawl, impact, and exploitation puts a strain on healthy rivers. ‘Humans have lived and died by the rivers of south-east India for 1.5 million years.’ The ghosts of the past, their legacy and view of their river home still has an impact today. He notes the damage and abuse of the water systems of the region, bluntly stating, ‘Chennai’s rivers have been poisoned.’ He notes the ‘Mass fish die-offs in 2014 and 2017’, but acknowledged that, ‘This systematic abuse of water is a relatively recent development in the region.’
When rivers die, marine life, insect life and then bird life plummets with the loss. ‘When a river is dying, life in its aura dies too.’
This destruction of a river system can also be seen in Macfarlane’s story-telling from Canada, where construction of multi-dam complexes challenged the river and the community.
‘From 2009 onwards, Innu communities and others in the region watched the slow death of the Romaine and its catchment.’ Bringing the modern legal frameworks to support religious and cultural beliefs and narratives around rivers is happening around the world. ‘For Innu communities,’ wrote Uapukan Mestokosho, a young Innu woman who became closely involved with the defence of the Mutehekau Shipu, ‘rivers are considered the veins of the territory…more than waterways or resources, they are living beings with their own spirit and agency- and they deserve respect.’
Towards the end of the text, Macfarlane explores the questions we may have for ‘the river’. In this framing, there is a quasi-religious expression, but also a sense of asking a question of our ‘elders’, to learn more about our collective past and future. In this, Macfarlane charts how he has become ‘rivered’- an appropriate verb for an awakening- a ‘baptism’- a physical understanding and connection with rivers. ‘Perhaps the body knows what the mind cannot. Days on the water have produced in me the intensifying feeling of somehow growing together with the river: not thinking with it, but being thought by it. …’Rivers are running through me, I think; I’ve been flowed through and onwards.’
Most of us will not be as lucky as Macfarlane to be immersed in these river-journeys around the world, however rivers can still speak to us, if we choose to listen. ‘What is the river saying?’ echoes as a question throughout the book. It may be that we are in a position where we can answer the question ‘Is A River Alive?’- it may be that our relationship with our rivers and watersheds hasn’t built up to that point yet. Asking the question is the useful first step.
Learning and becoming familiar with our local rivers is key- knowing where we are in a river landscape and how these flow and build and join along their routes is an enriching and powerful story. It is sad that we can navigate the country through the artificial routes of roads and motorways, naming them as we go, but are lost in a country river-scape.
What will we say when we reach that final ford? How will we pay the ferryman to cross the River Styx? Will we say, ‘The river has run on and I didn’t notice.’ Or shall we join him gladly for one last river-journey together?
Climate Thoughts with Brian 