Chantal Lyons - Groundbreakers: The return of Britain's wild boar

Until I picked up Chantal Lyons' Groundbreakers I had no idea that there were parts of the British Isles that had hundreds of wild boar. Native to Asia, Europe and North Africa wild boar are a significant part of European cultural identity. Think of the boar hunts in medieval romances and the boar on various regal coats of arms. But boar disappeared from many parts of their "natural" habitat, and entirely vanished from Britain as the woodland that they live in was cut back and they were hunted down. Now, the boar are back. In the Forest of Dean where Lyons studies boar there have been perhaps 800 individual boar, though numbers have decreased due to hunting and control by poachers and authorities in recent years.

Groundbreakers is Lyons' celebration of the boar. It is simultaneously a study of the boar, their nature, and their place in the environment. But the book is also a look at how humans relate to wildlife in general, and boar in particular. How these animals are perceived, and how that perception changes. But the boar's return is not, in itself natural. As Lyon writes:

Their rise has been abetted by our own environmental damage, because an organism is more likely to become destructive – and therefore invasive – in a foreign ecosystem if we have erased the native species that might otherwise have stopped it gaining a foothold.

In other words, the boar have been returned to a place that is not the one they used to occupy. It is one transformed in time and space. Indeed the boar themselves are different, some of them carrying the genes that result from their breeding with domestic pigs.

The comeback of wild boar in mainland Europe has been blamed largely on the decline in human hunters and bountiful food in the form of maize and other crops. With their undiscerning diet, their large litters and their sheer adaptability, wild boar are evolved to catapult themselves towards the slightest opportunity.

The return of the boar, some released deliberately by animal liberation campaigners, others released by hunters and still more escaping from domestic confines, has led to an interest in their role within the wider ecology, and a discussion about their potential as part of wider rewilding efforts. Rewilding is often simply understood as the release of animals and plants into areas that have been denuded by human induced change. A return to a past nature. It is, in my opinion, a environmental that is much more complex - not least because it rewilding enthusiasts often hope for a return to an imaginary past, neglecting to understand the role of human influence on nature. As I noted in my recent review of Sophie Yeo's recent book Nature's Ghosts, there is no natural world. Rewilding must take account of the complex interactions between animals, environment and humans. 

Lyons' book supports this. She explores the way that boar change the environment, shaping aspects of the Forest of Dean, digging, turning and breaking ground in ways that have important impacts on flora and fauna. These are fascinating chapters, exploring as they do the way that boar fit into an ecosystem, changing it and being changed by it in turn. The experience of boar in the Forest of Dean is, Lyons says, the "biggest unintentional field experiment in Britain’s nascent rewilding history."

Wherever boar root through the earth, we’re told, we’ll see volcanic eruptions of green growth, and all manner of other life will swarm and flock. Which does happen. Sometimes... But while the time that the boar has been gone is, in ecological terms, just an eye-blink, we have still forced much change on our landscapes in the interim. We can’t be certain of what would happen if boar were allowed to return to the entire country and in significant numbers.

But Lyons' book is perhaps most remarkable in her study of the effect of boar on humans. Some people living in areas where the boar have returned are excited; celebrating them, enjoying them, photographing and sharing their pictures. Others are scared and threatened. Lyons is certainly in the first category. Her excitement for these giant creatures shines through the pages, and we're drawn into her adventures. But Lyons is not the sort of author who only looks for positive reinforcement for her own opinions. She travels with people who hunt the boar, trying to understand their perspective, and finding some real insights. She also talks to those terrified of the animals.

Some of them are fearful for their personal safety, though there are scarce any examples of injury from boar in Britain. Some fearful for their animals, or personal property, though again few examples. Some are caught up in tabloid fearmongering, or simply don't like the animals.

Boar might number a few thousand in Britain. But there are an estimated ten million across mainland Europe and this makes for an interesting comparison. Why are the experiences and attitude to boar to wildly (!) different in Britain and Europe?

Here Lyons examines the different approaches to nature. One expert in the Spanish state, hired to monitor the boar living in the rural-urban interfaces in Barcelona argues that ‘The wild boar is not a problem... The problem is caused by people’s lack of experience with wildlife.’ It is certainly a good point. The fear of the unknown, hyped up by click-bait newspaper headline writers, is certainly a factor. But perhaps more deeply Lyons argues that the way that nature is approach in Britain arises out of a particular separation between nature and human. As Lyons says:

I fear that the sole use of farmed animals is helping to reinforce the mindset that ‘human’ and ‘nature’ are, and should always be, separate realms. We have erected fences and other hard barriers to keep nature (including people) in or out. Yet so many wild lives depend on the ability to move through landscapes, to take part in ecological cycles of disturbance, rest and renewal. We’ve forgotten this. And just as we deny the movement of individual animals and of species by creating artificial boundaries, so we deny ourselves permission to belong to the rest of the world. We absorb our fences into our minds.
Maybe that’s a core part of why rewilding raises hackles. If your thoughts are constructed using the nature versus human binary, then rewilding can only mean wildlife, and never wildlife and people.

This I think is a particular problem in Britain. While it isn't restricted to Britain, there has been a particularly intense experiment with neoliberal nature by successive governments in the UK that has placed prices on nature and commodified the landscape. Lyons quotes Virginia Thomas of the University of Exeter who says "rewilding in England has itself been domesticated; it sacrifices some of its ambitions for ecological restoration in order to retain more human control." 

Rewilding has become trapped by an approach to nature marked by the idea that prioritising capital accumulation is the only way for society to function. Nature is simply another aspect to this. This is not to say that neoliberalism hasn't also affected France, Spain or Italy. But to argue that so called Natural Capital approaches haven't gone as far. That won't last.

Thus the rewilding conundrum cannot be answered simply. It is not enough, as Lyons book explains, to simply restore an individual animal or plant to an area. Boar on their own won't halt Britain's biodiversity crisis. On the other-hand, rewilding as an approach that ignores humanity and our own position within ecological systems, is also doomed. The people who quietly shoot boar, or try to restrict them to certain fields and woodlands, are making the same mistake from the other direction.

The only solution can be a transformative approach to humanity's relationship to nature, one that recognises the complexity of nature's interactions and the place of boar (or beaver or any other animal) within that. And whose introduction involves a transformation of our own understanding of nature as well as our understanding of particular species. Such a revolutionary rewilding would be something else indeed.

Groundbreakers reminds us of what we stand to lose. Its not simply that we might not see boar, and their litters, living in the Forest of Dean, but that we might lose it all. Chantal Lyons' celebration of boar, and her thoughts on the meaning of rewilding make for a lovely and stimulating read. As such Groundbreakers is a book for our times.

Related Reviews

Dawson - Extinction: A Radical History
Rawlence - The Treeline: The last forest and the future of life on earth
Shrubsole - Who Owns England?
Yeo - Nature's Ghosts: The world we lost and how to bring it back
Pearce - The New Wild: Why Invasive Species will be Nature's Salvation
Lymbery - Dead Zone: Where the Wild Things Were

Lee Child - Die Trying

This, the second Jack Reacher novel, follow a pattern that I suspect will become common place in the series. Jack Reacher randomly finds himself in a violent and unusual situation, which requires him to use his skills to violently escape. In his way will be a succession of dangerous enemies and their less than able henchmen. At various times Reacher will utilise his military knowledge, brawn and brains to defeat these enemies, while the reader gets to learn about a variety of military hardware.

It's all, remarkably satisfying, and Die Trying is perhaps apposite this week, given that its "bad guys" are far-right, Nazi, American militas living in the backwoods of Montana. Reacher finds himself kidnapped alongside a young woman, who turns out to be with the FBI and an important target for the Nazis. The Nazis aim to use her in their elaborate, and completely unfeasible plan to secede from the United States, and build a new country on the lines of the US constituion as they interpret it. It's all very Make America Great again.

Luckily Reacher is no proto-Trumper and he blows up, machine guns, and fights his way back to a vision of liberal America that never really existed either. Along the way he has sex after burying the crucifed corpse of someone who defied the milita - which proves that it takes all sorts really. It also has the least exciting cross-America road trip in literarture. Die Trying's a classic thriller packed full of silliness and escapism - perhaps not as polished as the first one. But that doesn't really matter.

Related Reviews

Child - Killing Floor

Rhian E. Jones - Rebecca's Country

The "Rebecca Riots" were one of the most striking examples of rural rebellion during the 19th century. Today they are mostly remembered, when they are remembered at all, for being against tollbooths and involving men dressed in female attire. But they were much more than this, they were a mass uprising against the way capitalism was destroying communal relations, and transforming traditional Welsh life to  maximise profits for landowners, and diminishing the lives of the lower classes.

Rhian E. Jones' important new account of the Rebecca riots fills a gap in recent studies of the period. Few recent books have covered Rebecca and this work has benefited from contemporary approaches to class and gender. This means that Jones' tells the history of this struggle in a fresh way to a new audience, and takes up issues that have often been ignored about the struggle itself.

The Rebecca movement was initially aimed at tollbooths. But it arose out of the appalling conditions that working people experienced in 1843. Low wages, low crop prices, high rents and unsympathetic landowners contributed to a massive crisis among ordinary people. The toll booths were a symptom of this, as their owners sought to raise cash ostensibly to pay for road repairs, but actually for pure profit.  Hundreds of tolls were imposed, and farmers found themselves paying multiple times on a single journey, essentially being taxed for trying to do their work. Conditions were awful, as Jones says, some houses "built of mud or stone with thatched roofs, had minimal furnishing, often a single room with one or no windows, packed-earth floors and bedding of straw mattresses and homemade blankets".

The rebellion against the tollbooths encapsulated the anger at these conditions. But the tollbooths represented something much more - the literal commodification of the Welsh landscape. It was this that meant the rebellion went much further than an outpouring of anger at the tollbooths, and spilled into a generalised revolutionary movement.

In 1843 the rising was so great that it drove the landowners away from their country estates, saw thousands of troops billeted in the countryside, and pitched battles between protesters, their supporters and the authorities. One contemporary report said, that Wales was experiencing "a formidable insurrection, overawing the law, invading the most sacred rights of property and person, issuing its behests with despotic effrontery, and enforcing them by the detestable agents of terror, incendiarism and bloodshed."

The destruction of tollbooths was a key part of the rebellion. Jones unpicks what took place, which tended to follow a known pattern. At night, a group of dozens of people, led by a figure on horseback would arrive at a tollbooth. Many of the leading figures, and certainly the "leader" on the horse would be dressed up, often in female clothing, and usually addressed as Rebecca. The protesters would expel anyone living in the toll houses, allowing them to escape safely and usually remove their belongings. Then the booth and its gate would be destroyed. The destruction seems to have had an air of ritual to it. Buildings were systematically destroyed, brick by brick. Gates would be sawn into pieces. Fire would consume the rest. Almost as if the protesters were erasing the building from memory, rather than just destroying it. 

The protesters would act quickly and were frequently supported by many onlookers. One thing that struck me was the similarities with the arson and rick-burning that characterised the Captain Swing movement just over a decade before. That too was enormously popular and attacks were often communal events, with local people supporting and watching in great numbers. Rebecca and Swing were both characterised by the mass support, if not complete participation, of the greater part of the labouring rural poor. They were both rebellions that went beyond mere economic demands.

Jones shows how this went further. The mass attack on the Carmarthen Workhouse was in part a rage at the authorities' approach to poverty. But it was also driven by a punishing approach to women who had had children out of marriage, including as a result of rape or abandonment by wealthy men. One of the great successes of Rebecca was a change in the law around the support for women in this situation. But Rebecca also took direct action on this. I was inspired to read how Rebecca protests on occasion confronted men who had abandoned women and their children, demanding financial restitution and support. On another occasion Rebecca rioters installed a poor family in more suitable accommodation, somewhere they were still living many decades later.

One of the things about Jones' book is that it covers womens participation in the movement. Because male rioters dressing in women's clothes was a key part of the rebellion's most public expressions, histories have often focused on male participation. But in fact, as Jones' shows, women were central to the protests, to supporting them, and to the wider discontent. Frances Evans, who was charged as a result of her leading role in the attack on the Carmarthen Workhouse, was accused of "having incited and led the mob... urged on the rabble to proceed upstairs, and otherwise grossly misconducted herself."

Jones' gives a great sense of the political breadth of Rebecca's revolutionary movement:

The targets of Rebecca were evolving to encompass more than tollgates. They now included the enclosure system: near Ammanford, a newly built wall that cut off a section of formerly common land to form a private field... was torn down and the field thrown back open to public use. Meanwhile a vicar at Penbryn received a threatening letter for having forced local Nonconformists to donate to the cost of a Church school.

The Viscount Melbourne wrote to the Queen, fearing a "general rising against property". Ruling class fears of revolution ran through their response to Rebecca. As a result military violence was common place and the stationing of thousands of troops held hold down south-west Wales. There was a general concern anyway that the British working class was on the move. Fear of Chartism had the government on edge already.

But Jones also picks apart the internal debates that helped undermined Rebecca, and how these were reflected in the wider movement. Leading Chartists, themselves riven by debates about violence, were often contemptuous of Rebecca, not least because they saw it as a cross-class movement that involved both workers and their farmer bosses. There was some truth to this. Farmers in fact did pay people to destroy the tollbooths. But ordinary people don't simply take to arson and destruction because they are paid too. There has to be a level of general discontent within society to make it worthwhile, and, as the support and sympathy for the Rebecca makes clear, this certainly existed in southern Wales in 1843.

The movement was broken by a combination of heavy repression and internal division. But, it is important to point out, it was remarkably successful. Jones notes that many of Rebecca's demands were won, toll houses disappeared, roads improved and there were changes made to support those in poverty. Many of those captured and imprisoned by the authorities were let off, either by symapthetic jurors or by the authorities who were fearful of making martyrs. 

Jones concludes that Rebecca's real legacy however, was to inspire others - even today. As she says:

The original Rebecca movement was composed of ordinary men and women who, finding their circumstances intolerable, used what they had to hand - from petticoats to petitions, and fom mass meeetings to sledgehammers - to challenge and change their world. The extent of their success is perhaps less important than the fact they made the attempt.

This new history of Rebecca fills an important gap in the history of rural radicalism. Written by a socialist it addresses key questions about class, gender and social movements that remain important today. It will teach new generations about our history of struggle, and reminds us all that the modern countryside is the consequence of violent class struggle.

Related Reviews

Williams - The Rebecca Riots
Jones - Before Rebecca
Dunbabin - Rural Discontent in Nineteenth Century Britain
Boyce - Imperial Mud: The Fight for the Fens
Griffin & McDonagh - Remembering Protest in Britain since 1500

James M. Cain - Mildred Pierce

This 1941 novel by James M. Cain is not one of his best known, though it was made into a film starring Joan Crawford as the eponymous Mildred Pierce. That film, apparently, gave the story an upbeat ending. This is remarkable, because the novel is certainly not upbeat, and instead describes a life of bittersweet travails. The Hayes Code had a lot wrong with it.

Mildred Pierce is a middle class housewife, one of thousands brought low by the Great Depression. Her husband brings her lower, leaving her in the early pages of the book for his mistress. Pierce is left alone with two daughters, and finds her only hope of employment in menial jobs that she thinks are beneath her. 

Its a powerful start. Cain takes as his subject a woman undone by economic circumstance and her husband's misogyny. His subject is not the usual one in novels about the era - working class victims are better heroes of novels than the aspiring middle class. Above all else this is a novel about class. Mildred Pierce uses her contacts, her business acumen and her good looks to drive a project forward. She wants to rebuild her position in order to ensure her eldest daughter Vera loves her, and respects her.

Vera is the villain of the book. Her greed, her snobbery, her love of money and fame, and her ability to use others goes unnoticed by Mildred. Her mother can only see good, not the double crossing. As Mildred's success grows, she is once again brought low. But this time it's not capitalism, but her need to buy Vera's love. It means, really, that there cannot be a happy ending. The two main women characters' are so flawed as to be unable to find a mutual way out. But it is Mildred who is left to pick up the pieces.

This is a powerful novel. But it's grim. One reads it hoping it will get better. But every success brings the seeds of failure for Mildred. It is, perhaps, a metaphor for the futility of real happiness under capitalism. Cain may not have had the politics of anti-capitalism. But he could see it around him. In Mildred Pierce he put it on the page.

Related Reviews

Cain - Serenade
Cain - The Postman Always Rings Twice
Cain - Double Indemnity