Justin Tate's Reviews > The Overstory

The Overstory is part short stories, part tree porn, part rant, and part ramble. It adds up to an impressive literary achievement that will linger with me for a long time, even while the reading experience is generally tedious. At times the characters are intriguing, at least once does plot play a role, and there’s even a fleeting moment of tension. In other words, if you only enjoy edge-of-your-seat thrillers--this isn’t your book. If you’re obsessed with trees, it might be.

I’m by all means a bonafide tree hugger. Literally and figuratively. As seen above, this is me hugging a giant sequoia at Sequoia National Park. When characters in this book stage a protest by sitting high in California Redwoods to prevent them from being cut down, it’s easy to picture the scene. My heart breaks at the mere thought of chopping down these landmarks. Still, the book is hard to get into. I don’t think I ever picked it up with joy or a desire to find out what happens next.

That’s not entirely true. During the first 150 pages, which is basically a standalone collection of short stories, Powers introduces characters who are all significantly impacted by trees. The trees linger in the background, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but suddenly they are the whole world. Though there’s no hook or inciting incident in these pages, it works. The theme that trees are integral to human life repeats throughout, but never so well as these slice of life chapters.



As the book progresses, it becomes clear the author--or publisher--wanted this to be a novel and not a collection of short stories. There’s a refrain about hearing the voice of trees, which I don’t disagree with but comes across hokey, and one of the characters gets jail time. It’s all a bit forced to be honest.

The Overstory succeeds, however, by staying on message. Whether or not the plot points (if you can call them that) make any narrative sense, one thing is consistent--a love for trees, a warning to those who disregard them, and a tutorial on how to recognize their significance. These aspects in particular are worthy of admiration. If you can write a book that significantly alters a person’s worldview, it’s an incredible book. I don’t care how boring it is. And even me, tree-hugging me, cannot look at trees in the same way. I’ve always recognized their beauty, their subtle--and overt--impact on my life, but I don’t know that I’ve ever heard their voice. Now, perhaps, I can.