Into the Forest

Into the Forest

by Jean Hegland

Paperback(Reprint)

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780553379617
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 09/28/1998
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 256
Sales rank: 266,301
Product dimensions: 5.10(w) x 8.30(h) x 0.54(d)

About the Author

Jean Hegland is the author of The Life Within: Celebration of a Pregnancy.  She lives with her husband and three children in northern California on fifty-five acres of second-growth forest.  She is at work on her next novel, which explores the issues of motherhood.


From the Hardcover edition.

Read an Excerpt

It's strange, writing these first words, like leaning down into the musty stillness of a well and seeing my face peer up from the water--so small and from such an unfamiliar angle I'm startled to realize the reflection is my own.  After all this time a pen feels stiff and awkward in my hand.  And I have to admit that this notebook, with its wilderness of blank pages, seems almost more threat than gift--for what can I write here that it will not hurt to remember?

You could write about now, Eva said, about this time. This morning I was so certain I would use this notebook for studying that I had to work to keep from scoffing at her suggestion.  But now I see she may be right.  Every subject I think of--from economics to meteorology, from anatomy to geography to history--seems to circle around on itself, to lead me unavoidably back to now, to here, today.

Today is Christmas Day.  I can't avoid that.  We've crossed the days off the calendar much too conscientiously to be wrong about the date, however much we might wish we were.  Today is Christmas Day, and Christmas Day is one more day to live through, one more day to be endured so that someday soon this time will be behind us.

By next Christmas this will all be over, and my sister and I will have regained the lives we are meant to live.  The electricity will be back, the phones will work.  Planes will fly above our clearing once again.  In town there will be food in the stores and gas at the service stations.  Long before next Christmas we will have indulged in everything we now lack and crave--soap and shampoo, toilet paper and milk, fresh fruit and meat.  My computer will be running, Eva's CD player will be working.  We'll be listening to the radio, reading the newspaper, using the Internet.  Banks and schools and libraries will have reopened, and Eva and I will have left this house where we now live like shipwrecked orphans.  She will be dancing with the corps of the San Francisco Ballet, I'll have finished my first semester at Harvard, and this wet, dark day the calendar has insisted we call Christmas will be long, long over.

"Merry semi-pagan, slightly literary, and very commercial Christmas," our father would always announce on Christmas morning, when, long before the midwinter dawn, Eva and I would team up in the hall outside our parents' bedroom.  Jittery with excitement, we would plead with them to get up, to come downstairs, to hurry, while they yawned, insisted on donning bathrobes, on washing their faces and brushing their teeth, even--if our father was being particularly infuriating--on making coffee.

After the clutter and laughter of present-opening came the midday dinner we used to take for granted, phone calls from distant relatives, Handel's Messiah issuing triumphantly from the CD player.  At some point during the afternoon the four of us would take a walk down the dirt road that ends at our clearing.  The brisk air and green forest would clear our senses and our palates, and by the time we reached the bridge and were ready to turn back, our father would have inevitably announced, "This is the real Christmas present, by god--peace and quiet and clean air.  No neighbors for four miles, and no town for thirty-two.  Thank Buddha, Shiva, Jehovah, and the California Department of Forestry we live at the end of the road!"

Later, after night had fallen and the house was dark except for the glow of bulbs on the Christmas tree, Mother would light the candles of the nativity carousel, and we would spend a quiet moment standing together before it, watching the shepherds, wise men, and angels circle around the little holy family.

"Yep," our father would say, before we all wandered off to nibble at the turkey carcass and cut slivers off the cold plum pudding, "that's the story.  Could be better, could be worse.  But at least there's a baby at the center of it."

This Christmas there's none of that.

There are no strings of lights, no Christmas cards.  There are no piles of presents, no long-distance phone calls from great-aunts and second cousins, no Christmas carols. There is no turkey, no plum pudding, no stroll to the bridge with our parents, no Messiah. This year Christmas is nothing but another white square on a calendar that is almost out of dates, an extra cup of tea, a few moments of candlelight, and, for each of us, a single gift.

Why do we bother?

Three years ago--when I was fourteen and Eva fifteen--I asked that same question one rainy night a week before Christmas.  Father was grumbling over the number of cards he still had to write, and Mother was hidden in her workroom with her growling sewing machine, emerging periodically to take another batch of cookies from the oven and prod me into washing the mixing bowls.

"Nell, I need those dishes done so I can start the pudding before I go to bed," she said as she closed the oven door on the final sheet of cookies.

"Okay," I muttered, turning the next page of the book in which I was immersed.

"Tonight, Nell," she said.

"Why are we doing this?" I demanded, looking up from my book in irritation.

"Because they're dirty," she answered, pausing to hand me a warm gingersnap before she swept back to the mysteries of her sewing.

"Not the dishes," I grumbled.

"Then what, Pumpkin?" asked my father as he licked an  envelope and emphatically crossed another name off his list.

"Christmas.  All this mess and fuss and we aren't even really Christians."

"Goddamn right we aren't," said our father, laying down his pen, bounding up from the table by the front window, already warming to the energy of his own talk.

"We're not Christians, we're capitalists," he said. "Everybody in this whangdanged country is a capitalist, whether he likes it or not.  Everyone in this country is one of the world's most voracious consumers, using resources at a rate twenty times greater than that of anyone else on this poor earth.  And Christmas is our golden opportunity to pick up the pace."

When he saw I was turning back to my book, he added, "Why are we doing Christmas?  Beats me.  Tell you what--let's quit.  Throw in the towel.  I'll drive into town tomorrow and return the gifts. We'll give the cookies to the chickens and write all our friends and relations and explain we've given up Christmas for Lent.  It's a shame to waste my vacation, though," he continued in mock sadness.

"I know." He snapped his fingers and ducked as though an idea had just struck him on the back of the head.  "We'll replace the beams under the utility room.  Forget those dishes, Nell, and find me the jack."

I glared at him, hating him for half a second for the effortless way he deflected my barbs and bad temper.  I huffed into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of cookies, and wandered upstairs to hide in my bedroom with my book.

Later I could hear him in the kitchen, washing the dishes I had ignored and singing at the top of his voice,

"We three kings of oil and tar,
tried to smoke a rubber cigar.
It was loaded, and it exploded,
higher than yonder star."


The next year even I wouldn't have dared to question Christmas. Mother was sick, and we all clung to everything that was bright and sweet and warm, as though we thought if we ignored the shadows, they would vanish into the brilliance of hope.  But the following spring the cancer took her anyway, and last Christmas my sister and I did our best to bake and wrap and sing in a frantic effort to convince our father--and ourselves--that we could be happy without her.

I thought we were miserable last Christmas.  I thought we were miserable because our mother was dead and our father had grown distant and silent.  But there were lights on the tree and a turkey in the oven.  Eva was Clara in the Redwood Ballet's performance of The Nutcracker, and I had just received the results of my Scholastic Aptitude Tests, which were good enough--if I did okay on the College Board Achievement Tests--to justify the letter I was composing to the Harvard Admissions Committee.

But this year all that is either gone or in abeyance.  This year Eva and I celebrate only because it's less painful to admit that today is Christmas than to pretend it isn't.

It's hard to come up with a present for someone when there is no store in which to buy it, when there is little privacy in which to make it, when everything you own, every bean and grain of rice, each spoon and pen and paper clip, is also owned by the person to whom you want to give a gift.

I gave Eva a pair of her own toe shoes.  Two weeks ago I snuck the least battered pair from the closet in her studio and renovated them as best I could, working on them in secret while she was practicing.  With the last drops of our mother's spot remover, I cleaned the tattered satin.  I restitched the leather soles with monofilament from our father's tackle box.  I soaked the mashed toe boxes in a mixture of water and wood glue, did my best to reshape them, hid them behind the stove to dry, and then soaked and shaped and dried them again and again.  Finally I darned the worn satin at the tips of the toes so that she could get a few more hours of use from them by first dancing on the web of stitches I had sewn.

She gasped when she opened the box and saw them.

"I don't know if they're any good," I said.  "They're probably way too soft.  I had no idea what I was doing."

But while I was still protesting, she flung her arms around me. We clung together for a long second and then we both leapt back. These days our bodies carry our sorrows as though they were bowls brimming with water.  We must always be careful; the slightest jolt or unexpected shift and the water will spill and spill and spill.

Eva's gift to me was this notebook.

"It's not a computer," she said, as I lifted it from its wrinkled wrapping paper, recycled from some birthday long ago and not yet sacrificed as fire-starter.  "But it's all blank, every page."

"Blank paper!" I marveled.  "Where on earth did you get it?"

"I found it behind my dresser.  It must have fallen back there years ago.  I thought you could use it to write about this time.  For our grandchildren or something."

Right now, grandchildren seem less likely than aliens from Mars, and when  I first lifted the stained cardboard cover and flipped through these pages,  slightly musty, and blank except for their scaffolding of lines, I have to admit  I was thinking more about studying for the Achievement Tests than about  chronicling this time.  And yet it feels good to write.  I miss the quick click  of my computer keys and the glow of the screen, but tonight this pen feels like  Plaza wine in my hand, and already the lines that lead these words down the  page seem more like the warp of our mother's loom and less like the bars I had  first imagined them to be.  Already I see how much there is to say.



  

Reading Group Guide

1) Into The Forest seems to convey that the stripped-down life of a hunter-gatherer would be better for us as a species. What Nell and Eva do is clearly right for them. Would it be right for people in general? For women? Is it a tenable ideal for any but the very young, very fit, and very adaptable?

2) Does the lifestyle the sisters adopt in Into The Forest imply or require an abandonment of the whole notion of "advanced civilization?"

3) The Women's Review of Books said of Into The Forest: "Cultural trauma forces the heroines to inhabit and regard their world in radical new ways, [as] recipients of wisdom they did not want but are better off for having." Do you agree with this? Why or why not?

4) How would you answer the question raised by this novel and posed in The Sunday Oregonian: "Where are we heading, and do we know how to survive with our humanity intact if we continue in this direction?"

5) Before razing the house in which they had spent their entire lives and turning to the forest for all their necessities, Nell chooses three books to take with her: Native Plants of Northern California for Eva since it may have already saved her life; a book of stories of those who had lived in the forest for Burl; and the encyclopedia's index for herself. In choosing the index she says, "I could not save all the stories, could not hope to preserve all the information—that was too vast, too disparate, perhaps even too dangerous. But I could take the encyclopedia's index, could try to keep that master list of all that had once been made or told or understood." If you could take only one item from your current existence into the future, and that one item was a book, what would you choose and why? Why do you think that Hegland would choose to describe the retaining of information as "too dangerous?"

6) Some of the most poignant moments of the story are found in minor details. Reading Into The Forest will forever change the way you think about a teabag, a scrap of paper, a metronome, an acorn, or a chocolate kiss candy. It will forever change your thinking about dreams and days of the week. Which of these affected you most? What other examples struck your sensibilities?

7) Above all, Into The Forest is a story about the boundaries and possibilities of sisterhood. Do you feel a comparable story could have been written about a relationship between a brother and sister or two brothers?

8) What kind of childhood do you think Eva's baby will have? If technology and society were to return to advanced states, how might the child adapt to leaving the forest?

9) If your "technologically-based" lifestyle were to evolve into a "nature-based" lifestyle, how do you think you would survive? What would you enjoy? What conveniences would you most miss?

Interviews

Before the live bn.com chat, Jean Hegland agreed to answer some of our questions.

Q:  Say Into the Forest is made into a film. Who would play Nell and Eva?

A:  That's a good question. However, it's difficult because between my family and my writing, I don't see a lot of movies. Someone suggested Winona Ryder as Nell, which I thought was a good choice.

Q:  Do you relate more strongly to Eva or Nell?

A:  Well, the book is written in the first person by Nell...so I guess I would say Nell. She is more like me, more cerebral, more verbal. Eva is more physical. I remember times while I was writing the book that I would look into the mirror and be surprised -- like I saw someone else -- surprised that I saw myself and not Nell.

Q:  Was there a particular moment or moments in your life that inspired you to be a writer?

A:  I can't remember a time that I did not want to be a writer, but I remember discovering Steinbeck when I was ten. I also had a professor in college who taught rhetoric and composition. That was a very good class, because it taught you how to really break down structure, really take things apart and look at them.

Q:  What kind of music do you like?

A:  The music of my generation -- the Beatles, the Stones. I like classical music...Bach.

Q:  The character of Eva and Nell's father seemed to have a kind of hopeful cynicism. Some people are hopeful, some are cynics; you cleverly merged the two. Could you elaborate?

A:  I don't think you can be cynical without being hopeful.

Foreword

1) Into The Forest seems to convey that the stripped-down life of a hunter-gatherer would be better for us as a species. What Nell and Eva do is clearly right for them. Would it be right for people in general? For women? Is it a tenable ideal for any but the very young, very fit, and very adaptable?

2) Does the lifestyle the sisters adopt in Into The Forest imply or require an abandonment of the whole notion of "advanced civilization?"

3) The Women's Review of Books said of Into The Forest: "Cultural trauma forces the heroines to inhabit and regard their world in radical new ways, [as] recipients of wisdom they did not want but are better off for having." Do you agree with this? Why or why not?

4) How would you answer the question raised by this novel and posed in The Sunday Oregonian: "Where are we heading, and do we know how to survive with our humanity intact if we continue in this direction?"

5) Before razing the house in which they had spent their entire lives and turning to the forest for all their necessities, Nell chooses three books to take with her: Native Plants of Northern California for Eva since it may have already saved her life; a book of stories of those who had lived in the forest for Burl; and the encyclopedia's index for herself. In choosing the index she says, "I could not save all the stories, could not hope to preserve all the information—that was too vast, too disparate, perhaps even too dangerous. But I could take the encyclopedia's index, could try to keep that master list of all that had once been made or told or understood." If you could take only oneitem from your current existence into the future, and that one item was a book, what would you choose and why? Why do you think that Hegland would choose to describe the retaining of information as "too dangerous?"

6) Some of the most poignant moments of the story are found in minor details. Reading Into The Forest will forever change the way you think about a teabag, a scrap of paper, a metronome, an acorn, or a chocolate kiss candy. It will forever change your thinking about dreams and days of the week. Which of these affected you most? What other examples struck your sensibilities?

7) Above all, Into The Forest is a story about the boundaries and possibilities of sisterhood. Do you feel a comparable story could have been written about a relationship between a brother and sister or two brothers?

8) What kind of childhood do you think Eva's baby will have? If technology and society were to return to advanced states, how might the child adapt to leaving the forest?

9) If your "technologically-based" lifestyle were to evolve into a "nature-based" lifestyle, how do you think you would survive? What would you enjoy? What conveniences would you most miss?

Customer Reviews

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Into the Forest 4.1 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 43 reviews.
opinionminion More than 1 year ago
In the wake of all this 2012 nonsense, this post-apocalyptic book about two sisters in the midst of society's fall is a relief. The realistic way in which the world slowly deteriorates is interesting and believable. The author is an amazing writer and the story is filled with interesting facts about everything from plants to ballet. The only thing that was a disappointment in the story was the sisters' incestuous relationship and the protagonist's sudden ability to produce milk. The overall novel was surprisingly realistic and these issues seemed to push it towards a more unbelievable event. The book would have survived without the girls' relationship and their survival was miracle enough that the breast-feeding was overkill and unnecessary. Overall, I recommend everyone to read this book, especially the first three-quarters, just to experience the idea of a slowly decaying society and the author's amazing talent with words.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have read alot of books, and even though I am not a young adult I read alot of YA books. Adult books tend to get a little raunchy at times so i like to get away from that sometimes. This book was a huge dissapointment to me, the idea behind the book sounded great and most of the reviews were positive but i would have to say this was the worst book I have ever read. It wasnt because of the incest or the spontanious milk production that did it in for me, it was the shear lack of any action or really any substance at all. About half way through I realized that it wasn't going to pick up. I found myself skimming through the parts of her childhood memories to get back to present day hoping something would happen but it never did. The ending was a little better than the rest of the book but thats really not saying much at all. Do yourself a favor and save your money and time for a decent book.
justablondemoment on LibraryThing 22 days ago
You know what I love in a book? When an author can take you so deeply emotionally into a story that you get that..this could happen,what if that was me...feeling. This is one of those books. Definitely a WOW book.
bookwormteri on LibraryThing 22 days ago
Meh...Z is for Zachariah for the grown up crowd. I liked the atmosphere, but felt that the ballerina sister was a selfish prima donna. Of course, the tale is told through the eyes of the other sister, so maybe with better perspective, I would understand her. It was okay, I enjoyed it, but I wasn't amazed nor did I really sit and think too long about it afterwards.
Marliesd on LibraryThing 22 days ago
I read this on Gary's rec. (and loan). Very interesting story!
lafincoff on LibraryThing 22 days ago
Good solid apocalypse novel read. I enjoyed it. I liked the accurate depiction of the infant, the emo-body way an infant impacted the main characters. So often male authors miss that deep emotional physical impact. The ending, charging off into the wild, struck me as odd. The slight mysticism, as in the bear part and the ending, was not quite feeling incorporated. The book was enjoyable to read, and emotionally comprehensive, so you didn't need to put it down for stale imitative realism. Yet... only three star. Not as deeply gripping as it might have been. Certainly worth while to read, and better than I could write, yet...(sometimes I feel like an a** critiqueing casually the works authors have spent years over).
Steelyshan on LibraryThing 22 days ago
The lessons and experiences are educational and interesting. The landscape is vivid enough to see clearly as you read this book and I was thoroughly engrossed until the totally unecessary "love-making" scene between the two sisters. GAG, why? I so would have loved to give this book a fantastic review but for that totally revolting part.
bkinetic on LibraryThing 22 days ago
Hegland portrays the lives of two sisters following the collapse of civilization. Such a collapse pares existence down to its most basic elements, leaving writers free to examine humanness in its most basic core forms, without the irrelevancies that make up so much of the commercialized world. The story has stays with you vividly. The ending at first seemed odd but, after it sunk in, uplifting and perfect.
bkswrites on LibraryThing 22 days ago
I don¿t claim to be a real fan of dystopias, but I can enjoy them when they¿re well executed. I was probably spoiled forever when someone introduced me to Octavia Butler. I can appreciate Margaret Atwood¿s, though even in my deep respect for "The Handmaid¿s Tale" lies a niggle around such total social change occurring in the course of only three years. Jean Hegland doesn¿t say much in her novel about society at large, just that the electricity has gone off and there¿s no gas, so everything else has collapsed. I might be able to fill in those blanks from 1996 worries (pre-War on Terror, no cell phones mentioned) if I knew why this family that has chosen to live in a clearing in the forest for all of the heroine/narrator Nell¿s life has continued to live as if on a suburban cul de sac. That continues to bother me through the novel, until the last five pages, when the figurative light bulb finally comes on and Nell and her sister Eva (get it?) apparently give up on the material ones ever coming on again. This is in large part a damsel-in-distress story, which I cannot appreciate. The men in it range from slavish to venal. I suppose it should be some consolation that the damsels eventually effect their own rescue, to whatever extent they are rescued. I shudder to think what the world will be for their child. I started this book in a place almost fully unexplained and was dragged through a world where, because of the characters¿ choices, I learned nothing.
Maydacat on LibraryThing 22 days ago
Into the Forest is a surreal look at a future that we can only hope will never be. That being said, it is a fascinating tale of two sisters and their life as the world around them crumbles. The relationship between the sisters, how it evolves with ever-changing circumstances, and how they cope with dwindling resources is a tale that you won¿t soon forget. Well written with believable characters, you will be engrossed to the very end.
LALemon on LibraryThing 5 months ago
I really disliked this book. I was hoping for "Plucky sisters survive after the collapse of society!" and instead it's something more like "Passive sisters you don't like very much mope around; nothing much happens."
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The reader isn't told what catastrophic event took place. But the realism of two young girls left alone in a forest with no survival skills is frightening.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Well written. Thought provoking. A good read!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Loved this book. Haunting. Read it years ago and still remember it vividly.
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Maximillian More than 1 year ago
The book at first remeinded me a little bit of The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Self-sufficiency and family love do prevail, but what does the future hold? I had a lot of questions in my mind after I finished the book.