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62 pages 2 hours read

Ash Davidson

Damnation Spring

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2021

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Themes

Ecology and Activism

Damnation Spring’s lush setting is a huge part of the novel, and it is clear Davidson is as awestruck by the towering redwoods. Davidson grew up in redwood country, but only because the fights she depicts in her novel were won by the conservationists her loggers deride as “hippies,” “tree huggers,” and “longhairs.” Otherwise, those stunning trees, “…redwoods older than the United States of America, saplings when Christ was born” (20), would have been lost to rapacious logging companies like Sanderson. Davidson puts readers in the middle of the struggle to preserve America’s natural heritage and protect its biodiversity. While she grants the issue its due complexity, depicting the trade-off between protecting the environment and providing a community jobs, she leads readers to a point where the fabled 24-7 Ridge appears to be in safe hands. Chub is a different breed than his father, and Davidson hints that he will not simply grow up a logger and chop down the redwoods. When Rich asks him what he would like to be when he grows up, Chub answers, “A carver” (407). His relationship to the forest is different and augurs well for the trees he and Colleen inherit.

Looking to the future is an important theme in Davidson’s novel, even if she is writing about the past. The choice to do so might be born of frustration over the fact that a fight to protect the environment is still necessary, but Davidson’s novel can also be instructional and inspirational, as humans seek to avoid catastrophic climate change. It is noteworthy that Davidson does not write simply about the redwoods but more widely about climate events. Throughout the story, for example, her characters think back to the floods that have hit the area. Colleen notices “the One and Only Tavern with its white line painted above the door: the high-water mark from ’64, the Christmas flood, when ankle creeks ran muddy to the waist and whole ridges slid out and buried roads” (96). It is easy to imagine how that white line that might be surpassed in the near future as sea levels rise and flooding becomes more prevalent. The redwoods might have been saved since 1977, but the specter of wider environmental upheaval haunts the book nonetheless.

Davidson points to the activism necessary to prevent such upheaval foremost with a character like Daniel. In an age where Greta Thunberg is a global icon, readers are more accustomed to environmental activists. Daniel, however, may as well arrive in Klamath as an extraterrestrial. He was an outsider when he left, as a bullied but bright Yurok teen, but he returns even more different, with a scientific and cultural education at odds with the exploitation of the forests. A sub-theme of Davidson’s story might be the cost of activism; Daniel’s obsession causes him blind spots that can hamper his cause, and he ends up estranged and on the run from death threats. But it is vital to portray these pioneering protesters, flaws and all, to show what might be necessary if people want to keep the planet hospitable to human life.

Capital Versus Labor

With Merle Sanderson on one side and workers like Rich on the other, the clash between capital and labor is a central theme in Damnation Spring. Merle is the unscrupulous boss who nickels and dimes every decision, even as his workers risk life and limb for him harvesting timber. As he threatens Rich at one point, “Soon as this rain quits, we’re going to work you so hard it’ll knock your dick down into the dirt” (335). Merle has no compunction about exploiting his workers, and Sanderson has a history of brushing them aside if they cause trouble—as shown by the sabotage of Lark’s climbing gear when he was working. The imperative of Merle’s managerial class is “profits before people.”

The nihilism of capital is also on full display here. Sanderson is ready to extract a finite resource right to the very end, even if it means endangering its own business. Only Merle’s switcheroo at the end represents anything like self-preservation, but it is not a genuine conversion to conservation; it is only the best way to make a buck amid the changing political environment. That it will leave the community without jobs and healthcare does not factor one iota into his thinking. Sanderson’s workers are completely disposable—even Eugene, who will ultimately have sacrificed his own baby’s healthy development and any vestige of integrity by burning down someone’s home for Merle. Davidson shows neatly here that despite Eugene’s aspiration to rub shoulders with Merle, that door is closed to his social class.

That foreclosure of social mobility drives Rich’s purchase of the 24-7 Ridge in the first place. After four generations of logging, several of those for the Sanderson family, Rich is still a worker and the Sandersons are still the bosses. His home is insecure. End, even before Merle reduces the loggers to a day rate once work moves from Damnation Grove to Deer Rib, Rich has little to chance to provide meaningful security for his family.

Davidson comes down in favor of the working class, showing sympathy for their struggle. By making Merle such a clear villain, and by showing her characters at work, the author depicts how skilled and complex their jobs really are. The logging crew really needs advocacy and a sustainable harvest plan. But as Rich knows, talk of sustainable logging won’t go down well with Merle: “It was just a hop, skip, and a jump from there to a union, pensions, vacation pay. Sanderson could smell a unionizer a mile off, snuffed that fire before it sparked” (36). Capitalism and good stewardship of natural resources do really not look compatible in Davidson’s novel.

The Shifting Role of Women

Much like attitudes to the environment, gender roles in 1977 Klamath seem to be on the cusp of changing. It is primarily Colleen, thanks in part to her position as a point-of-view character, that helps to show this evolution.

While Colleen is first and foremost a mother to Chub and wife to Rich, even what these institutions might mean is shifting under the Gundersens’ feet. Not many others in the community work, for example, but when Colleen gets wind of Rich’s financial troubles, she can imagine herself taking on a part-time job and bucking tradition, even if only out of necessity: “She would ask Gail Porter if she needed help in the office, or maybe Dot could use her at the register. If all else failed, she could find something up in Crescent City a few days a week […] Of course she couldn’t tell Rich, not yet. The hurt look he would give her. You think I can’t take care of us?” (395).

That spirit of independence is at odds with Rich’s pride and with the community at large. The men around Colleen have set ideas about what women should be doing: looking after the children, serving the food at company functions, and doting on their men. As Colleen remarks, “Eugene had never so much as fried an egg in his life. He’d barbecue, but indoor cooking was a woman’s job” (179). Eugene also has other ideas about how Colleen behaves, telling Rich on several occasions to, “control your damn wife” (286). But even he and his intimidation cannot stop Colleen taking on a new and unusual role: as an activist, in cahoots with Daniel. Colleen realizes not only that she must do something about the situation, but that she can do something. Colleen’s seizure of agency becomes a theme of the story. Note how Davidson also shows her maintaining the water pipe that feeds the house after Rich dies. The implication is that, despite the tragic circumstances, she continues to grow beyond the narrow role she and others once imagined for her.

It is also worth considering how Colleen reshapes her romantic life. By cheating on Rich with Daniel, she certainly does something of which she is not proud. But by the same token, it allows her ultimately to address a lack of intimacy in her marriage: “You’re not even looking at me now. You show the dog more affection” (312), she hurls at Rich as they argue. And while Rich’s intentions have been noble—not wanting to put Colleen through another miscarriage—he has failed to communicate with her over her needs and concerns. Colleen changes all that and reshapes her relationship to Rich into a far happier one—even if it will prove short-lived.

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