43 pages • 1 hour read
Aimee NezhukumatathilA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Of Nezhukumatathil’s many childhood moves, her most difficult is from Gowanda, New York, to suburban Ohio after her sophomore year of high school. She promises to stay in touch with her best friends, Americ and Sara, but loses touch soon after moving. Many years later, she returns to Western New York for a position at a university. While teaching there, she marries her husband and gives birth to her children. She likes New York, but it isn’t her “forever home”—she grows tired of the lack of racial diversity in the area and at her work and of the long, cold winters. She eventually moves to Oxford, Mississippi, where she currently lives.
Nezhukumatathil compares her “homing instinct” to that of the red-spotted newt. The newt’s dark red spots warn potential predators that they are poisonous. These newts spend years wandering but eventually “find their way home by aligning with the earth’s electromagnetic field” (140), returning to ponds they were born in.
The Southern cassowary is a large bird nicknamed “the living dinosaur” due to its prehistoric skeletal features and the “dark growth of keratin on the top of the cassowary’s head” (146). They have a unique symbiotic relationship with the fruit trees that make up most of their diet: “[S]eeds from the ryparosa, a highly prized Australian tree, are more likely to sprout after a ride through the cassowary’s digestive tract” (147). They have dangerously sharp claws and have attacked and killed humans before. In 2019, a man in Florida was killed by one of his pet cassowaries when he accidentally startled it. Their call is a low “boom,” below the range of human hearing.
Cassowary populations are decreasing, and many cassowaries are killed in car accidents. Nezhukumatathil wonders if there are not sufficient efforts to protect cassowaries because they aren’t as well-known as other species found in zoos. She concludes the chapter with admonishments about people littering: “Boom, I want to say to the family who left their empty plastic water bottles on a bench at Niagara Falls State Park […]. Don’t you see? We are all connected” (146).
Monarch butterflies can pass flight pattern information on through generations. While migrating, they will sometimes fly around a mountain that has long since eroded. Nezhukumatathil calls this generational memory an “invisible kiss” and considers her own family legacy. She cracks a geode at her son’s birthday party. Later, at her home in Mississippi, a “beautiful lime-green chrysalis” forms in the front porch doorway (152). Her children notice and check on it every day. The chrysalis never hatches, and her husband eventually disposes of it while the kids are at school, though she suspects her sons “noticed it was gone” (154). One night, she hears her youngest son pray for the chrysalis.
Nezhukumatathil and her family are staying at the Grisham House, a large property in Mississippi, as part of a 10-month residency. They see lots of fireflies, and her children want to stay out every night. Nezhukumatathil is surprised that many students in her poetry seminars have never seen a firefly, and some have never heard of them. She asks her students what they did for fun growing up and learns that many spent most of their time watching TV or playing video games.
Firefly populations are decreasing “due to lawn pesticides and light pollution” (157). Nezhukumatathil mourns the loss of wildlife and the loss of environmental knowledge she notices in her students. She concludes the chapter by reflecting on the firefly’s ability to “light a memory I thought was long lost” (159) and by stressing the importance of “cherishing this magnificent and wondrous planet” (160).
“Red-Spotted Newt” and “Monarch Butterfly” emphasize the homing capabilities of their respective species. Nezhukumatathil uses the long distances traveled by these animals to understand her own geographical history. By chronicling the destruction of wildlife habitats, Nezhukumatathil draws parallels between animal migration, human immigration, and her own moves around the United States. Her move to Mississippi isn’t a literal return, but it feels like home: “I was finally where I needed to be […] my homing instinct pulled me so strongly to this land” (143). Like the newts and butterflies, Nezhukumatathil feels an instinctive connection to her habitat.
Like other chapters, “Monarch Butterfly” deals with family bonding over natural phenomena, in this case, the formation of a chrysalis. As in “Octopus,” Nezhukumatathil and her sons experience and process the death of an animal together. Again, she is effectively passing on her love for the natural world to her sons: “the monarch butterfly means so much to our whole family” (154).
“Monarch Butterfly” also contains perhaps Nezhukumatathil’s most explicit expression of the concept of generational memory. She speculates that “perhaps, in the distant future, a sound that resembles my voice will still haunt my great-great-great-great-great-grandchild—a sound she can’t quite place, can’t quite name” (151). The monarch butterfly’s instinctual memory of flight plans represents the information she passes to her children, but also the information that passes from her mother to her children, through her, and so on, across generations.
“Southern Cassowary” and “Firefly (Redux)” expand the concept of generational memory past individual families and into memory as the history of the planet’s biosphere. Cassowary and firefly populations are both decreasing due to human activity. Nezhukumatathil is frustrated with human ignorance—she wishes individuals would be more mindful of their environmental impact and is concerned with her students’ lack of wildlife knowledge. Passing on knowledge and her sense of wonder is contrasted with the reality of ignorance, forgetting, and loss.
By Aimee Nezhukumatathil