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Moving Mountains: Writing Nature through Illness and Disability
A first-of-its-kind anthology of nature writing by authors living with chronic illness and physical disability
Through 25 pieces, the writers of Moving Mountains offer a vision of nature that encompasses the close up, the microscopic, and the vast.
From a single falling raindrop to the enormity of the north wind, this is nature experienced wholly and acutely, written from the perspective of disabled and chronically ill authors.
Moving Mountains is not about overcoming or conquering, but about living with and connecting, shifting the reader’s attention to the things easily overlooked by those who move through the world untroubled by the body that carries them.
Through 25 pieces, the writers of Moving Mountains offer a vision of nature that encompasses the close up, the microscopic, and the vast.
From a single falling raindrop to the enormity of the north wind, this is nature experienced wholly and acutely, written from the perspective of disabled and chronically ill authors.
Moving Mountains is not about overcoming or conquering, but about living with and connecting, shifting the reader’s attention to the things easily overlooked by those who move through the world untroubled by the body that carries them.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published October 23, 2023
24 people are currently reading
380 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
October 10, 2023
‘Moving Mountains’ is a collection of 25 essays and poems centring on the theme of nature and chronic illness and disability. All the pieces are personal in nature and examine the authors relationship with their own health and the natural world.
Recently there has been a lot of new writing around nature and illness and disability. Possibly a result of the pandemic which made so many people realise how fragile health is and also a want to reconnect to nature has helped gather interest in this area which was previously unexplored and a voice that was missing from nature writing. As a result of this more recent increase though this book does arrive into a landscape where lots of similar writing and poems are also emerging making it perhaps a bit harder to stand out.
I do think that anthologies can be great as there is often something in there for everyone and each reader takes something different away than another reader might have done. That being said for me there were very much two stand out writers, Isobel Anderson who wrote a fantastic piece connecting her own health and challenges getting proper medical support with her walking. The other brilliant piece was by Eli Clare (who I’m really hoping will write lots more) whose essay looked at different modes of movement and how we physically get around in nature. Clare’s piece made me think and reflect and I loved how it challenged assumptions and spun things round to be looked at in another light. As someone who is disabled it definitely made me examine my own thoughts about movement and what is and is not talked about.
While I enjoyed the book overall it did at times feel as if the writers had written about their illness and then afterwards tried to find the link to nature and it felt the connection didn’t always sit quite right and something was off within the book as a result. Maybe if it had solely focused on illness or really pushed the nature side more this might not have been the case.
Overall I did enjoy this and I think that the range in the anthology could be a good place for people to get started in the genre to find further writers and themes that they would look into. However for me it didn’t have the potential powerful ness that it could have done.
Recently there has been a lot of new writing around nature and illness and disability. Possibly a result of the pandemic which made so many people realise how fragile health is and also a want to reconnect to nature has helped gather interest in this area which was previously unexplored and a voice that was missing from nature writing. As a result of this more recent increase though this book does arrive into a landscape where lots of similar writing and poems are also emerging making it perhaps a bit harder to stand out.
I do think that anthologies can be great as there is often something in there for everyone and each reader takes something different away than another reader might have done. That being said for me there were very much two stand out writers, Isobel Anderson who wrote a fantastic piece connecting her own health and challenges getting proper medical support with her walking. The other brilliant piece was by Eli Clare (who I’m really hoping will write lots more) whose essay looked at different modes of movement and how we physically get around in nature. Clare’s piece made me think and reflect and I loved how it challenged assumptions and spun things round to be looked at in another light. As someone who is disabled it definitely made me examine my own thoughts about movement and what is and is not talked about.
While I enjoyed the book overall it did at times feel as if the writers had written about their illness and then afterwards tried to find the link to nature and it felt the connection didn’t always sit quite right and something was off within the book as a result. Maybe if it had solely focused on illness or really pushed the nature side more this might not have been the case.
Overall I did enjoy this and I think that the range in the anthology could be a good place for people to get started in the genre to find further writers and themes that they would look into. However for me it didn’t have the potential powerful ness that it could have done.
August 27, 2025
(3.5) I often read memoirs about chronic illness and disability – the sort of narratives recognized by the Barbellion and ACDI Literary Prizes – and the idea of nature essays that reckon with health limitations was an irresistible draw. The quality in this anthology varies widely, from excellent to barely readable (for poor prose or pretentiousness). I’ll be kind and not name names in the latter category; I’ll only say the book has been poorly served by the editing process. The best material is generally from authors with published books that I have read: Polly Atkin, Victoria Bennett, Sally Huband, and Abi Palmer. For the first three, the essay feels like an extension of their memoir, while Palmer’s inventive piece is about recreating seasons for her indoor cats. My three favourite entries, however, were Louisa Adjoa Parker’s poem “This Is Not Just Tired,” Nic Wilson’s “A Quince in the Hand” (she’s an acquaintance through New Networks for Nature and has a memoir out this summer), and Eli Clare’s “Moving Close to the Ground,” about being willing to scoot and crawl to get into nature. A number of the other pieces are repetitive, overlong or poorly shaped and don’t integrate information about illness in a natural way. Kudos to Kenward for including BIPOC and trans/queer voices, though.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
August 30, 2023
Moving Mountains: Writing Illness and Disability Through Nature is the first collection of essays of its kind that I’ve read. Curated and edited by Louise Kenward, twenty-five essays share a diversity of voices on living with chronic illness and/or a disability and how patterns, reflections and solace are found in nature. Many of the writers also explore how nature can be vehicle for change in regards to awareness around certain conditions, societal stigmas and treatment. In short, this isn’t an anthology which repeats that nature is a panacea for all ills, it is an anthology which wishes to acknowledge the many facets of nature and how it figures in our lives, particularly in the lives of those who often find themselves bed-bound or with limited mobility.
As a result, many of the pieces are both validating and enlightening, with the diversity of voice being incredibly refreshing. Moving Mountains encourages the reader to consider their relationship to nature, and personally, as someone who is chronically ill, it gave me pause and time to reflect upon how I can use nature and writing in tandem to process my own experience. You are encouraged to find a space of belonging in wild and natural landscapes and this was inspiring.
The inclusion of poetry was brilliant too as was the list of resources for several conditions at the end. My only gripe is how tenuous at times the link to nature felt, especially towards the end. The first ten essays were certainly the strongest and the best in demonstrating Kenward’s purpose in curating this collection. Despite this though, I’d still highly recommend this as an important read and I’m grateful a collection like this exists.
As a result, many of the pieces are both validating and enlightening, with the diversity of voice being incredibly refreshing. Moving Mountains encourages the reader to consider their relationship to nature, and personally, as someone who is chronically ill, it gave me pause and time to reflect upon how I can use nature and writing in tandem to process my own experience. You are encouraged to find a space of belonging in wild and natural landscapes and this was inspiring.
The inclusion of poetry was brilliant too as was the list of resources for several conditions at the end. My only gripe is how tenuous at times the link to nature felt, especially towards the end. The first ten essays were certainly the strongest and the best in demonstrating Kenward’s purpose in curating this collection. Despite this though, I’d still highly recommend this as an important read and I’m grateful a collection like this exists.
October 9, 2023
Thank you to Footnote Press and NetGalley for my advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Actual rating: 3.5 stars.
Moving Mountains is an anthology of nature writing and essays, all from the lens of those living with illness and disability. I found it to be an immediately rewarding and illuminating read, as the author opens it with a brilliant introduction that covers the beauty of nature, their motivations for writing the book, and an insight into, specifically, why it’s important to see nature through the eyes of those with disabilities.
I found this to be a beautiful and thought-provoking read. Nature shines through in all of the essays, but so does humanness and a look into how many people live in our society. I am not chronically ill but I still took a lot from this book, understanding deeper how wild landscapes offer a sense of both solace and belonging.
Actual rating: 3.5 stars.
Moving Mountains is an anthology of nature writing and essays, all from the lens of those living with illness and disability. I found it to be an immediately rewarding and illuminating read, as the author opens it with a brilliant introduction that covers the beauty of nature, their motivations for writing the book, and an insight into, specifically, why it’s important to see nature through the eyes of those with disabilities.
I found this to be a beautiful and thought-provoking read. Nature shines through in all of the essays, but so does humanness and a look into how many people live in our society. I am not chronically ill but I still took a lot from this book, understanding deeper how wild landscapes offer a sense of both solace and belonging.
January 14, 2024
This book was outstanding! All the essays explore what it means to be a disabled person in nature and how the onset of disability and illness has affected that relationship. I've recently felt so disillusioned with the outdoors because mainstream art, film and literature all celebrate physical achievement and overcoming obstacles. As a chronically ill person I felt less and less like the outdoors was a space for me to be in at all, as I couldn't experience it the way I was supposed to. This book is the perfect remedy to that.
May 20, 2025
I really enjoyed this anthology. It had a slow start for me but gradually drew me in. As a lover of nature and a chronically ill person, the themes of this book felt really apt to me. I appreciated its variety: variety in forms of writing (prose, poetry), in landscapes/forms of nature presented, and in perspectives (from authors with different illnesses, from different domiciles of origin, of different ethnicities, with different... energies? predilections? personalities?, different levels of mobility, at different stages of recovery, and so on).
The book's introduction distinguishes between the medical model and social model of disability. In the medical model - through an ableist society's lens - disability is pathology: Aberration: something Bad to be Removed if one is to be "Well" and Fit For Society. "The social model of disability", however, "turns this notion on its head, framing society as holding the barriers to our engagement with the world around us," says Louise Kenward. Indeed, "this is a long-fought and valuable model" (xxiv).
I noticed in most of these pieces a resistance to the popular "overcoming narrative" common in not just disability writing but stories in general - if you'll allow me to generalise (see "Narrative Prosthesis" - David Mitchell and Sharon Snyder - which uses the example of the famous story of The Steadfast Tin Shoulder to elucidate how stories often begin with the impetus of lack - in this case, disability - and end with said disability's annulment). Most pieces refuse to end "happy" or "cured". Which makes sense, because chronic illness, of course, being chronic, lacks a clear "end". This makes me think of Ursula Le Guin's "Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction", which rejects the Hero's Journey, the grandiose overcoming narrative. In this collection, many of the works end on a note of... persistence? Persisting in this world Despite It All; Persisting in worlds of the authors' own building - be it their little gardens, their darkened bedrooms, the new homes they move to, their communities and families. Everyone says that it is hard, so very hard. Not just because of the physical and cognitive disability itself but also the learned shame, the invalidating medical systems, the left-behind-ness, the loss of some friendships, the extrication/continuation of self from the pre-disability bodymind.
Standout pieces for me:
- On Becoming Ocean by Victoria Bennett
- 712 Stanza Homes For The Sun by Cat Chong (Singaporean author!)
- Under a Wide Blue Sky: Chronic Illness, Nature and Me by Louisa Adjoa Parker
- Abi Palmer Invents the Weather by Abi Palmer (this was so cute -- the author created little microcosms of weather at home for their cats)
- Threatening Rain: On Bodies, Bad Weather and Bad Clothing by Polly Atkin
- The Clocktower and the Canopy by Khairani Barokka (a precious Southeast Asian perspective! - and groundbreaking in explaining how the word "nature" doesn't even exist in their native language, given how it is only after/through colonialism that the body/mind/nature are severed.)
- Moving Close to the Ground: A Messy Love Song by Eli Claire
- the ME gospel to those with Long Covid, and the radical manifesto (so metal!!!) written against the NHS' recommendations to those with Long Covid in "the poet limps in words as a balance for worlds" by Alec Finlay
I think every piece had something to it to recommend. I think this is just a matter of personal preference but I couldn't sink into most of the more experimental poems written. (Louisa Adjoa Parker's was great!)
I also saw another comment that said that the emphasis felt greater on disability than on nature. I do agree. I think that these essays have to be experimental by nature of its themes and to me it makes sense that in the intertwining of disability and nature, the primacy of disability sometime takes over the narrative almost completely, in the struggle of the body to locate itself in soil and rain and trees.
There was perhaps a looseness and airiness to some pieces that I couldn't grasp; additionally, many of the UK references went over my head. Some of the pieces also tended to blend into one another and at times the book felt like one long contemplation - I wonder if some sparks/some "punch" punctuated in at points might have helped me to grip onto this a little more?
Nonetheless, this book was overall very affirming and validating for me. I'm very grateful for it. I took away the fact that there is really no one way to view or talk about illness or disability or one's relation to, yearning for, engagement with nature. Sometimes, it's the limitations of the body that open up alternative dialogues and experiences with nature; for some authors, nature becomes symbolic for body and vice versa; both body (of self) and body (of nature) open up and reveal new things under compassionate dialectic.
This book felt like one big important safe space for this kind of exploration. It encouraged me to do so for myself too, whether in writing or communing or just simple, wonderful rest. And since we are all inextricable from nature, disability can be a call for us to return to the soft animals of ourselves (Mary Oliver - Wild Geese); disability can be our greatest teacher (Gabor Mate - The Myth of Normal).
Borrowed from Bedok Library
The book's introduction distinguishes between the medical model and social model of disability. In the medical model - through an ableist society's lens - disability is pathology: Aberration: something Bad to be Removed if one is to be "Well" and Fit For Society. "The social model of disability", however, "turns this notion on its head, framing society as holding the barriers to our engagement with the world around us," says Louise Kenward. Indeed, "this is a long-fought and valuable model" (xxiv).
I noticed in most of these pieces a resistance to the popular "overcoming narrative" common in not just disability writing but stories in general - if you'll allow me to generalise (see "Narrative Prosthesis" - David Mitchell and Sharon Snyder - which uses the example of the famous story of The Steadfast Tin Shoulder to elucidate how stories often begin with the impetus of lack - in this case, disability - and end with said disability's annulment). Most pieces refuse to end "happy" or "cured". Which makes sense, because chronic illness, of course, being chronic, lacks a clear "end". This makes me think of Ursula Le Guin's "Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction", which rejects the Hero's Journey, the grandiose overcoming narrative. In this collection, many of the works end on a note of... persistence? Persisting in this world Despite It All; Persisting in worlds of the authors' own building - be it their little gardens, their darkened bedrooms, the new homes they move to, their communities and families. Everyone says that it is hard, so very hard. Not just because of the physical and cognitive disability itself but also the learned shame, the invalidating medical systems, the left-behind-ness, the loss of some friendships, the extrication/continuation of self from the pre-disability bodymind.
Standout pieces for me:
- On Becoming Ocean by Victoria Bennett
- 712 Stanza Homes For The Sun by Cat Chong (Singaporean author!)
- Under a Wide Blue Sky: Chronic Illness, Nature and Me by Louisa Adjoa Parker
- Abi Palmer Invents the Weather by Abi Palmer (this was so cute -- the author created little microcosms of weather at home for their cats)
- Threatening Rain: On Bodies, Bad Weather and Bad Clothing by Polly Atkin
- The Clocktower and the Canopy by Khairani Barokka (a precious Southeast Asian perspective! - and groundbreaking in explaining how the word "nature" doesn't even exist in their native language, given how it is only after/through colonialism that the body/mind/nature are severed.)
- Moving Close to the Ground: A Messy Love Song by Eli Claire
- the ME gospel to those with Long Covid, and the radical manifesto (so metal!!!) written against the NHS' recommendations to those with Long Covid in "the poet limps in words as a balance for worlds" by Alec Finlay
I think every piece had something to it to recommend. I think this is just a matter of personal preference but I couldn't sink into most of the more experimental poems written. (Louisa Adjoa Parker's was great!)
I also saw another comment that said that the emphasis felt greater on disability than on nature. I do agree. I think that these essays have to be experimental by nature of its themes and to me it makes sense that in the intertwining of disability and nature, the primacy of disability sometime takes over the narrative almost completely, in the struggle of the body to locate itself in soil and rain and trees.
There was perhaps a looseness and airiness to some pieces that I couldn't grasp; additionally, many of the UK references went over my head. Some of the pieces also tended to blend into one another and at times the book felt like one long contemplation - I wonder if some sparks/some "punch" punctuated in at points might have helped me to grip onto this a little more?
Nonetheless, this book was overall very affirming and validating for me. I'm very grateful for it. I took away the fact that there is really no one way to view or talk about illness or disability or one's relation to, yearning for, engagement with nature. Sometimes, it's the limitations of the body that open up alternative dialogues and experiences with nature; for some authors, nature becomes symbolic for body and vice versa; both body (of self) and body (of nature) open up and reveal new things under compassionate dialectic.
This book felt like one big important safe space for this kind of exploration. It encouraged me to do so for myself too, whether in writing or communing or just simple, wonderful rest. And since we are all inextricable from nature, disability can be a call for us to return to the soft animals of ourselves (Mary Oliver - Wild Geese); disability can be our greatest teacher (Gabor Mate - The Myth of Normal).
Borrowed from Bedok Library
January 6, 2025
"It's reminded me of the instability of my world, of inhabiting instability. Internally, there are fluctuations, and externally too. I need to avoid shingle beaches, fields and slopes, all uneven ground. And now I see the unevenness of ground everywhere."
Moving Mountains should’ve been a homerun for me… I love disability memoirs/non-fiction ánd I love nature-writing, and this hyper specific subgenre that combines both is one that speaks to my soul and I can’t get enough of. When I found this anthology of just that I was over the moon excited: not only for the pieces in here, but also as a way to be introduced to new authors whom backlog I’d like to look into.
Despite all the green-flags hinting that I’d love this, I ended up feeling absolutely nothing towards this book. Which might in the end be worse than disliking it.
What I liked:
Moving Mountains bundles 25 pieces of short-fiction, essays and a handful of poems by disabled authors, themed around the way their disability frames their interactions with the natural world around them. The foreword and motivation by Louise Kenward does a great job of introducing new readers to why this is such an important theme for many in the disabled community, and I could very much relate to this.
I liked the variety of styles and perspectives included in here. I liked that the collection took care not to frame nature as some sort of panacea to “cure the sick”, which is one of my most hated tropes when it comes to this genre. I also liked a handful of pieces enough to seek out the authors other works (listed below).
What I didn’t like:
The main problem, and it pains me to say this, is that 90% of this collection was utterly forgettable. The power in combining nature- with disability-writing is that you have to nail both components, and barely any of the essays here did that for me. Many are personal accounts of the authors’ experiences with their chronic illness or disability (which there’s nothing wrong with!), that feel like they have a metaphor about nature clunkily tagged onto it to fit this collections theme. The stories they tell, are powerful, but for many, the way they were told just simply wasn’t…
Additionally (and again, this pains me), very little in this collection was insightful to me, or offered me a new perspective I hadn’t considered before. This is very personal to me: I’ve lived with a disability the majority of my life, I work as an MD with chronically ill people, and I do a lot of reading, thinking and writing on the subject myself, so my bar might be unrealistically high. That being said, this felt like a very “introductory” collection at best, that I don’t think will offer many new insights to readers who’re already familiar with common thoughts and metaphors in this subgenre.
Standout pieces to me were:
- Endometriosis and the Female Trinity in the Peak District by Rowan Jaines
- Threatening Rain by Polly Atkin
unsurprisingly, as she’s the author of one of my favourite books in this subgenre Some of Us Just Fall: On Nature and Not Getting Better
- Things in Jars by Louise Kenward
- On Becoming Ocean by Victoria Bennett
Currently reading
July 11, 20257/10 - still working thru intro. The ideas of "natural" and "normal," tho. So often "natural" is used to force ppl to conform to arbitrary ideas of "normal." I.e., the presumption that that which is "normal" is normal b/c it is "natural." "Natural" meaning unadulterated - untampered - left to be what it is w/o intervention or adjustment. And "natural" is better - more wholesome - than non-natural (whatever non-natural is/means). There are all kinds of fallacies w/ this thinking, tho.
(Natural vs. artificial?)
At any rate - my body is natural. It is part of nature. It is different from most bodies, to an extent that means it doesn't really belong in U.S. society - it doesn't fit, doesn't have a place. It's not welcome. I feel alienated and othered by my differences, or by the... inflexibility of social constructs. But I think - I've observed - that in the natural world there is room for a multiplicity of... physicalities. Manifestations of the genetic code. The natural world is neither welcoming nor alientating - it simply is - and I can simply BE IN IT - be part of it - in a way I can't do - don't feel able to do - w/ other humans and their culturally-encoded expectations of what bodies are *supposed* to be / do. In nature - this non-judgmental space (neither positive nor negative judgment) I can make myself a home - where I can be myself - where my body can be itself - be what it is - away from the controlling... away from the tightly defined ways to body that ppl come up with - away from the policing and definitions and... etc. As I'm typing this I'm thinking again abt my interest in "What is bigger than me, that I belong to?" Which has a feeling like laying in a hammock - being suspended, encapsulated, held, enmeshed, PART OF. So maybe what I'm saying is stop knocking on the door of... I don't have a word for it. The ppl part of the world. Specifically the world the ppl around me have created - with unspoken expectations and also w/ organizational constructions - that say, "Be this way." I mean, I *happen* to live in Indiana, in the United States, and so I inherit the rules and culture the ppl HERE have created. 'PPL,' in general, could be different (i.e., cultures and organizational structures vary) but *this* is where *I* happen to be.
What I mean is. Maybe focus less on the systems larger than myself that alienate me and tell me I need to be something/one different. Like the Monson family. Like the medical system. And instead direct my attention to the systems larger than myself that are either welcoming or neutral. That I'm a part of w/o chafing. That I'm a part of w/o qualification. I don't think it has to be a "welcome home" kind of situation - that's perhaps setting the bar too high - but places where it's OK to be MYSELF - no expectation that I need to be different in order to have a place. Which, given the context I'm coming out of, FEELS like a welcome. Even tho - it's important to pay attention to this - the natural world is human-neutral. It's neither welcoming nor dismissive. Still - the freedom to be who I am w/o being harassed - feels good.
PS - the element of CONTROL - I so often feel like ppl are trying to control me. Maybe b/c my parents WERE and so I'm sensitive to that pressure when I experience it elsewhere. But ppl try to control the natural world. And can't. B/c it's WILD. (WILDerness.) Something else to consider as I'm rolling these ideas around in my brain. And body. And heart.
(Natural vs. artificial?)
At any rate - my body is natural. It is part of nature. It is different from most bodies, to an extent that means it doesn't really belong in U.S. society - it doesn't fit, doesn't have a place. It's not welcome. I feel alienated and othered by my differences, or by the... inflexibility of social constructs. But I think - I've observed - that in the natural world there is room for a multiplicity of... physicalities. Manifestations of the genetic code. The natural world is neither welcoming nor alientating - it simply is - and I can simply BE IN IT - be part of it - in a way I can't do - don't feel able to do - w/ other humans and their culturally-encoded expectations of what bodies are *supposed* to be / do. In nature - this non-judgmental space (neither positive nor negative judgment) I can make myself a home - where I can be myself - where my body can be itself - be what it is - away from the controlling... away from the tightly defined ways to body that ppl come up with - away from the policing and definitions and... etc. As I'm typing this I'm thinking again abt my interest in "What is bigger than me, that I belong to?" Which has a feeling like laying in a hammock - being suspended, encapsulated, held, enmeshed, PART OF. So maybe what I'm saying is stop knocking on the door of... I don't have a word for it. The ppl part of the world. Specifically the world the ppl around me have created - with unspoken expectations and also w/ organizational constructions - that say, "Be this way." I mean, I *happen* to live in Indiana, in the United States, and so I inherit the rules and culture the ppl HERE have created. 'PPL,' in general, could be different (i.e., cultures and organizational structures vary) but *this* is where *I* happen to be.
What I mean is. Maybe focus less on the systems larger than myself that alienate me and tell me I need to be something/one different. Like the Monson family. Like the medical system. And instead direct my attention to the systems larger than myself that are either welcoming or neutral. That I'm a part of w/o chafing. That I'm a part of w/o qualification. I don't think it has to be a "welcome home" kind of situation - that's perhaps setting the bar too high - but places where it's OK to be MYSELF - no expectation that I need to be different in order to have a place. Which, given the context I'm coming out of, FEELS like a welcome. Even tho - it's important to pay attention to this - the natural world is human-neutral. It's neither welcoming nor dismissive. Still - the freedom to be who I am w/o being harassed - feels good.
PS - the element of CONTROL - I so often feel like ppl are trying to control me. Maybe b/c my parents WERE and so I'm sensitive to that pressure when I experience it elsewhere. But ppl try to control the natural world. And can't. B/c it's WILD. (WILDerness.) Something else to consider as I'm rolling these ideas around in my brain. And body. And heart.
September 26, 2023
"Moving Mountains" is a unique compilation of 25 essays, providing a remarkable glimpse into the world of disabled and chronically-ill authors. This anthology stands as pioneering work in its genre, shedding light on the lives of individuals for whom conquering physical mountains remains a dream. As someone who can personally relate to the challenges of chronic illness, I found solace and connection in the narratives shared within this collection. However, while the book offers profound insights into the daily struggles of these authors, the incorporation of nature elements occasionally lacked the impact I had hoped for. Nonetheless, "Moving Mountains" remains a valuable and enlightening read for anyone seeking to understand the resilient spirit of those who can't live their life in the ways they would like.
November 6, 2023
So many perspectives to consider.
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