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How California's worst fire season — so far — became a writer's most powerful metaphor

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How California's worst fire season — so far — became a writer's most powerful metaphor

On the Shelf

The Last Fire Season

By Manjula Martin
Pantheon: 352 pages, $29

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By common measures, Manjula Martin is not a hopeful person. “In the current discussion of climate change,” she said, “‘hope’ is often used as a shorthand for returning to normal, otherwise known as business as usual.”

The sentiment pervades the writer’s new memoir, “The Last Fire Season,” but it prompts an important question, which I brought up during a video chat with Martin in late December: Why would people who feel hopeless about climate change still be motivated to do anything about it?

“I don’t actually believe there’s no hope for continued human existence, but if that’s true, then it’s even more important that we take care of each other and respect the land,” Martin says. A former editor of Zoetrope magazine, she co-wrote the 2019 horticultural guide “Fruit Trees for Every Garden” — hardly the product of a fatalist. She turns the question around: “That process of learning to give and take real care is actually the best chance we have of constructing real hope.”

But then she adds, “If mutual care isn’t working for you either, maybe try anger?”

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This interplay of care and anger is partly what makes “The Last Fire Season” riveting. It is both a chronicle and a handbook of the struggle to fight the distortion of grief into despair.

The fire season of the title took place in 2020, a year of catastrophes for Martin, California and the world. COVID-19 filled hospitals and morgues and led to widespread isolation, U.S. democracy was challenged as never before and 58,258 forest fires nationwide burned more than 10 million acres, including 4.3 million in California. Martin, who grew up in Santa Cruz, lives two hours north of San Francisco in a heavily forested part of Sonoma County.

One night that August, she and her partner witnessed a furious storm. “The blades of electricity bisected the air,” Martin writes in the book. “My insides were set abuzz. My lungs contracted like they’d just hit cold water; my jaw compacted into itself; every muscle in my pelvis … felt as though it had been turned to wood. Somewhere inside my brain every synapse fired, and I was thrust into a whorl of anxiety: go, go, go.”

“The response to disaster can’t be to do the exact same thing all over again,” says Manjula Martin, author of the new memoir “The Last Fire Season.”

(Manjula Martin)

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They decided to evacuate a few days later, as the rapidly developing Lightning complex fire was drawing near. The coastal redwoods that towered over her house had never seemed so vulnerable — and neither had she.

Packed in her “go bag was an ample supply of pain medication. A dislodged IUD had led to a hysterectomy and other surgeries, leaving Martin with chronic, debilitating pain. She was learning to live in a changing, damaged body, just as the forest over her head was adapting its own series of catastrophes. As a writer, she loves embracing that metaphor, along with its contradictions.

“I think the ghost of Susan Sontag is always looking over my shoulder when I talk about my health crisis and compare it to the wildfire crisis,” she says with a laugh, in reference to Sontag’s famous excoriation of “Illness as Metaphor.” But the parallels resonated in her life.

“In a practical way, an everyday life kind of way, I found that I had skills that I didn’t know I had because of my health crisis,” she adds. “Those skills included understanding that things are never gonna be the same. And that sucks. But it also opens up all these interesting, weird … nonconventional ways of thinking and interacting with each other and with the land.”

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Like the scorched forests around her home, she had also been harmed by companies “who are OK with a certain margin of error in their product.” At the same time, “accidents are accidents. They’re not always someone’s fault. But that was really the key to connecting my personal experience of harm with these larger systems that are very intricately linked to climate change.”

What opened her up to the parallels, Martin says, was gardening. “Once I started gardening as I was recovering from my surgeries — there’s that very cliché thing of putting your hands in dirt — but that cliché comes from truth. It wasn’t that feeling of life cycles and generation and renewal necessarily. It was the pleasure.” It was also the stark, clarifying push-and-pull with nature: “You do things that are harmful, like cutting things, and the plants push back, and then you have to wait a year to find out what’s gonna happen.”

Waiting for a body or a forest to heal involves an analogous kind of patience. But if Martin had simply dropped her metaphor and left it at that, her memoir would be much shorter and less interesting. Instead, the author is quick to acknowledge the flaws and contradictions in such comparisons. Gardening, for one, is a privilege, and she is well aware of the ways economics, race and historical forces have influenced her relationship with nature.

The stewardship of the land by California’s Indigenous people included “good fire,” the types of prescribed burns increasingly recognized as a key to preventing massive firestorms. In recent years, many tribal fire experts have been asked to fix the forests.

But Martin says the approach needs to be cooperative and collaborative. Her book quotes Margo Robbins, a Yurok fire expert: “Native people can’t do it on their own … we don’t own that much of the land, for one thing.”

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“I think it’s especially the responsibility of those who have carried out these harmful actions to make reparations,” Martin tells me, “both to the land and its original inhabitants. And it’s the responsibility of all who benefit from these harms to ensure that happens. I include myself in that group, as a white property owner who is a direct beneficiary of the colonization of the land where I live.”

This is one reason that, despite the fact that 2020 was definitely not the last fire season, Martin and her partner are staying put. “What you have to do is learn to adjust and live in the new normal as it will be,” she says.

Just don’t attach a hashtag to her actions: “In some neighborhoods, you’ll see a lot of signs that say ‘Thank you, firefighters.’ I don’t fault those emotions. They’re very real. But it’s what I call ‘hashtag hope.’ The response to disaster [can’t] be to do the exact same thing all over again.”

Martin understands that terms like “new normal” might feel like defeat — as toothless in its way as the dreaded word hope. In the book, however, she draws inspiration from eco-psychologist Joanna Macy, who argues that despair opens us up possibilities for change. Martin’s body and her environment have taught her a lot about despair, but also about adaptation.

As we finish our chat, Martin asks me to stay on the line while she moves outside. “They’re babies,” she says, gesturing to the hundred-year-old redwoods that tower over her lawn. “I used to wonder why, when it’s windy, trees don’t just instantly fall down, they’re so tall,” she says. “And I realized it’s because they’re alive. The same way a person standing upright doesn’t fall down — they’re alive. They dance.”

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Berry writes for a number of publications and tweets @BerryFLW.

Movie Reviews

Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar

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Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar

4/5 stars

Bounding into cinemas just in time for spring, the latest Pixar animation is a pleasingly charming tale of man vs nature, with a bit of crazy robot tech thrown in.

The star of Hoppers is Mabel Tanaka (voiced by Piper Curda), a young animal-lover leading a one-girl protest over a freeway being built through the tranquil countryside near her hometown of Beaverton.

Because the freeway is the pet project of the town’s popular mayor, Jerry (Jon Hamm), who is vying for re-election, Mabel’s protests fall on deaf ears.

Everything changes when she stumbles upon top-secret research by her biology professor, Dr Sam Fairfax (Kathy Najimy), that allows for the human consciousness to be linked to robotic animals. This lets users get up close and personal with other species.

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“This is like Avatar,” Mabel coos, and, in truth, it is. Plugged into a headset, Mabel is reborn inside a robotic beaver. She plans to recruit a real beaver to help populate the glade, which is set to be destroyed by Jerry’s proposed road.
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Kurt Cobain’s Fender, Beatles drum head among $1-billion collection going to auction

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Kurt Cobain’s Fender, Beatles drum head among -billion collection going to auction

In the summer of 1991, Nirvana filmed the music video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on a Culver City sound stage. Kurt Cobain strummed the grunge anthem’s iconic four-chord opening riff on a 1969 Fender Mustang, Lake Placid Blue with a signature racing stripe.

Nearly 35 years later, the six-string relic hung on a gallery wall at Christie’s in Beverly Hills as part of a display of late billionaire businessman Jim Irsay’s world-renowned guitar collection, which heads to auction at Christie’s, New York, beginning Tuesday. Each piece in the Beverly Hills gallery, illuminated by an arched spotlight and flanked by a label chronicling its history, carried the aura of a Renaissance painting.

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Irsay’s billion-dollar guitar arsenal, crowned “The Greatest Guitar Collection on Earth” by Guitar World magazine, is the focal point of the Christie’s auction, which has split approximately 400 objects — about half of which are guitars — into four segments: the “Hall of Fame” group of anchor items, the “Icons of Pop Culture” class of miscellaneous memorabilia, the “Icons of Music” mixed batch of electric and acoustic guitars and an online segment that compiles the remainder of Irsay’s collection. The online sale, featuring various autographed items, smaller instruments and historical documents, features the items at the lowest price points.

A portion of auction proceeds will be donated to charities that Irsay supported during his lifetime.

The instruments of famous musicians have long been coveted collector’s items. But in the case of the Jim Irsay Collection, the handcrafted six-strings have acquired a more ephemeral quality in the eyes of their admirers.

Amelia Walker, the specialist head of private and iconic collections at Christie’s, said at the recent highlight exhibition in L.A. that the auction represents “a real moment where these [objects] are being elevated beyond what we traditionally call memorabilia” into artistic masterpieces.

“They deserve the kind of the pedestal that we give to art as well,” Walker said. “Because they are not only works of art in terms of their creation, but what they have created, what their owners have created with them — it’s the purest form of art.”

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Cobain’s Fender was only one of the music history treasures nestled in Christie’s gallery. A few paces away, Jerry Garcia’s “Budman” amplifier, once part of the Grateful Dead’s three-story high “Wall of Sound,” perched atop a podium. Just past it lay the Beatles logo drum head (estimated between $1 million and $2 million) used for the band’s debut appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” which garnered a historic 73 million viewers and catalyzed the British Invasion. Pencil lines were still visible beneath the logo’s signature “drop T.”

A drum head.

Pencil lines are still visible on the drum head Ringo Starr played during the Beatles’ debut appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show.”

(Christie’s Images LTD, 2026)

It is exceptionally rare for even one such artifact to go to market, let alone a billion-dollar group of them at once, Walker said. But a public sale enabling many to participate and demonstrate the “true market value” of these objects is what Irsay would have wanted, she added.

Dropping tens of millions of dollars on pop culture memorabilia may seem an odd hobby for an NFL general manager, yet Irsay viewed collecting much like he viewed leading the Indianapolis Colts.

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Irsay, the youngest NFL general manager in history, said in a 2014 Colts Media interview that watching and emulating the legendary NFL owners who came before him “really taught me to be a steward.”

“Ownership is a great responsibility. You can’t buy respect,” he said. “Respect only comes from you being a steward.”

The first major acquisition in Irsay’s collection came in 2001, with his $2.4-million purchase of the original 120-foot scroll for Jack Kerouac’s 1957 novel, “On the Road.” He loved the book and wanted to preserve it, Walker said. But he also frequently lent it out, just like he regularly toured his guitar collection beginning 20 years later.

A scroll of writing.

Jim Irsay purchased the original 120-foot scroll manuscript of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” for $2.4 million in 2001.

(Christie’s Images)

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“He said publicly, ‘I’m not the owner of these things. I’m just that current custodian looking after them for future generations,’ ” Walker said. “And I think that’s what true collectors always say.”

At its L.A. highlight exhibition, Irsay’s collection held an air of synchronicity. Paul McCartney’s handwritten lyrics for “Hey Jude” hung just a few steps from a promotional poster — the only one in existence — for the 1959 concert Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson were en route to perform when their plane crashed. The tragedy spurred Don McLean to write “American Pie,” about “the day the music died.”

Holly was McCartney’s “great inspiration,” Christie’s specialist Zita Gibson said. “So everything connects.”

Later, the Beatles’ 1966 song “Paperback Writer” played over the speakers near-parallel to the guitars the song was written on.

Irsay’s collection also contains a bit of whimsy, with gems like a prop golden ticket from 1971’s “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” — estimated between $60,000 and $120,000 — and reading, “In your wildest dreams you could not imagine the marvelous surprises that await you!”

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Another fan-favorite is the “Wilson” volleyball from 2000’s “Cast Away,” starring Tom Hanks, estimated between $60,000 and $80,000, Gibson said.

Historically, such objects were often preserved by accident. But as the memorabilia market has ballooned over the last decade or so, Gibson said, “a lot of artists are much more careful about making sure that things don’t get into the wrong hands. After rehearsals, they tidy up after themselves.”

If anything proves the market value of seemingly worthless ephemera, Walker added, it’s fans clawing for printed set lists at the end of a concert.

“They’re desperate for that connection. This is what it’s all about,” the specialist said. It’s what drove Irsay as well, she said: “He wanted to have a connection with these great artists of his generation and also the generation above him. And he wanted to share them with people.”

In Irsay’s home, his favorite guitars weren’t hung like classic paintings. Instead, they were strewn about the rooms he frequented, available for him to play whenever the urge struck him.

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Thanks to tune-up efforts from Walker, many of the guitars headed to auction are fully operational in the hopes that their buyers can do the same.

“They’re working instruments. They need to be looked after, to be played,” Walker said. And even though they make for great gallery art, “they’re not just for hanging on the wall.”

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Movie Reviews

Film reviews: ‘How to Make a Killing,’ ‘Pillion,’ and ‘Midwinter Break’

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Film reviews: ‘How to Make a Killing,’ ‘Pillion,’ and ‘Midwinter Break’

‘How to Make a Killing’

Directed by John Patton Ford (R)

★★

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