Our twenty-seventh book is available now from our online shop. The Spring 2025 issue is a hardback anthology of non-fiction, fiction, poetry, interviews and artwork that explores the theme of bodies in all their forms. Here we bring you the editorial and Steve Wheeler's 'Bodies (an introduction)', with plant body cover by Alice Smith and artwork by Tony Humbleyard.
Our twenty-seventh book is an anthology of non-fiction, fiction, poetry and artwork revolving around bodies, human, creaturely, plant and mineral.
So much in our modern industrial culture encourages disembodiment – both from ourselves, as animal beings, and from the larger body of the Earth. The writing and artwork in this book explores the consequences of that detachment and the many different ways by which we might become re-embodied. Some contributors put their feet back on the ground through dance, while others put their bodies on the line during direct action protests. Connections are mapped between the spores of plants that predate dinosaurs and human autoimmune disease, and – as shown on our cover – between herbs and human healing. There are tales of bodies that do not conform to ‘healthy’ stereotypes, and how chronic sickness can be held up as a mirror to the ailments of the planet.
Also in this issue are stories of reabsorption in the world, whether through connections with mountains and waters, or the embodied ritual of becoming a tree. There are interspecies shapeshiftings and human-canine chimeras, posing questions of where bodies end and where they begin. Some of the pieces are visceral – peeling back the anatomies of Italian Renaissance Venuses, burying a road-killed mole in a nettle-fibre shroud, or plunging into the uncanny world of blood platelet donation – and, inevitably, death casts a shadow on this book. But its pages hum with life as well, from the palo verde beetle emerging from the Sonoran Desert, from crows, coyotes, jellyfish, mountain goats, mare’s tail, granite and trees, to the leafy guardian deity of the Amazon.
Bodies, far from being separate things – atomised, individual units existing in and of themselves – are connected, interpenetrating and curiously hard to define. Dark Mountain: Issue 27 celebrates that complexity, and how all of us are part of the body of the Earth.
Steve Wheeler
Bodies (an introduction)
THE AMOEBA SWELLED IN PLEASURE as it drifted into a warm zone of available nutritive. It extended its pseudopodia out into the world beyond, reaching in anticipation as its body absorbed the world into itself. Its plasmasol filled to stretching point, a tremor passed through it, and a band of contraction around its middle began to tighten, presaging the fissipation to come.
The athlete adjusted her grip on the pole, breathing deeply to balance the racing heartbeat, the shunt of adrenalin she felt jittering round her body. The crowd’s roar faded to a background sussurance. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm, planted the ball of her foot on the red composite behind her, and focused her gaze on what was ahead.
The cicada felt the first rays of dawn warming his forewings. A subtle shudder of wind thrummed his expectant antennae. He oriented his ocelli towards the burgeoning light, his compound eyes drank in the colouring world around him. Stretching out both sets of wings, joy rising in his thorax, he clattered his tymbals together in noisy celebration as he soared into the sky.
The baby squirmed his back against the mattress as the light lengthened in the room. Carved wooden shapes rotated above, mysterious in their shifting colours and lines. His clumsy limbs flailed, fat fingers pressing against the painted bars, as waves of gleamhoney moved through his flesh. From far off, beyond the room, he heard the sound of footsteps.
The curlew paused mid-step, cocking her head at the unexpected noise, before placing her splayed foot back down on the mud. She twisted her neck to look behind her, where her tracks stretched back along the empty flat. Satisfied, she plunged her long bill back into the mud. Its tip encountered the body of a soft, writhing worm, and she trilled her feathers in anticipation.
The patient pressed the button, though she knew no more opioids would arrive. The gristly, boring pain remained, unabating, and the griping in her bowels resumed. Spasms of tension passed through her as her mind sought some hitherto-overlooked route of escape. With an effort of will she forced her body into quiescence, but a hot rush of anger flooded up into her face.
The coelacanth struggled, her eight fins rowing fiercely to free herself. Her hinged mouth gaped wide in panic as the tentacles slid across the ctenoid plates of her body, tightening their grip. Deep within her, she could feel the precious cargo that she had carried for half her life, already hatched, alive and ready to swim, but now too late – unless she could – unless…
The worker sensed the air hose for the bolt pistol tangling around his ankles just as he got the steer up onto the shackle line. He should have squared it away properly, but it had been a long shift and he hadn’t drunk anything since lunchtime. The dangling, half-stunned steer started to buck, a hoof missing his head by inches. A cold sweat broke out across his back.
The dog gripped the plastic sheeting in his teeth, whipping it from side to side. Hunger gnawed in his belly, and the itch still burned across his flanks. He could smell something edible deeper in the heap, beneath the tasteless layers and jagged shards. A yell from close by – and a thrown stone, just missing. With a yip and a whine, he took off down the street.
The prisoner lay unmoving under the thin blanket. His eyes remained unfocused, even as the shadows of the bars sharpened on the concrete of the floor. Torpor lay heavy in his limbs, a thick fog clouding his head. His stomach growled. He could feel the plastic wrist-strap of his watch biting into his skin, but he had no desire to learn how little of the day had passed.
The whale hung, serene, his head towards the surface a body’s-length above, his tail flukes in the cooler blue below. Half-dozing, he could sense the echoed shapes of his brethren floating nearby…
The whale hung, serene, his head towards the surface a body’s-length above, his tail flukes in the cooler blue below. Half-dozing, he could sense the echoed shapes of his brethren floating nearby, the soft wash of currents about his fins, and the warm contentment of digesting squid in his stomach. With a pleasant wave of peristalsis, he released a cloud of faeces into the water.
The cultivator allowed her mind to sink ever deeper into her body, past the layers of tension and reaction, to settle in the field of intensity deep in the core of her abdomen. As the warmth and pressure increased there, she felt streams of electric sensation extend throughout her body, lengthening her spine, branching off into the stripes of muscle between her ribs.
The tiger eased her form through the trees, scapulae scything in silent liquidity. With each step, her broad paw settled judiciously on the forest floor, listening to every nuance of plant-matter it pressed upon. She froze in sudden stillness as the chital turned to look her way. When it finally returned to feeding, she pressed herself down on her rear legs, preparing for the leap.
The trader swivelled away from the screen, pressing his palms against his eyes. He tipped two small pills out into his hand from the bottle on the desk and transferred them to his mouth, washing them down with the last inch of lukewarm coffee. He briefly tried to massage away the ache in his neck, worked his left shoulder back a few times, and then returned to studying the numbers.
The pig thrust his penis deeper into the sow’s vulva as the bucking of his pelvis begin to quicken. Deep, sticky pleasure spread through the whole of his flesh. His rear trotters squelched in the mud. He could feel the ridge of his beloved’s spine beneath his belly, her neck pushing up and back as she huffed in amorous abandon. His testicles filled with hot pressure as the climax approached.
The protestor clipped on, just in time. A sudden gust sang in the metal cables and, a moment later, hurled her against the stanchion. She felt sick in her stomach, and the harness had wrenched around her chest, making it harder to breathe. The wind subsided and, with numb, trembling hands, she began to wrestle with the plastic ties on the furled banner.
The sequoia stretched its arms out into the sky. The sunshine licking its soft needles was a deep ache of joy, warm sap spreading back into its phloem, water slowly wicking up the long shaft of its being. Its roots pushed deep into the loamy dark, tasting, beyond, the wordless language of the forest. Small feet skittered across its bark. Far below, it heard a distant, growing rumble.
The writer reached for a fresh piece of paper. Pausing for a moment, flexing their aching hand, they became suddenly aware of themselves, seated in a chair, in a stone cottage, on a turning sphere in the dark. A sense of presence filled them, as if they were on the verge of a great secret. When it passed, with a small shake of their head, they picked up their pen and returned to the flat page.
The Earth, though always sensing the scratchy stories playing out on her surface, could also feel the pull of her distant sisters; the wash of tides across her face; the lessening weight of the icepacks; the pressures and tensions of her rocks as they pulled, slid, pressed up against each other; the deeper spirals of magma; and the spinning iron at her heart.
The mother reached down and gently lifted her child up out of the cot. Her breasts felt heavy, tender, her nipples still a little chapped from the last feed. Red light shone in through the window. Gazing down in bewilderment, it felt as if her whole body wanted to wrap itself round him. The ache in her chest was a sweet melancholy, almost too strong to bear. She held her breath.
The Sun beamed into the space around him in glorious magnanimity. He could feel the hot pulsation of his core; the blissful currents coiling slowly through his body; the foaming architecture of his photosphere; and his far, orbiting children as they passed through the ether. A deep plume of plasma worked its way to the surface, building, ready to reach out in fierce caress.
COVER ART
Alice Smith
Heartsease [front] / Yarrow [back]
Collage
Both of these plant illustrations are from a series of 80 surreal illustrations and lively tales about healing plants that have been used across the globe by different generations – to both positive and deadly effect. Heartsease (Viola tricolor) is symbolically bound up with themes of the heart, in part because of its winged petals. It has been given to lovers throughout the centuries as a gesture of love and faithfulness. Yarrow (Achillea millefolium), also known as woundwort, thousand leaf, carpenter’s weed, nosebleed, sanguinary, soldier’s woundwort… all these names hint at its connection with blood and wounds. Historically it was carried into battle by ancient Greek and Roman soldiers, while Achilles used it to staunch the bleeding of his men’s wounds (earning it the name of Achillea). Current studies suggest it may help dilate blood vessels and arrest bleeding.
Alice Smith is an artist and designer based in Lancashire, UK. Her work focuses on illustrating and documenting historical, scientific, psychological, sociological themes, and often plays with visual allegories and metaphors to relay complex stories and knowledge. Her book The Physick Garden was published by Francis Lincoln in 2022. She is the art director for Idler magazine and is a co-founder of Bracketpress. alice-smith.co.uk
IMAGE
Tony Humbleyard
Woman/Whalebone/Kishie*
Digital photograph (Long exposure)
liminal spaces of the body/bone/muscle/skin/the act of carrying/the dance of light andform/ trusting to the wisdom of our own desire paths…
*A kishie is a traditional carrying basket on the Shetland Islands, made here using foraged materials from the shoreline. With a discarded coal sack and beachcombed rope.
Tony Humbleyard is a sculptor and post-consumer artist, working with foraged materials and the possibilities of direct experience. His work explores what it means to live an embedded relationship to place. He has lived and worked on the island of Unst, Shetland Isles since 2005 engaged in a process of deep listening, a regenerative art practice.