Book Review - ‘Salt on Your Tongue: Women and the Sea’ by Charlotte Runcie
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I checked this e-book out from my local library. What I found was a moving, inspiring story that felt like a balm to my unsettled soul. I’ve recently committed to reading more nonfiction, especially in the mornings, and have found that I thoroughly enjoy reading memoirs. That, plus the fact that I’ve always felt this deep connection to the ocean lead me to read this book.
Salt on Your Tongue: Women and the Sea Flatlay
What I found particularly enjoyable about this book was Runcie’s method of weaving together stories from her own life with old sea myths. As a life-long writer, reader, and avid movie-goer, stories seem to run through my blood. I’d be remiss to talk about the importance of story in my life without referencing the one and only Joseph Campbell.
In his iconic work, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, that has provided a roadmap that inspired writers and literary thinkers of the last seventy years or so, he writes:
“It would not be too much to say that myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human cultural manifestation… In the absence of an effective general mythology, each of us has his private, unrecognized, rudimentary, yet secretly potent pantheon of dream…It has always been the prime function of mythology and rite to supply the symbols that carry the human spirit forward, in counteraction to those other constant human fantasies that tend to tie it back. In fact, it may well be that the very high incidence of neuroticism among ourselves follows from the decline among us of such effective spiritual aid.”
In essence, stories and myths connect us to the wider universe. They reinforce our connection to nature, our connection to history, and our connection to humanity, both past and present, singular and collective. In today’s modern age, we are devoid of any generally accepted myths to provide our roadmaps to being human, to being good, to navigating the struggles of life. For many, religion, especially Christianity, provides those myths. However, for those of us who live a more secular life, we are forced to create our own personal patchwork of stories that give our lives meaning, that teach us how to be, that help us come to terms with life and death and all the struggles and triumphs in between. This struggle to form our own “pantheon of dream” and the failure to do so adequately can make coping with life that much harder. However, when you’re able to do it well, building your own personal canon of stories can help make sense of your life and give you clarity and inspiration.
Salt on Your Tongue: Women and the Sea is one woman’s inspiring example of doing just that. For her, the sea provides a through-line between all the stories she finds personally significant. Often for women, we have to dig even deeper and search even harder to find our personal stories of significance. As Sharon Blackie, author of my current read, If Women Rose Rooted: The Journey to Authenticity and Belonging (previously subtitled, The Power of the Celtic Woman) points out, try as we might, Campbell’s Hero’s JourneyTM never quite fits us perfectly. Many of us go through our lives trying to shoehorn our personal story into this widely recognized “universal” format and come up short, chafing against the limitations of a structure that doesn’t take our particular experience into account. We must get imaginative when writing the stories of our lives and Runcie does a fantastic job.
For a woman, the sea is a particularly poignant lens through which to make sense of one’s life. “Shorelines are evocative places,” Runcie writes. “The tides come in and out on the beach, guided by the moon. Women and coasts are constantly changing and physically redrawing themselves in cycles. Boundaries are blurred and washed away, and anything is possible at the line between this life and another.” As I work to redraw my own life, I found her take on the connections between women and the sea helpful and reassuring. Change might be terrifying, but it’s natural, unavoidable, and something I’ve been uniquely built for withstanding.
I found myself hanging on Runcie’s every word about the sea and about her own life. I was especially moved by her musings on her upcoming motherhood. As someone who feels fairly confident in my desire to remain child-free, her anxieties about what motherhood will mean for her personhood struck a chord with me. Many of them are the reasons I don’t envision being a mother myself, so I was anxious to see how she would resolve those misgivings.
The vivid detail with which she described her labor experience had me hanging on the edge of my seat, cringing and clenching my own body in response to her descriptions. I don’t know if I’ve ever read such an honest, no-holds-barred explanation of labor and it definitely didn’t entice me to reconsider being a mother. However, her recounting of her experiences of early motherhood, bonding with her child, and taking joy in watching as her baby experiences the world for the first time was fascinating and emotional, opening my mind to the possibilities of motherhood.
While reading her story didn’t necessarily sway me away from remaining child-free, nor was it meant to, it did provide a perfect example of how women, like the sea, have this astounding ability to contain endless possibilities. We are people, unique and distinct, but we are also vessels, creators, nurturers, warriors, great thinkers, artists, explorers, capable of withstanding great pain and great joy. Being one of these things doesn’t negate our ability to be the others. In fact, it’s the unique combination of each of these things that each of us holds that I find miraculous. Each aspect of our identity is able to multiply the others.
This memoir helped me become even more in tune with my femininity and womanhood, and not in the way that seems popular on social media right now, that seems focused on harnessing your “feminine energy” to get what you want and manipulate people. This femininity and womanhood is older, grittier, more subtle, but also more powerful. We are endlessly adaptable, capable of great strength, great intellect, great bravery, and great sacrifice. The connection between women and the sea is ancient and recognizing it the way Runcie does gave me a grounded feeling of power, deep self-knowledge, and a newfound confidence that, like the sea, I can weather any storm and return to a state of calm changed, perhaps, but still whole.
If you are plagued by the struggle to form your own “pantheon of dreams,” to connect to this modern world as unapologetically feminine in the most ancient sense of the word, to make sense of your past, present, and potential future, and you have even a remote sense of the sea calling to you, I highly recommend you give this book a read.
