The History of Bees

by Maja Lunde

  But as I witnessed these strides of his across the field, the lifting he did with his legs, not with his back, bend, lift, put down, again and again, as I watched these movements, I gradually stopped shaking. Every day it became easier to hold a fork.

  And then, while we were extracting honey, while the autumn sun was low and gentle in the sky, just as yellow as the drops we shook off the frames, I suddenly noticed something. They were gone. The shakes were gone.

  I worked with calm, stable hands. Like him. Beside him.

  The two of us now completely in sync.

  TAO

  The hive was guarded, but the tent had been removed. The area was open all the way to the edge of the fields, right by the forest.

  People had gathered at a proper distance, standing calmly and just looking at it. Nobody feared it, the bees weren’t dangerous, Wei-Wen’s allergy was an isolated case. Around us there were flowers on all sides, recently planted bushes, red, pink, orange, the same fairy-tale world I had seen in the tent, but which now extended across a large area, because the fruit trees had been chopped down and replaced by new plants.

  The military had left. The fences were torn down. The cocoon had burst and the hive lived among us. The bees were allowed to fly where they wanted, completely free.

  It was ten meters away from me, in the shadow of the trees, the sun shining on it through the leaves—not far from the place where the first wild hive had been found, not far from the place where Wei-Wen had been stung. Savage’s Standard Hive, just as Thomas Savage had drawn it in The History of Bees, the hive that had been in his family since 1852, the drawings of which had disappeared at some point in history, but the measurements and appearance of which Savage had memorized and drawn again. The hive had been intended for honey production and observation—that’s where he had wanted to tame the bees.

  But bees cannot be tamed. They can only be tended, receive our care. Despite the original purpose of the hive, it was still a good home for the bees. In it everything was arranged to enable them to breed and reproduce. They kept the honey for themselves; nothing was to be harvested, never to be used by humans. It would be allowed to remain as nature had intended: food for the newborns.

  The sound was unlike anything I’d ever heard before. In and out, in and out the bees flew. With them they brought nectar and pollen, nourishment for their offspring. But not just for the few that were their own; every single bee worked for the group, for all of the bees, for the organism they constituted together.

  The buzzing pulsated through the air, made something vibrate inside me. A tone that calmed me, made it easier to breathe.

  I just stood there like that. Tried to follow each individual bee with my eyes, see every individual bee’s journey from the hive, out to the flowers, from flower to flower, and back again. But I kept losing sight of them. There were too many of them, their movement patterns impossible to understand.

  So instead I let my gaze come to rest on the whole, on the hive and all the life it surrounded itself with, all of the life to which it attended.

  While I was standing there, somebody appeared beside me. I turned. It was Kuan. He was concentrating on the hive, lifting his head to get a better view. But then he discovered me.

  “Tao.”

  He came towards me. An unfamiliar gait, heavier, as if he were already old.

  We stood facing one another. Kuan kept his eyes focused on me, didn’t look down, the way he often used to do. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was drawn, pale.

  I missed him. Missed the person he’d been. The cheerful lightness in him, the contentment, the joy over the child he’d had. And the child he would have. I wished I could say something that would bring back this cheerfulness in him, but found no words.

  We turned towards the hive, stood like that, side by side and looked at it. Our hands almost touched, but neither of us took hold of the other’s hand, like two teenagers who didn’t quite dare. The warmth between us. It was back.

  A bee buzzed through the air past us, just a meter away, swerved to the right, a seemingly unplanned movement, then it flew between us—I could feel the tiny gust of air against my cheek—and then it disappeared into the flowers.

  Then he took my hand.

  I caught my breath. This time he was the one who dared.

  Finally he touched me again. My hand grew small in meeting with his. He shared his warmth with me.

  We just stood there, holding hands, while we looked at the hive.

  And then.

  Finally the words came that I had so yearned for.

  Softly and clearly with a seriousness that was unlike him. Not something he said because he had to, but because he meant it:

  “It wasn’t your fault, Tao. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Afterwards, after we’d said farewell, I walked alone down along the wheel ruts. The bees were still vibrating inside me. And his words released words in myself.

  I walked on, more and more slowly, until finally I stopped and remained standing among the fruit trees. Everything was open, no trace of the fences and the military, everything as before, like last year at this time. It was snowing yellow leaves. The ground was covered, the trees would soon be bare. All the pears were harvested, each one carefully picked, packed in paper and carried away. Pears of gold.

  But on the horizon I could glimpse change. The endless rows of fruit trees had been broken up. The laborers were hard at work digging up roots and getting the trees up out of the ground. Thomas Savage’s vision had finally become a reality. We released our control and the forest would be allowed to spread. In the soil other plants would be sown, large areas would be allowed to remain uncultivated.

  Yes. I wanted it now. To give a speech, as she wanted. Because I also wanted, for my own part, to speak about Wei-Wen. I was going to talk about who he was for all of us, who he would become—the picture of him that had been printed on large pennants in the square, on posters along the walls of the buildings, on banners above the doorways of public buildings.

  It was one of the few photographs we owned of him. It had been fuzzy and washed out, taken against a neutral, gray backdrop, but on the posters the colors were clear, the contrasts defined, and his eyes had been given more light.

  This bright, sharp picture was what the world saw and it was what I was going to talk about. Not about him, Wei-Wen, I would never give him to them. The people out there would never know his eagerness, his stubbornness, his defiance. They would never learn of how he sometimes woke up singing, off-key, but with enthusiasm. They would never hear about his eternal runny nose, about changing his trousers damp with pee, rubbing ice-cold feet, or having a body warm with sleep against me at night. For them he would never be any of this. That’s why it didn’t matter anymore. That’s why the one he was didn’t matter. A single person’s life, a single person’s flesh, blood, body fluids, nerve signals, thoughts, fears and dreams meant nothing. My dreams for him didn’t mean anything, either, if I failed to put them into a context and see that the same dreams had to apply to all of us.

  But Wei-Wen would nonetheless gain significance. The image of him. The boy wearing the red scarf, his face—that was the new era. For millions of people, his round cheeks, his large, shining eyes peering up at a bright blue sky were associated with a single word. A single, unifying feeling: hope.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to express my gratitude to all the many professionals who have taken the time to read the manuscript and answer my questions: historians Ragnhild Hutchison and Johanne Nygren; China expert Tone Helene Aarvik; zoologist Petter Bøckman; physician Siri Seterelv; senior advisor Bjørn Dahle at the Norwegian Beekeepers Association (Norges Birøkterlag); advisor Ragna Ribe Jørgensen at ByBi, the Urban Beekeepers’ Association in Oslo; Roar Ree Kirkevold, who writes about beekeeping; beekeepers Ingar Tallakstad Lie and Per Sigmund Bøe and last but not least, Isaac Barnes at Honeyrun Farm in Ohio.

  A special thanks also to all the committ
ed people who have read, commented on and supported my work along the way: Hilde Rød-Larsen, Joakim Botten, Vibeke Saugestad, Guro Solberg, Jørgen Lunde Ronge, Mattis Øybø, Hilde Østby, Cathrine Movold, Gunn Østgård and Steinar Storløkken.

  Finally, I would like to thank my wise editor, Nora Campbell, and all her accomplished colleagues at Aschehoug, who have demonstrated a warm enthusiasm for The History of Bees from the very first day.

  I have drawn from a wide range of reference materials for the work on this novel. Among the most important are The Hive by Bee Wilson; Ingar’sis birøkt (“Beekeeping by Ingar”) by Roar Ree Kirkevold; Langstroth’s Hive and the Honey-Bee by Rev. Lorenzo Lorraine Langstroth; A World Without Bees by Allison Benjamin and Brian McCallum and Det nye Kina (“The New China”) by Henning Kristoffersen, along with the documentaries Vanishing of the Bees, More than Honey, Who Killed the Honey Bee?, Silence of the Bees and Queen of the Sun.

  Maja Lunde

  Oslo, May 2015

  A Touchstone Reading Group Guide

  The History of Bees

  Maja Lunde

  This reading group guide for The History of Bees includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and a Q&A with author Maja Lunde. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

  Introduction

  In the spirit of Station Eleven and Never Let Me Go, this dazzling and ambitious literary debut follows three generations of beekeepers from the past, present, and future, weaving a spellbinding story of their relationship to the bees—and to their children and one another—against the backdrop of an urgent global crisis.

  England, 1852. William is a biologist and seed merchant who sets out to build a new type of beehive—one that will give both him and his children honor and fame.

  United States, 2007. George is a beekeeper fighting an uphill battle against modern farming, but hopes that his son can be their salvation.

  China, 2098. Tao hand paints pollen onto the fruit trees now that the bees have long since disappeared. When Tao’s young son is taken away by the authorities after a tragic accident, she sets out on a grueling journey to find out what happened to him.

  Haunting, illuminating, and deftly written, The History of Bees joins these three very different narratives into one gripping and thought-provoking story that is just as much about the powerful bond between children and parents as it is about our very relationship to nature and humanity.

  Topics and Questions for Discussion

  1. The History Of Bees alternates between three perspectives: those of Tao, George, and William. With which of these three main characters did you most relate? To whom did you find it hardest to connect? With whom do you most identify?

  2. On page 30, William’s mentor, Rahm, opines “One reproduces, has offspring, one instinctively puts their needs first, they are mouths to feed, one becomes a provider, the intellect steps aside to make way for nature.” Do you agree or disagree with Rahm’s statement? What do you think William felt when his mentor put it thusly?

  3. On page 36, George thinks longingly of the bees’ buzzing as the “real reunion celebration.” How does George’s expectation of how his reunion with Thomas will go impact how the two men relate to each other?

  4. Throughout the book, there’s great emphasis on experience vs. intellect. Think of George’s experience vs. Thomas’s books, Tao’s attempts to discover what happened to Wei-Wen, William’s relationship with Rahm. Which brand of “knowledge” do you think is more valuable?

  5. George is preoccupied with leaving a “legacy” behind, resisting Emma’s attempts to move them to Florida. From where does his legacy ultimately come? Is it what you expected?

  6. William, on page 116, says of his desired creation “Only humans could construct proper buildings, a building it was possible to monitor, which gave humans, not nature, control.” From where does the impulse to control nature come? Do you think that a desire to control the natural world is something humans can overcome without catastrophic reason?

  7. How do the workings of the hive impart a lesson for humans? Is there any wisdom to be gleaned from the way their “society” works?

  8. When George goes on the camping trip with young Tom, he tells him a tale about a snake (p. 186). What could the snake be symbolic of?

  9. Colony Collapse is partially about abandonment of the queen. How does the theme of abandonment or fear of abandonment play out throughout the novel, specifically in Tao’s timeline?

  10. Both William and Tao find refuge in going to bed, while George finds himself unable to rest. How do the characters hide from their loved ones? Where do they each find solace?

  11. Which character do you think is most important in the book? Whose life story holds the three narrative threads together?

  12. On page 316, Tao notices that Li Xiara and the teenage boy are using the same words to describe two very different feelings—“Each and every one of us is not important” could be about either community or loneliness. Do you find meaning in community? How? How could a sense of community be taken too far?

  Enhance Your Book Club

  1. Pick up New Observations on the Natural History of Bees by François Huber or Robbing the Bees by Holley Bishop from your local library. Discuss how what you learn from those texts enhances the fictional world Maja Lunde has created in The History of Bees.

  2. Find a local nursery, garden center, or farm that keeps bees and visit to see them in action!

  3. Do some research on Colony Collapse Disorder. What was surprising to you? Did you know about its existence before reading The History of Bees?

  4. Have a honey tasting! Try some local honey and some that’s more mass-produced. Discuss the differences between the different varieties you try.

  A Conversation with Maja Lunde

  All three of the main characters are parents, and they’re deeply affected by their hopes and disappointments in their respective children. In comparing their relationships to their children, what were you trying to say about the nature of parenthood?

  The three main characters are very different, live in different times and places, but have in common that they are parents filled with fear and hope, a fighting spirit, and resignation. And they all want what’s best for their kids, but don’t always know what that is. This is a theme I, as a mother of three, really relate to. Children are constantly evolving, and thus the role of a parent is ever-changing. It is so easy to forget that your child is a completely different person than you, and what’s right for you is often not right for him or her. Tao, George, and William are certain they know what’s best for their children, but are quite often mistaken.

  Each of the three narrators uses such distinct diction and has such different backgrounds and priorities. Which was the easiest for you to write, and which was the hardest? How did you ensure that you kept their diction distinct?

  I think George was the one who came easiest. I just loved him, with all his weaknesses, and felt I knew him from day one. Tao was the most difficult one, mostly because her story is from the future. But when I forgot that and instead focused on her as a mother, it started to flow. Her son is three; my youngest was three when I did the writing. It was him, really, I imagined when writing about Tao. That actually made their story very emotional for me.

  What first sparked your curiosity in writing about the importance of bees to humans? Why choose to make your statement through fiction instead of a research-based nonfiction work?

  I came up with the idea for this novel after seeing a documentary about Colony Collapse Disorder. It scared and fascinated me at the same time and I immediately knew that I wanted to write this novel.

  When starting to work with the book, I had three questions: why do the bees die, how does it feel to lose them, how can the world be without pollinating in
sects?

  To answer the questions I did a lot of research, and through the research, I found the three main characters of the novel. As a fiction writer, it was the characters who inspired me and made me go on writing.

  What books did you read, or what websites, to understand England in the nineteenth century? What resources did you draw upon to imagine China in the year 2098?

  I read a lot of Dickens, among other authors. I found Great Expectations especially inspiring. I also read different history books, and talked to a historian. The biology part was quite a challenge. I did quite a bit of research to find out how much they knew about bees back then, and of course tried to find out as much as I could both about Lorenzo Langstroth and Huber. Langstroth’s story also inspired the story of William: the depressed father rising through a new invention.

  When it came to China I had to find out how the world could look without bees and pollinating insects. It was not easy—I had to imagine everything, really—but I checked with several experts to try to make it as realistic as possible. I also read books about China today and took note of the pollination system they have in place, the names they’re already using (the Committee, for example), and details like the red scarf, which is used in school.

  Have you ever thought about keeping honeybees yourself?

  Every day, at least in summer. But my garden is very small and next to a playground. I’m not sure if the other neighbors would be thrilled.