Into The Wild - Krakauer
The cover reads, "In April 1992 a young man from a well-to-do family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. His name was Christopher Johnson McCandless. He had given $25,000 in savings to charity, abandoned his car and most of his possessions, burned all the cash in his wallet, and invented a new life for himself. Four months later, his decomposed body was found by a moose hunter..."
Into The Wild retraces what is known of McCandless' journey, of his thoughts as we might suppose through journal entries and contacts with various people along the way. Krakauer interjects into McCandless' story some of his own insights, from having been a boy in his 20's, pushing against everything by running away to the wild.
I found this novel to be hauntingly moving. It caught me and drew me in. I am too social a creature to truly relate to the desires of McCandless to abandon all relationships and remain alone, although I am skeptical that his desire to was to be alone for very long. Following in the footsteps and leadership of Tolstoy, Thoreau, Muir, and more (at least their writing, if not their lifestyles) McCandless sought to shed weath, possessions and the desire to be owned or to own. He sought to re-establish himself, even changing his name, to recreate who he was in his own eyes.
The book was captivating, the motivations, while only suppositions, were compelling. The outcome, the pain invoked on family and friends, tragic.
The quote that got me the most, perhaps because I am a parent of an adventurous boy, was one from Donald Barthelme's The Dead Father, "...Have you noticed the slight curl at the end of Same II's mouth when he looks at you? ...The father is taken aback. ...it instantly reminds Same II of what he is mad about. He is mad about being small when you were big, but no, that's not it, he is mad about being helpless when you were powerful, but no, not that either, he is mad about being contingent when you were necessary, not quite it, he is insane because when he loved you, you didn't notice."
How painful it must be to be this boy's family, to know that he sought meaning and truth and for him, the only place to find it was away from everyone who loved him, away from everything this world counts as significant. And, left alone, before he might have found grace, before redemption could be fulfilled (for there is evidence he was on his way back, having realized the significance of personal relationships) he tragically died.
What is it we all search for? Where do we go to find it? Who do we turn to for answers? Do we turn within ourselves, or outside of our being? For those who know only to depend on self, who know only what they themselves can tangibly experience, they seem to me to be the loneliest of all, but in their personal, unintentional self-sacrifice, they leave behind a mourning crowd who loved on despite apparent apathy.
Into The Wild retraces what is known of McCandless' journey, of his thoughts as we might suppose through journal entries and contacts with various people along the way. Krakauer interjects into McCandless' story some of his own insights, from having been a boy in his 20's, pushing against everything by running away to the wild.
I found this novel to be hauntingly moving. It caught me and drew me in. I am too social a creature to truly relate to the desires of McCandless to abandon all relationships and remain alone, although I am skeptical that his desire to was to be alone for very long. Following in the footsteps and leadership of Tolstoy, Thoreau, Muir, and more (at least their writing, if not their lifestyles) McCandless sought to shed weath, possessions and the desire to be owned or to own. He sought to re-establish himself, even changing his name, to recreate who he was in his own eyes.
The book was captivating, the motivations, while only suppositions, were compelling. The outcome, the pain invoked on family and friends, tragic.
The quote that got me the most, perhaps because I am a parent of an adventurous boy, was one from Donald Barthelme's The Dead Father, "...Have you noticed the slight curl at the end of Same II's mouth when he looks at you? ...The father is taken aback. ...it instantly reminds Same II of what he is mad about. He is mad about being small when you were big, but no, that's not it, he is mad about being helpless when you were powerful, but no, not that either, he is mad about being contingent when you were necessary, not quite it, he is insane because when he loved you, you didn't notice."
How painful it must be to be this boy's family, to know that he sought meaning and truth and for him, the only place to find it was away from everyone who loved him, away from everything this world counts as significant. And, left alone, before he might have found grace, before redemption could be fulfilled (for there is evidence he was on his way back, having realized the significance of personal relationships) he tragically died.
What is it we all search for? Where do we go to find it? Who do we turn to for answers? Do we turn within ourselves, or outside of our being? For those who know only to depend on self, who know only what they themselves can tangibly experience, they seem to me to be the loneliest of all, but in their personal, unintentional self-sacrifice, they leave behind a mourning crowd who loved on despite apparent apathy.
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