And that’s not a criticism, just an observation. (I’m not suggesting he lard his next book with curses, just be a little less of a tight ass). Heavy emotion has generally been a problem with contemporary works - they saturate the reader with it, they are mishandled and result in scenes that are mawkish and trite. The Wild Places doesn’t have this “emotional” problem, yet there exists this bit of distance between writer and reader, and the work isn’t cerebral enough to challenge philosophically. But is it readable? Sure.
The Wild Places offers reflections on a myriad of places: water, land, summits, trees and more. Should you choose to read this, his message will be impossible to disagree with. It’s a mostly entertaining read, and although I sound like I’m complaining, I’d probably give it a 75 or 80 out of 100 - much better than most books. Lacking some of the passion of Krakauer’s Eiger Dreams and the depth and poetry of Loren Eiseley or even Barry Lopez at his best, The Wild Places has landed in some spot not among, but off to the side somewhere. Despite the formulaic weight academia has upon creativity, the author, let us hope, is still working his climb.
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