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book post: desert solitaire by edward abbey
Have you ever been like, “Boy, I wish there were more nature writing like Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac”? Of course you have; you are an excellent person with excellent taste.
Have you ever been like, “Also, I wish A Sand County Almanac were narrated by a bitchy, racist, sexist, neo-Malthusian gonzo-journalism-wannabe asshole who says condescending shit to tourists while serving as a fucking National Park ranger”? No? Then, um, whelp.
Like, I’m generally able to ignore a lot of the typical casual sexism/racism/etc that you see in older books, but here it’s just so much and so in your face that it actively detracts from the overall experience. Which is a shame, because when Albee isn’t going on batty rants about government conspiracies to enact totalitarian rule by paving roads into national parks (not kidding), the nature-essays themselves are fine. A little purple for my tastes, a little overrated, but perfectly fine. I learned plenty about the American southwest, got some good scenery, very much enjoyed the portrait of family ranchers in Moab and a Native American village in the heart of the Grand Canyon and his breathtaking description of a hike which ended in a near-death experience. But unfortunately that’s not the bulk of this book.
This book did make me wonder if I’d like A Sand County Almanac if I went back to read it today. I first read that book in high school, when my nature-hippie was in full force and I was also a little naive. But over the years, as my work with various local conservation organizations has increased, I’ve been running more and more into the obstructionist, recalcitrant wing of conservationists, who somehow think the only appropriate use for nature is “nobody touch it ever for any reason,” even when the nature in question is “a fucking city park,” and when you point out that people who cannot access nature in any way, shape, or form may not feel too keen about conserving it, they get all “humans are the virus” or whatever, and, ugh. And what I remember of A Sand County Almanac makes me worry that that ethos may be a mite-too-present there (even if Leopold is definitely less of a cranky asshole about it). It’s certainly present in Desert Solitaire, where Albee expresses the sentiment multiple times that old people or disabled people who would like to access our National Parks should just go fuck themselves, because he just hates cars so damn much, and, ugh!
Have you ever been like, “Also, I wish A Sand County Almanac were narrated by a bitchy, racist, sexist, neo-Malthusian gonzo-journalism-wannabe asshole who says condescending shit to tourists while serving as a fucking National Park ranger”? No? Then, um, whelp.
Like, I’m generally able to ignore a lot of the typical casual sexism/racism/etc that you see in older books, but here it’s just so much and so in your face that it actively detracts from the overall experience. Which is a shame, because when Albee isn’t going on batty rants about government conspiracies to enact totalitarian rule by paving roads into national parks (not kidding), the nature-essays themselves are fine. A little purple for my tastes, a little overrated, but perfectly fine. I learned plenty about the American southwest, got some good scenery, very much enjoyed the portrait of family ranchers in Moab and a Native American village in the heart of the Grand Canyon and his breathtaking description of a hike which ended in a near-death experience. But unfortunately that’s not the bulk of this book.
This book did make me wonder if I’d like A Sand County Almanac if I went back to read it today. I first read that book in high school, when my nature-hippie was in full force and I was also a little naive. But over the years, as my work with various local conservation organizations has increased, I’ve been running more and more into the obstructionist, recalcitrant wing of conservationists, who somehow think the only appropriate use for nature is “nobody touch it ever for any reason,” even when the nature in question is “a fucking city park,” and when you point out that people who cannot access nature in any way, shape, or form may not feel too keen about conserving it, they get all “humans are the virus” or whatever, and, ugh. And what I remember of A Sand County Almanac makes me worry that that ethos may be a mite-too-present there (even if Leopold is definitely less of a cranky asshole about it). It’s certainly present in Desert Solitaire, where Albee expresses the sentiment multiple times that old people or disabled people who would like to access our National Parks should just go fuck themselves, because he just hates cars so damn much, and, ugh!
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And me getting no more than 4 pages in to this book and instinctually/protectively zoning out and tossing it aside.
Omfg those two pages you posted I just cannnot. The level of privilege behind that viewpoint. I am so uncomfortable. So entirely uncomfortable.
(Nopes away from this book in a puff of air)
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