You would have to be extremely interested in the personal struggles of others. As well as a fan of lengthy reconstructions of the personal romantic conversations of couples. As well as a lover of blow-by-blow descriptions of long, numbing El Cap aid climbs. As well as someone interested in learning that transport logistics in South America can pose a challenge. As well as be interested in the life story of the sort of person who would email blast his friends that he was leaving his wife to "be the man he always dreamed of being."
Dont get me wrong, more people should probably leave their wives and become different kinds of men. I was just turned off by the combination of self-pity and narcissism.
I dont mean to be unkind towards the author, as I am sure writing this odd memoir / self-help book was quite therapeutic. I would guess the author is a fine ski partner. He is no doubt tormented by La Traviata. And the portions about the avalanche and his relationship with Ruedi B are interesting, although RB comes off as a one-dimensional Captain Queeg figure. But the book is a mess. A better editor would've cleaned out a lot of excrutiating detail. Do we care that the author ran from 26th Avenue in Calgary to the alley between 41st and 40th St? Even with cleaner editing, however, I don't think this is a particularly compelling read. I give it one Hugh Conway on the 1-5 Conway scale.
"Buy the Fucking Plane Tickets!"
-- Jack Tackle
Bookmarks