A Question for Abbey

Matthew Gerstbrein

Dr. Adam Johns

English Composition 0200

24 September 2014

A Question for Abbey

            “Abbey, after reading your account of your experiences and feelings while living in the desert, I have a philosophical question for you. You have made it abundantly clear that paved roads and city tourists have no place in national parks through quotes such as ‘For God’s sake leave this country alone-Abbey’ (Abbey 329). You are specifically referring to The Maze, but it applies to the entire area of the wilderness. It is a plea to implore government departments to stop industrializing the land. Another quote, explicitly stating your disdain for paved roads is made when you write ‘…I got the full and terrible story, confirming the worst of my fears. They were a survey crew, laying out a new road into the Arches.’ (Abbey 53). So my question is, what is it about these roads, cars, and tourists, that you despise so much? After all, the parks can get more attention because more people can come to see them. You know this fact, and yet you resent it. You say that living in the land itself is the best way to know it and understand it. While this may be true, it is simply not feasible for people with a schedule to do so. Would you rather these people never come to the Arches at all? Is it better they stay within their own realm of city, completely separated from nature? Should they never even have the opportunity to get a taste of what nature has to offer? What is the truth behind your hatred for the paved roads and larger amounts of tourists?”

            “Your questions are valid. It appears you have interpreted what I have said to be selfish. I do not truly want to keep all this land for myself to admire. While I do enjoy solitude, I would be overjoyed if more people could come and see this land in the way it was truly meant to be seen. But that is the key point, in the way it was meant to be seen. These tourists reduce it to a mockery of what it is meant to be. Nearing the end of the story I write ‘Yes sir, yes madam, I entreat you, get out of those motorized wheelchairs, get off your foam rubber backsides, stand up straight like men! like women! like human beings! and walk-walk-WALK upon our sweet and blessed land!’ (Abbey 291). At this time, in an exaggerated manner, I am pointing out why I do not appreciate tourism. These tourists believe they have been to Arches, and know something about it. But how can they know if they haven’t experienced it? And experience doesn’t result from looking out a car window.

            But even if these tourists came to experience this land in the way it was meant to be, I would still disapprove of the idea of more roads, and increased traffic. My reasoning is based off of a single word: progress. The idea of progress scares me. “Progress” has ruined nations. ‘For there is a cloud on my horizon. A small dark cloud no bigger than my hand. Its name is Progress.’(Abbey 51) is a quote that exhibits my fear of it. I fear it because it is not what it seems. While it carries positive connotations, it is not a good thing at all in my eyes. The reason is that with progress always comes more problems. Problems that can only be fixed with more progress, which in turn causes more problems, and the destructive cycle continues. I cite an example of progress in action with Lee’s Ferry when I write ‘…historic buildings are razed by bulldozers to save the expense of maintaining them while at the same time hundreds of thousands of dollars are spent on an unneeded paved entrance road. And the administrators complain about vandalism.’ (Abbey 57-58). The idea of more money corrupts park administration from doing what is best for the park, and thus the park turns into a mockery of what it once was. And that is what the incentive behind more paved roads. With more roads comes more traffic, and with more traffic comes more money. This monetary incentive blinds the administration from seeing the true beauty of the park, and the original beauty of the park will be destroyed because of it. So to answer your question, I am not afraid of or against the roads and the surplus of tourists, but I am very afraid of the progress that is associated with it.”

Works Cited

Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness. New York: Ballantine, 1971. Print.

Week 3 Prompt 1

Madison Kraemer

Mr. Adam Johns

English Comp 0200

24 September 2014

Mystical Abbey

Is Edward Abbey a mystic? Webster’s dictionary describes a mystic as a person who claims to attain, or believes in the possibility of attaining, insight into mysteries transcending ordinary human knowledge. The word mysticism is defined as a belief characterized by self-delusion or dreamy confusion of thought, especially when based on the assumption of occult qualities. Following these definitions, Edward Abbey is most definitely a mystic.

In the first chapter, “The First Morning”, Abbey makes many references to God in relationship to nature. He writes,

 ''I go into the desert not only to evade the clamor and confusion of this country's cultural apparatus but also to confront, immediately and directly if it’s possible, the bare bones of existence, the elemental and fundamental, the bedrock which sustains us. I want to be able to look at and into a juniper tree, a piece of quartz, a vulture, a spider, and see it as it is in itself, devoid of all humanly ascribed qualities, anti-Kantian, even the categories of scientific description. To meet God or Medusa face to face, even if it means risking everything human in myself. I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with a nonhuman world and yet somehow survives still intact, individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.'' (Abbey 6).

 This passage shows that Abbey believes that he is living in “the center of the world, God’s naval, Abbey’s country, the red wasteland,” (4). Abbey wants to be all alone, in the wild, with nothing but what God has created. He wants to be surrounded by every non-human aspect you can imagine and leave any trace of industrialism behind. He wants to explore the world the way God wanted it be and enjoy every feature it has to offer.

Abbey’s use of God in his writings does not mean that he has a deep passion for a specific religion. I believe that his writings show his many traits that make him seem to be an animist, one who believes that non-human entities, such as animals and plants, possess a spiritual essence. In the chapter “The Serpents of Paradise”, his use of spirituality seems to give animals human characteristics by means of personification. He personifies the mourning doves in the nearby crevices by writing, “Hello…they seem to cry, who...are...you?” (16). When Abbey “befriends” a gopher snake, he describes his relationship with the snake as similar to the relationship between a “man and his dog” (21). Towards the end of the chapter, I noticed that Abbey personifies the two snakes by saying “I feel their presence watching over me […],” (21). A snake cannot simply watch over you, rather he is stating that the snakes impacted himself to the point where he will never forget the relationship. When describing his spirituality with animals, I find it very hard to not “summarize” his viewpoints because the personifications that are used need the explanation of the story in order to be understood. I believe his use of personification has forced his own definitions of life onto animals, which signifies his writings as mystical.

Another aspect of his spirituality in his writings is the use of death. Abbey believes that dying in the wilderness is “better than the slow rot in a hospital oxygen tent with rubber tubes stuck up your nose, prick, asshole, with blood transfusions and intravenous feeding, bedsores and bedpans and bad-tempered nurses’ aides – the whole nasty routine to which most dying men, in our time, are condemned,” (83). In the chapter “The Dead Man at Grandview Point”, the writing of the tragic death of the man symbolizes how nature can simply engulf you. Even though this poor man has died, Abbey writes “He had good luck – I envy him the manner of his going: to die alone, on rock under the brink of the unknown, like a wolf, a great bird, seems to me very good fortune indeed. To die in the open, under the sun, far from insolent interference of leech and priest, before this desert vastness opening like a window onto eternity – that surely was an overwhelming stroke of rare good luck,” (212-213). Abbey wishes that he could die the way this man did, alone in the heart of nature, the way that every man should die.

Abbey’s mysticism is not only found in just the chapters I choose, but throughout the entire book. In one way, shape, or form Abbey writes his mystic views in almost every chapter by the use of personification, similes, hyperboles, metaphors, etc. Desert Solitaire not only describes the ecosystem of the wilderness in Utah, but the mystical views Abbey portrays on his adventures and journeys through the beautiful outdoors.

 

 

Works Cited

Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire; a Season in the Wilderness. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968. Print.

"Mystic." Merriam-Webster. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 24 Sept. 2014.

Week 3, Prompt 1

Samantha Call

Dr. Adam Johns
Seminar in Composition
9-24-2014

Half of a Human

Edward Abbey, in Desert Solitaire, has a mysticism that allows him to think it is possible to move beyond human constructs, while still remaining human, in order to see nature in its true form.  Abbey recognizes that human gluttony and arrogance hinder the connection he seeks to have with nature, but also finds that he does not wish to extinguish from himself the parts of humanity that bring him joy.  In this sense, he is stuck in a trance off half-mysticism where he wants to be part of nature but also part of humanity.  Abbey is in conflict with himself, desiring to be a part of the aspect of humanity that is not destroying his beloved nature and struggling to maintain the companionship that society offers him.  His belief that he can separate the good in humans from the bad may be his own special form of mysticism.

            Abbey is a living paradox.  He hates humanity in some ways but is deeply drawn to it in others.  While constantly condemning people for their faults, he also finds it necessary to praise them for their good qualities.  He demonstrates this with his description of a man named Viviano Jacquez, writing that “he is completely and dependably unreliable. But, in his favor, he is inexpensive; he is economical; he works full-time seven days a week…” (85, Abbey).  Jacquez is seen by Abbey to be flighty and unreliable, but Abbey can’t help but be drawn to his work ethic and his simplicity.  These are characteristics that Abbey believes propel human beings into being able to connect with nature.  However, Jacquez’ erraticism is indicative of an inability to truly appreciate what is around him and take in what the job and the world have to offer him.  Any hope that he may have had of reaching a spiritual connection with nature is lost due to his embodiment of undesirable, at least in Abbey’s eyes, human traits.  The good always coincides with the bad, but Abbey thinks that he can separate those aspects of humanity to help him achieve closeness to nature.

            Abbey’s mysticism stems from his belief that he can eliminate the destructive and greedy characteristics of humanity from himself in order to see nature in its simplest form.  As Abbey begins his time in the wilderness of Arches National Park, he describes the relationship he hopes to have with nature, stating that he would like “to be able to look at and into a juniper tree…and see it as it is itself, devoid of all humanly ascribed qualities…” (6, Abbey).  This presents the major issue for Abbey.  He wants to see the tree and nature in general through nonhuman eyes, though human eyes are the only ones he has to look through.  It is in basic human nature for people to watch the world around them and use their experience to shape how they perceive new things.  Abbey wants to defy this basic nature and see the wilderness in a nonhuman way, even though he is only equipped with human eyes, a human sense of smell, and the human breadth of experience.  Abbey, like Jacquez, has good qualities, but also has limitations that make it impossible for him to achieve his goals.  He is striving to go beyond his own nature to see something that perhaps humans were not meant to see.

            As hard as Abbey tries to separate his desirable human self from his undesirable human self, he is unable to do so in the end.  He can isolate himself in the desert and claim to be happy with just himself, but that delusion is shattered because he is unable to detach himself from his needy human nature that makes him crave human interaction.  While preparing to leave Arches, Abbey proclaims that he “grows wary of nobody’s company but [his] own,” and desires to “…hear the wit and wisdom of the subway crowds again…” (265, Abbey).  He has had countless adventures in the park, which he relishes, but still cannot disconnect himself from the very human desire of companionship.  By being unable to detach the human needs he sees as a hindrance to his spiritual connection with nature, Abbey proves that humanity is not something that can be dissected and pieced back together like a puzzle.

Humanity is what it is.  You take it as it has evolved or you still take it as it has evolved; there isn’t another option.  To take away greediness or presumptuousness would make you incompletely human, something which Abbey is not willing to do.  His mysticism, in which he believes that he can be human while simultaneously expelling humanity from within him, is shattered by his surrender into normal society once again.   Being a human evokes the limitations of humanity, of which one cannot escape.

 

Works Cited

 

Abbey, Edward.  Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness.  New York: Touchstone, 1990.  Print.

week 3: prompt 2 (creative work)

Meaghan Duffy

9/24/14

English Composition

Dr. Adam Johns

I awake suddenly to a series of crackles followed by a loud thump.  I wipe my tired eyes and force them open to see nothing but a dusty haze surrounding me at all angles.  I slowly roll over on my stomach to face where Abbey had been camped out for the night, slightly nervous to find out his state of being. 

“Abbey,” I yelled over the noise of the bulldozers and cranes directing themselves through the seemingly empty desert. His flashlight, water bottle, harness, boots and jacket were exactly where they were left last night, but his person was missing.

“God damn it!” I flinched as I heard his deranged tone screech from practically right behind my ear.  I flung around now in a seated position to see Abbey hunched over the twisted juniper tree trunk, which I was under.  His face was pale and longer than usual; his breath sounds were loud and more frequent than normal. 

“What’s going on,” I asked confused, partially because I was still half asleep and partly because I could barely see past the thick clouds of debris filling my airways and clogging my pores. 

“The elitist corporate men are butchering the junipers to create a parking lot for the spoiled tourists incase they want to park and walk for a little while instead of drive the whole way through in their gas-guzzling box cars.  At this rate, there will be nothing left for the unappreciative tourists to see in a few years time!  Every living and nonliving inhabitant of this desert will be gone, but I’m sure the ignorant tourists won’t know the difference…” Abbey ranted on, barely getting out a word before beginning the next.

I sat in silence twiddling my finger for what felt like days, knowing I shouldn’t waste my breath on useless words that wouldn’t stop the machines from running and the men behind the machines from doing their jobs to pay the bills.  With a split second decision, I stood up and began vigorously walking toward to source of all the noise.  One step in front of the other I preceded having absolutely no plans of what I would do or say once I got there.  I consistently increased my pace as Abbey nervously skipped after me, I assume because he wanted to know exactly what I was going to do before I did it; that was just his personality, he always had to be a step ahead and never behind. 

“Where are you going? What are you planning on doing? You can’t change their minds!  We don’t have any clout Grant!” I had never seen Abbey so nervous in my life, not even when we were young kids and a cop caught us steeling snacks from the convenience store down the hill.  Throughout my entire trip here, he has talked my ear off about the cowards of this world who refuse to break out of their sheltered bubbles and structured societal roles, yet the very second he has a possible chance to change the fate of the place he considers home, he decides to criticize from a distance rather than take action and confront the destroyers. 

“You want change, then you have to go and get it!”

“This isn’t how we do it, there is a better way.”

What’s the better way? Please enlighten me on the golden process you speak of!”

“We…uh…I-”

“Exactly, you never have a plan! You talk and you say, but you don’t do, you don’t execute.  If you want change you have to go and get it! Put yourself out there, take a leap of faith, be proactive.”

“Saving a dozen trees in a national park in Utah really means nothing in the grand scheme of things.  My true goal is unreachable, unachievable! It’s like trying to count all the stars in the sky while standing on the earth, impossible.  There are billions of people in this world; nothing I say will change a single thing.   You can’t just decivilize a highly civilized society, stripping it of all the things that keep it grounded and relevant and expect everything to be okay!”

“Well then what’s the point,” I asked turning back around heading for the juniper tree where my morning began, the tree that would soon be destroyed and unseen by every tourist that would ever walk around this park in the future.

Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire; a Season in the Wilderness. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968. Print.

The Unity of Forms

By Joe Weidman

The desert is nothing but a collection of baked sand and desperate, well adapted organisms. The desert is a question, unanswerable because of human limitation. The desert is a collection of atoms in space, constantly bombarded with photons. The desert is a reaper disguised as a virginal paradise, luring you in with curiosity and trapping your organic being in the indifferent rocks. What is a desert? Even Edward Abbey has this question, and may never have answered it. But Edward Abbey is seeking something in the desert, something beyond God, beyond government, beyond experience, beyond logic. He quotes just once that he is developing a mysticism, and he the mystic, the creator of this new collection of thoughts. Abbey seeks to become a mystic, but, cannot overcome three limitations:  the limit created by human passion, his limited definite form, and his limit of understanding.

Edward Abbey does not hate anything holistically, he hates ideas that exist within many entities. Ambiguity exists in many entities, and especially in man. This forms a limit to Abbey’s search and creation of his hard mysticism. Abbey cannot write off man, but he cannot love man entirely as well. Man destroys nature and uses it for self-gain, a key idea in the mysticism Abbey has built. This hate of man’s destruction is part of one of many Abbey dichotomies however, and is usually coupled with Abbey’s reluctant but apparent love for man. It is in this juxtaposition that Abbey cannot truly pursue his mystic goals. Abbey says, “I still long for a view of the jolly, rosy faces on 42nd street and the cheerful throngs on the sidewalks of Atlantic Avenue. Enough of Land’s End, Dead Horse Point, Tukuhnikivats, and other high resolves; I want to see somebody jump out of a window or off a roof,” just after he posits that Arches will breathe a sigh of relief after wretched necessary humanity leaves the place in peace (p265). This man is leaving his desert and says he would rather see someone jump off a roof and potentially die than stay, yet he has plans for higher mysticism in the heart of the desert. Abbey is held back from the desert by  his unshakable passion for the human experience.

Along with the limits of human passion, Abbey cannot exist without maintaining survival. The desert rattlesnake is finely adapted to find and devour mice, the gopher snake to devour rattlesnakes, the red tailed hawk to devour snakes. Creatures and plants of the desert evolve vacuoles and storage in their bodies to survive long periods of drought. Vultures hasten decomposure and gain nutrients, as do a host of other decomposers when a large cow or other quadruped dies. Abbey barely if at all possesses any of these adaptations that would allow him to subsist within the desert. The aspect of his mysticism of skinny grit survival where humans barely make it out by standing on their walking sticks is impossible to maintain because  the human body can only take so much before it crumbles to whence it came. After describing a hypothetical situation, Abbey gloomily points out that after a desert adventurer misappropriates his water rations, all the hopeless wanderer can do is, “comfort [themselves] that within a few hours, if all goes as planned, [their] human flesh will be working its way through the gizzard of a buzzard, [their] essence transfigured into the fierce, greedy eyes and unimaginable consciousness of a turkey vulture” (p117-118). Abbey sees this in his mysticism as a “promotion in grade” for the human race, and “the realization of an ideal” for him (p118). This breaking down and reconstituting of humanity amongst beings of the desert is seen as a promotion because humans, to Abbey are terrible and should not be here in the first place, and they are attaining unity with which they deserve, a vulture. Abbey loves how humanity can be feeble in the desert and can be broken down, but truly actualize his strong love, he must die, something he cannot allow.

The most hindering quality that stops Abbey from truly actualizing his mystic dream is the simple mystery of the desert. The desert is unlike the mountains or the sea as Abbey says, because it delivers not simple understanding but contemplation. It makes Abbey ask the “unanswered question” of the chapter Rocks, which is the question of what meaning the desert has. Abbey offers a few answers through the book, but also hints that there may be no answer at all, only surface level thoughts. One of his most complete answers is on page 243 when he says, “I am convinced now the desert has no heart, that it presents a riddle which has no answer, and that the riddle itself is an illusion created by some limitation or exaggeration of the displaced human consciousness.” This is the true reason why Abbey cannot attain mystic splendor, because he as a human has a “displaced human consciousness.” His thought is that his thoughts are inadequate. This inadequacy is inescapable because to truly have adequate, full understanding of the desert he must become the desert, something that can only be accomplished when he dies, but can only be established while living. Abbey thinks, therefore he is, the desert does not think, but still exists as well.

Abbey therefore, is a mystic. There are limits to Abbey truly attaining mystic status, but the definition of a mystic is not someone who truly attains harmony with the mysticism they have created, it is that of someone who pursues it. A mystic is “a person who claims to attain, or believes in the possibility of attaining, insight into mysteries transcending ordinary human knowledge, as by direct communication with the divine or immediate intuition in a state of spiritual ecstasy” (Dictionary.com). Because Abbey claims he is a mystic, and because he believes it is possible to attain true intrinsic understanding of nature and the desert, he is a mystic. A mystic does not have to be enlightened, only one seeking enlightenment, one living within many questions and limits, but seeking answers.

Abbey develops paradoxes and dichotomies the entire book, and it is within these unanswered constructs that he lives and weaves his mysticism, the union of underlying form with surface experience. The juniper tree has both underlying form and physical form, but both cannot exist in the world, only one can and the other can exist in the mind. Abbey seeks union of these forms in the world, but to do this he must be alone in indifferent nature and surrender to it entirely. He cannot do this however, because of the limits of the human physical and mental world. Abbey creates a master morality in which he craves the death and rebirth of Billy Joe on the dead tree, he longs for the glorious death the old man under the juniper tree had, he relishes his essence if it is “working its way through the gizzard of a buzzard,” but to do this he must die, which is the human rope binding all physical forms from union with the spiritual p(117). Abbey seeks to make one the underlying and the overlying forms because in this he sees perfection, he sees both complete mastery of morality and consciousness, and complete control of physical form and survival. When these forms become one form they are both the stimuli they create and the ideas the stimuli inspire in conscious beings; they are not because they think, they simply are.  

Works Cited

Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness. New York: Simon & Schuster Inc., 1990. Paperback Edition.

Mystic - Definition. (2014, January 1). Retrieved September 24, 2014, from http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Mystic?s=t

Prompt #: 1 Week: 3

Week 3: Prompt 1

Irene Magdon
Seminar in Compsition
Dr.Adam Johns
September 24, 2014

Mysticism in "Desert Solitaire"

           Abbey showed us his rather unique ideals and beliefs throughout Desert Solitaire. His innate love of the environment showed us his apparent mystic outlook and draws us to question if this is truly his demeanor. A mystic is one who is absorbed with something almost foreign to the majority. It is a devotion that may be comparable to that of a religion. Abbey’s clear devotion to the wilderness is made exceptionally clear to us in his chapters. At times he even addresses other religions almost mockingly. I believe that Abbey is his own form of a mystic in the way he views the world and his life, as well as others’.

            Simple aspects of Abbey’s character in the first few chapters began to pave the way for the questioning of his beliefs. One such moment occurs when he discusses the disadvantages of the flashlight, “like many other mechanical gadgets it tends to separate a man from the world around him” (Abbey 13). He appreciates the isolated feeling like most people would not. Being closer and more at one with his surroundings is almost a form of peace. However, when he turns the generator on for the trailer, he says he feels “shut off from the natural world and sealed up, encapsulated” (Abbey 13).

            Further on in the “Polemic,” Abbey expresses more of his deep-seated devotion to the wilderness and its protection:

Wilderness preservation, like a hundred other good causes, will be forgotten under the overwhelming pressure of a struggle for mere survival and sanity in a completely urbanized, completely industrialized, ever more crowded environment. For my own part I would rather take my chances in a thermonuclear war than live in such a world. (52)

From this passage we, yet again, see the devotion to his beliefs. He has begun creating for himself an almost religious-like appearance for his way of life. On page 236 Abbey, almost mockingly, shares his opinion on Mormons, Baptists, Christians, Roman Catholics, Hindus, and even atheists leaving us to conclude that he does not follow any of their practices.

            In the chapter “The Moon-Eyed Horse” we are told the story of Moon-Eye, a free-spirited horse living in the desert. He embodies the life Abbey wants for himself to the point where he is virtually envious of the horse. He speaks to the horse in an angry tone, showing his frustration as he tries to wrangle him to have for himself. Moon-Eye lives at on in the world which, to him, will always be as it is; the pristine, unspoiled desert. It is possible that Abbey is fully aware of what the future holds for the wilderness and wishes he could either escape it or be oblivious to it if he cannot stop it. To be at one with the world he loves like Moon-Eye.

            Abbey’s final words to us echo the fear that has been the basis of this book. “When I return will it be the same? Will I be the same? Will anything ever be quite the same again? If I return” (269). It can be debated as to why Abbey questions if he will return. It could be possible that Abbey would not want to come back to see any further changes take place in the place he loves. It would be corrupted and soiled to him. It is more valuable to him in his memory as the unaltered land that he adored.

But how does this make him a mystic? His unmoving adoration for the desert and other outfits of the 

wilderness is one of almost religious proportions. It is the foundation of Desert Solitaire. He yearns to be as 

one with the wilderness as Moon-Eye, to be fully absorbed in the world he loves. Abbey’s visions for the 

National Parks and outdoors is one with such passion that it has opened the eyes of countless readers and 

fellow advocates

Works cited:
Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness. New York: Touchstone, 1990

Abbey on Contradiction

Emma Sullivan

Dr. Adam Johns

English Composition 0200

24 September 2014

Abbey on Contradiction

I decided I should meet Abbey in a place I figured he would feel most comfortable and uninhibited to talk about his writing amongst the lightly bustling city of Pittsburgh—so naturally I chose Schenley Park:

“So Abbey, one thing I was challenged with when reading your work was the contradictory opinions you often expressed. Specifically, how you feel about people in general. You clearly want people to come to untouched places like Moab, and experience nature without the restrictions of modern convenience. Yet, is it conceivable that if people were to start traveling like this more often, that you would not appreciate places like Moab as much because they would no longer be ‘solitary’ or nearly as solitary as they once were when you explored them?”

“Well, I suppose you could become technical and say that the desert is such a large place that it would take an enormous amount of people to cause it to become ‘crowded’. However, as is inferable, I want people to come to these places and leave with the mentality that we need to stop messing with nature and start exploring it. I suppose, if everyone were to leave with this mentality and go about it without much use of modern convenience that I could not object to this on principle. Yet, one of the things I so appreciate about nature is the solitude in being away from society.”

“So, what do you say in response to this quote found towards the end of your book where you say; ‘Look here, I want to say for godsake folks get out of them there machines, take off those fucking sunglasses and unpeel both eyeballs, look around; throw away those goddamned idiotic cameras!’ (Abbey 233). Especially because we see you just a few chapters later using a car in your travels to The Maze, and a few chapters before with Newcomb, whom you mentioned wanted to photograph your travels. After making this statement, and then blatantly going against your own words of not wanting people to bring or use  things like cars or cameras, what is your explanation for this?”

“Well, keep in mind that I was not enthusiastic about the car. For example, I articulate this through saying things like ‘he [Bob] grinds on in single-minded second gear,’ in response to my request to get out of the car and be outside (Abbey 252). I did not show a great deal of enthusiasm about the use of it; however, it was necessary for that particular venture. There are exceptions to everything. We even see this in nature. I myself even made friends with a snake! I think each new situation and opportunity has to be looked at separate from the rest.”

“Would you consider yourself to have been a tourist yourself in nature? On one hand we see you in chapters like “Water” and “Havasu” expressing quite an authority on nature and even survival, yet on the other hand you equalize yourself with the tourists in your final chapter ironically named “Bedrock and Paradox” when you say, ‘Who am I to pity the degradation and misery of my fellow citizens? I, too, must leave the canyon country, if only for a season,’ (Abbey 265). This was another contradiction I struggled with, because it deals with both your alleged misanthropy and your love of nature.”

“I suppose I too am I tourist in nature. If not, what else would I be? I am certainly not an animal, and as much as I think I would like to become one with nature in a way that only a creature like Moon-Eye could, I think the great equalizer between my fellow tourists and I is that at some point, we all have to leave. I don’t consider myself to be a tourist in the sense that I am inept in my skill to survive with minimal help from modern advances, unlike my fellow humans. However, in the face of nature we are all tourists, for before us, that’s all there was.”

“Interesting. I have but one final question to ask of you, aside from those stemming from the nature of your contradictions. In the chapter ‘Episodes and Visions’ in the context of you conversing with the tourists you say, ‘Tell the truth, they never believe you,’ (Abbey 234). Is this a statement that goes for the entirety of the book as you wrote it?”  

“Well, depends on who’s reading it I suppose. Are you one of those tourists? Do you believe me?”

Works Cited

Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1990. Print.