He clearly winces at the possibility of roads being built that allow the non-hikers among us a chance to see at all, up close, or, at least closer, some of the parts of our parks that are currently inaccessible and he decries as abominations the possibility of mechanisms being constructed that provide an enhanced experience to those in wheelchairs, as if that were somehow shameful. But don’t forget a gift for language, for description, for story-telling, and a strong poetic sensibility.įor those of us who, for whatever reasons, may not be able to manage ten-mile hikes, or who cannot rappel down canyon walls to experience the full range of experience available at our national parks, for those who may not have dedicated our existences to living as closely to the land as possible, we also are Americans, we also are people, and it is possible to take joy in natural wonder without the benefit of Abbey’s athleticism. Add a dose of survivalist paranoia as he sees one strong reason to support National Parks to be preserving a staging area for rebel militias after big government comes after us all. Toss in some other dark impulses when he suggests that perhaps birth control for some poor people should be mandatory. As such he taps into some tried and true American themes such as the romantic myth of self-sufficiency and our persistent national history of anti-city bias. While he offers detail and poetry about the desert and about untouched places, he sneers at the urban, at those he sees as lesser than himself. And while he may wish for us as readers to appreciate what he appreciates, he seems uninterested in allowing for other joys by other people. It is one thing to have a deep and abiding appreciation for a place, a thing, an experience, an environment, but Abbey seems determined that only certain sorts should be allowed to share that joy. However, I have concluded, with apologies to Ernest Thompson, that Edward Abbey is an old poop.

He tells tales of people he has known and in doing so enhances an image of his southwest as at once a beautiful and terrible place.

In the 18 essays that make up the book, he offers not only his appreciation for the sometimes harsh environment of Utah and Arizona, but his notions on things political. As a ranger at Arches National Park he had a close relationship with some of our country’s most exquisite scenery. Desert Solitaire seemed the right book to take along on a trip to the southwest in September 2009.Ībbey writes of the beauty of the southwest.

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