Book Review: Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed
Cheryl Strayed’s Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail caught my eye for a multitude of reasons. As an avid backpacker and one who frequently daydreams about epic solo adventures on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), I approached this memoir with eager anticipation. The idea of a woman fearlessly traversing vast landscapes, confronting both nature and her own demons, seemed like a captivating narrative. But as I delved into Strayed’s journey, I found myself grappling with a mix of frustration and disbelief.
Wild chronicles Strayed’s odyssey through grief, addiction, and ultimately, self-discovery, framed against the backdrop of the PCT. Her pain—and there is plenty of it, stemming from the loss of her mother, the collapse of her marriage, and drug abuse—is articulated with raw honesty. It’s in these early chapters that I found glimpses of real emotional depth, particularly in those haunting dreams about her mother and the poignant description of saying goodbye to her childhood horse. These moments felt genuine and pulled me in with the weight of their emotional resonance.
However, as Strayed sets out on her hike, things began to unravel for me. The initial intrigue quickly gave way to exasperation. While I wanted to root for her as she embarked on this solo journey, her apparent lack of preparedness made me want to scream. Who sets off into the wilderness without even reading a guidebook? Throughout her hike, I found myself more incredulous than inspired, particularly as she met countless admirers along the trail—all men, of course—while struggling under the weight of her backpack, half her body weight. It felt absurd. Strayed’s self-presentation often verged on Mary Sue territory, where it seemed like every man she encountered couldn’t resist her “wild” charm, all while she was shuffling around in hiking boots.
One notable aspect of this book is Strayed’s writing style, which I found to be painfully pedestrian. Her descriptions of nature left much to be desired, failing to capture the vitality and magic of the wilderness that should be paramount in a hiking memoir. Instead of painting vivid imagery, I was met with phrases like “I walked and walked and walked,” which did little to evoke a sense of the breathtaking vistas I yearned to experience alongside her. The prose often felt disjointed, interrupted by flashbacks that distracted from the trail’s potential profundity.
Yet, amid the critiques, Strayed’s journey resonates with anyone who has grappled with their own form of loss or self-sabotage. The underlying message—that nature can be a vehicle for transformation—is a valued sentiment. But for all the supposed epiphanies she experiences, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Strayed’s ultimate lesson was less about responsibility and more about self-acceptance, even if at the expense of others.
In conclusion, I believe Wild could be appreciated by those seeking an uncomplicated, albeit frustrating, tale of adventure and introspection. Backpackers looking for motivation may feel a tinge of inspiration; others might find it a lamentable illustration of what could have been—a memoir of exploring the wilderness but fraught with missed opportunities for deeper insights. Personally, this reading experience prompted me to reflect on my aspirations in the wild while reminding me that the great American memoir of the PCT remains unwritten. Perhaps I’ll have the chance to pen it myself one day—armed with better navigational skills, of course.
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