This is kind of an odd accomplishment: an adventure book that will make you really really glad your not an adventurer. Grann's descriptions of Fawcett et al trampling through the amazonian rainforest with their crass, (often racist) imperialist delusions of grandeur and discovery are often gut-wrenching. Skin peels off in sheets, everyone gets malaria, parasites, maggot infections (shudder), gangrene, etc. Trekking through unspoiled tropical jungles is utterly horrifying, you basically just turn yourself into an oozing, walking meal and wait for the rainforest to literally devour you. Grann remains fairly non-judgmental through out. After all, it's the green hell of the jungle itself which finally breaks down and destroys hubris and good intentions alike. Seriously, some of this stuff would make Werner Herzog blush.