This book popped up on my rec list probably because I had read the excellendt Anthropology of Turquoise, which also takes place in the Utah desert. It really didn’t seem like something that would interest me–the whole “I am an amazing spiritual warrior because I gave up TV or sex or Diet Pepsi for a month” thing has gotten silly—but I decided it wouldn’t hurt to download a sample chapter. After finishing the sample, I had to read the book for two reasons: first, Holmes-Binney is very funny and knows how to set up a scene to show some true absurdity; second, any amateur camper deciding to spend forty days in a western Utah desert canyon in November and December is crazy as a loon.
It was certainly an entertaining read. I found myself literally laughing out loud, knowing while doing so that it’s really not nice to laugh at someone nearly dying a dozen times over. I couldn’t help it, though. My idea of camping involves room service and high thread-count linens, and even I know that cowboy boots are not appropriate in desert blizzards and a “boy’s first ax” isn’t of practical use for chopping firewood (or much else, really.)
Aside from the obvious humor where the author pokes fun at herself, I found the whole concept somewhat preposterous and the author pretty immature and self-absorbed. She talked a lot about how self-reliant and strong she was, but she seems to have expected her husband, then her boyfriend to do all the heavy lifting in making her happy…as if anyone can “make” someone else happy. When they fail to provide her with One True Purpose, she leaves them. “Hey, babe, it’s not you…it just that you aren’t existing just to make me feel like I’m the most important person on the planet.” Then she floats around from place to place before deciding that , yeah, Jesus and Mohammad went into seclusion in the desert, so I should do that, too. If I just go park myself on a rock, surely an archangel will come tell me what I’m supposed to be doing to fulfill my bliss. (I’m guess it never crossed her mind that those stories might be parables.) Clearly she made it the full 40 days—not a spoiler, it’s in the title. And she definitely learned that adrenaline and cortisol are amazing survival tools. In the end, however, I didn’t get any feeling that she really did much more than become a barely competent camper.
So, there’s plenty of “that time I did that crazy thing and damn near died” fodder for retelling over drinks, but don’t expect to read about any true soul-searching or true epiphanies here.
There was one thing that really bugged me to read: when using public lands, if you cart it in, you cart it out; leave no trace. She definitely didn’t do that. Not only did she leave the structure (which someone else clearly coveted and would have made use of), but not burying body wastes is just nasty camping. She’s lucky a mouse was the only thing that showed up.