The subtitle of this book does not lie, this is a real mosey of a read, to be experienced in small dollops over the course of a long, slow time. A chapter a day is just fine. Heavy verbiage, description, thoughtfulness and wit meant to be savored. I understand those who can't hang with its digressive and sometimes obsessive style. There isn't an observation, wise or otherwise tossed-off, that William Least Heat-Moon doesn't put to the page, and the book has been criticized for this. It might be best described as a "maximalist travelogue." This man can riff and show off his writerly powers all he wants; I'm here for it.
The inclusion of Heat-Moon's witty wife, Jo Ann, whom he lovingly refers to as "Q", adds flavor to the mix in this epic tour of the U.S. lower 48. Some might find their soul-mate "completing-each-other's-sentences" rapport a bit twee, but I warmed to it -- like bantering Nick and Nora Charles in The Thin Man, it has that vibe. Autobiographical seeking -- internal travel meets outer -- is a tricky thing to pull off, and your mileage may vary as to whether he does. This is decidedly more staccato and shambolic than WLHM's Blue Highways. If you can't stomach this (one reviewer called it "navel gazing") I completely get it. Heat-Moon literally tells the reader he knows he's being annoying sometimes. Still -- even if this tome does not flow as beautifully as WLHM's masterpiece, Blue Highways (read THAT first, before this one, seriously) -- this is nonetheless great on its own terms. Get past the first hundred pages, decide if you can do this mosey, and you are home free.
Importantly, this documented love-letter to a vanishing America, made me FEEL in a way that few books do, and I absolutely love William Least Heat-Moon for it. It will stand up easily to a second reading, and in fact I read many of the passages twice to make sure I was grasping the meaning. His writing is often dense, but the turns of phrases are too lovely and masterful to glibly skate over. The kind of contemplative travel WLHM espouses in the book necessitates it being written this way. He wants you to see the backwoods landscape as he does, considered, taking into context the historical layers of the places -- not whizzed by in a plane or in a fast car on the interstate. To cob from Donna Tartt, this is a "secret history" of America -- hidden in closed communities, old forgotten news clippings, layers of flora and fauna, and buried memory.
As with Blue Highways, there's a rogue's gallery of Americans presented, some interesting and some less so, who comprise a country vanishing as fast as the places herein. As America becomes more venal and divided, Heat-Moon is trying to remind us of a people and their nation at its best (and sometimes worst), aiming in his telling for a unifying principle or goal -- Quoz, as he defines it -- those rare and cherished moments of epiphany in the journey of life. I adored this book and the man who wrote it, without reservation. It reminded me quite a bit of Mark Twain's Life on the Mississippi, a book I revere.
This is not the perfect read that Blue Highways is, perhaps, but it doesn't have to be; it is amply filled with wisdom and reward. More gold than tailings is a good measure of success for any miner. Heat-Moon wants us to get back to taking our time, not slavishly trapping ourselves in dispiriting instant gratification. Heat-Moon despairs, as do I, of a generation killing time on long trips with cell-phone games instead of accumulating memories of the American grain outside their car windows. This book was an indelibly satisfying and refreshing experience. It is, objectively, a four-star book, but who's counting? There are many moments of sheer magic in this, and I loved it.
c.2025 e/k
PS: Don't read this on an empty stomach; WLHM chows down on some delectable regional grub in this. Best read with wine and food at hand. And maybe a cigar or something stronger.