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In Patagonia
Dopo l’ultima guerra, alcuni ragazzi inglesi, fra cui l’autore di questo libro, chini sulle carte geografiche, cercavano il luogo giusto per sfuggire alla prossima distruzione nucleare. Scelsero la Patagonia. E proprio in Patagonia si sarebbe spinto Bruce Chatwin, non già per salvarsi da una catastrofe, ma sulle tracce di un mostro preistorico e di un parente navigatore. Pubblicato nel 1977 come opera prima, questo libro appartiene alla specie rarissima dei libri che provocano una sorta di innamoramento. La Patagonia di Chatwin diventa, per chiunque si appassioni alla sua scrittura, un luogo che mancava alla propria geografia personale e di cui avvertiva segretamente il bisogno.
264 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1977
1865 people are currently reading
43806 people want to read
About the author
Bruce Chatwin
66 books675 followersCharles Bruce Chatwin was an English novelist and travel writer. He won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for his novel On the Black Hill (1982).
In 1972, Chatwin interviewed the 93-year-old architect and designer Eileen Gray in her Paris salon, where he noticed a map of the area of South America called Patagonia, which she had painted. "I've always wanted to go there," Bruce told her. "So have I," she replied, "go there for me." Two years later in November 1974, Chatwin flew out to Lima in Peru, and reached Patagonia a month later. When he arrived, he left the newspaper with a telegram: "Have gone to Patagonia." He spent six months in the area, a trip which resulted in the book In Patagonia (1977). This work established his reputation as a travel writer. Later, however, residents in the region contradicted the account of events depicted in Chatwin's book. It was the first time in his career, but not the last, that conversations and characters which Chatwin presented as fact were alleged to have been fictionalised.
Later works included a novel based on the slave trade, The Viceroy of Ouidah, which he researched with extended stays in Benin, West Africa. For The Songlines (1987), a work combining fiction and non-fiction, Chatwin went to Australia. He studied the culture to express how the songs of the Aborigines are a cross between a creation myth, an atlas and an Aboriginal man's personal story. He also related the travelling expressed in The Songlines to his own travels and the long nomadic past of humans. Winner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, his novel On the Black Hill (1982) was set closer to home, in the hill farms of the Welsh Borders. It focuses on the relationship between twin brothers, Lewis and Benjamin, who grow up isolated from the course of twentieth century history. Utz (1988), was a novel about the obsession that leads people to collect. Set in Prague, the novel details the life and death of Kaspar Utz, a man obsessed with his collection of Meissen porcelain.
Chatwin was working on a number of new ideas for future novels at the time of his death from AIDS in 1989, including a transcontinental epic, provisionally titled Lydia Livingstone.
In 1972, Chatwin interviewed the 93-year-old architect and designer Eileen Gray in her Paris salon, where he noticed a map of the area of South America called Patagonia, which she had painted. "I've always wanted to go there," Bruce told her. "So have I," she replied, "go there for me." Two years later in November 1974, Chatwin flew out to Lima in Peru, and reached Patagonia a month later. When he arrived, he left the newspaper with a telegram: "Have gone to Patagonia." He spent six months in the area, a trip which resulted in the book In Patagonia (1977). This work established his reputation as a travel writer. Later, however, residents in the region contradicted the account of events depicted in Chatwin's book. It was the first time in his career, but not the last, that conversations and characters which Chatwin presented as fact were alleged to have been fictionalised.
Later works included a novel based on the slave trade, The Viceroy of Ouidah, which he researched with extended stays in Benin, West Africa. For The Songlines (1987), a work combining fiction and non-fiction, Chatwin went to Australia. He studied the culture to express how the songs of the Aborigines are a cross between a creation myth, an atlas and an Aboriginal man's personal story. He also related the travelling expressed in The Songlines to his own travels and the long nomadic past of humans. Winner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, his novel On the Black Hill (1982) was set closer to home, in the hill farms of the Welsh Borders. It focuses on the relationship between twin brothers, Lewis and Benjamin, who grow up isolated from the course of twentieth century history. Utz (1988), was a novel about the obsession that leads people to collect. Set in Prague, the novel details the life and death of Kaspar Utz, a man obsessed with his collection of Meissen porcelain.
Chatwin was working on a number of new ideas for future novels at the time of his death from AIDS in 1989, including a transcontinental epic, provisionally titled Lydia Livingstone.
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February 3, 2015
It was the day before I left for my vacation to South America that I learned about this book. It was an offhand mention by a client, "Oh, have you read In Patagonia?" I picked it up on my way home and stuffed it into the already full backpack.
Chatwin's writing got under my skin, and I don't necessarily mean that in a good way. At times he can turn a beautiful phrase when describing a sunset or the wind scoured landscape that seems to go forever. In other places I wanted him to move on, his prose making me claustrophobic in a place big enough to swallow me whole.
But it was the enveloping wonder of the peripatetic experience that ultimately won me over. Chatwin's willingness to let the experience take hold and push the observer to internal places they might not want to go - once I was in Patagonia, I got it. "It", whatever that thing was and is, changed me. Chatwin mentions the stories of people that spend time, too much time, in the fierce desolation of Patagonia and don't escape with their lives. The wind talks to you, says those things back to you that are inside, that are supposed to stay down.
Torres del Paine, Chile
Near the end of our vacation we were in Ushuaia, Argentina in Tierra del Fuego - the bottom of Patagonia, the tip of the continent. Emboldened and inspired by Chatwin, I asked my wife if we could check to see if there were any last minute berths on a ship to Antarctica. This additional 11 days to our itinerary, and un-budgeted expense, met with solid and well defended resistance by my better half. But would we ever be here again? Somehow my persuasion worked and we took the last boat of the season out of Patagonia to a place that was unlike any other I've ever been.
Beagle Channel, looking back towards Ushuaia
I'll forgive Chatwin's too many references to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and colonial white-man timbre to some of his musings in exchange for reminding me the importance of walking to experience and getting me out of my comfort zone; getting me close enough to high-fin whales and watch seals display their molars.
Chatwin's writing got under my skin, and I don't necessarily mean that in a good way. At times he can turn a beautiful phrase when describing a sunset or the wind scoured landscape that seems to go forever. In other places I wanted him to move on, his prose making me claustrophobic in a place big enough to swallow me whole.
But it was the enveloping wonder of the peripatetic experience that ultimately won me over. Chatwin's willingness to let the experience take hold and push the observer to internal places they might not want to go - once I was in Patagonia, I got it. "It", whatever that thing was and is, changed me. Chatwin mentions the stories of people that spend time, too much time, in the fierce desolation of Patagonia and don't escape with their lives. The wind talks to you, says those things back to you that are inside, that are supposed to stay down.
Torres del Paine, Chile
Near the end of our vacation we were in Ushuaia, Argentina in Tierra del Fuego - the bottom of Patagonia, the tip of the continent. Emboldened and inspired by Chatwin, I asked my wife if we could check to see if there were any last minute berths on a ship to Antarctica. This additional 11 days to our itinerary, and un-budgeted expense, met with solid and well defended resistance by my better half. But would we ever be here again? Somehow my persuasion worked and we took the last boat of the season out of Patagonia to a place that was unlike any other I've ever been.
Beagle Channel, looking back towards Ushuaia
I'll forgive Chatwin's too many references to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and colonial white-man timbre to some of his musings in exchange for reminding me the importance of walking to experience and getting me out of my comfort zone; getting me close enough to high-fin whales and watch seals display their molars.
December 15, 2022
IL MONDO ALLA FINE DEL MONDO
Chatwin ha cominciato da qui, ha cominciato con questo libro.
Che è libro di viaggio, ma anche altro, e di altro, di più, ottima letteratura in assoluto: un precursore di quella narrativa contemporanea che mischia generi, tocca l’autofiction, torna indietro nel memoir, si spinge di nuovo avanti in altri territori.
Il suo primo lungo viaggio in una terra da sempre considerata alla fine del mondo, finis terrae.
Come Atlantide lo fu per il mondo antico.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin: la stazione di Jaramillo.
Melville usava l’aggettivo “patagonico” per indicare qualcosa di stranissimo, mostruoso e al contempo affascinante. Anche Calibano della Tempesta shakespeariana è un “mostro patagonico”. E il “vecchio marinaio” di Coleridge naviga da quelle parti come se fossero la porta di un altro mondo (o quella che chiude il nostro). Butch Cassidy e Sundance Kid vanno a nascondersi proprio lì per sfuggire all’esercito di inseguitori (indimenticabile il fermo immagine che chiude il magnifico film di George Roy Hill).
Invece la molla di Chatwin è ben più prosaica: un suo antenato aveva riportato a casa dalla Patagonia un pezzo di animale creduto preistorico, il milodonte, un bradipo del pleistocene, e Chatwin voleva saperne di più e possibilmente recuperare altro della bestia misteriosa.
Ma riesce subito a farsi compenetrare e catturare dal fascino di questa terra estrema. Estrema sotto tutti i punti di visti: la solitudine, il silenzio, il deserto, incluso quello umano, la durezza, le stranezze di un posto sperduto abitato da gente che arriva da zone del mondo opposte e si porta dietro il proprio guscio, l’eccentricità di certe architetture, di ninnoli e servizi da te conservati quasi con religione in una parte del mondo dove spesso i pavimenti non sono molto diversi dalla terra e dalla polvere.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin: relitto di una nave a Punta Arenas.
E nonostante abbigliamento e attrezzatura adeguata, Chatwin si portava dietro quella sua eterna aria da inglese educato nella buona società, così anacronistica in quella geografia che richiede tempra dura, carattere forte, spirito aspro e resistente: un uomo del primo mondo che approda nell’ultimo mondo.
Ma, animato dalla sua insaziabile curiosità - per le storie più che la Storia - riesce a trasformare ogni incontro in un evento, ogni aneddoto in un racconto e in una storia. Anche se mi pare che soprattutto vinca l’attrazione per leggenda e avventura (non quella all’Indiana Jones).
Eberhard, l’avo di Chatwin, e la pelle del milodonte.
La leggenda della Città dei Cesari, le spedizioni di Magellano e Darwin, la storia dell’indio Jemmy Button, la colonia missionaria del reverendo Bridges, il fiordo Última Esperanza…: sono queste e altre le storie, ammantate di mito, niente a che vedere con un documentario, che Chatwin riporta a casa dopo mesi di esplorazione in quella parte del mondo, incrociando ai luoghi e alle persone reali - gente emigrata, spesso intrisa di malinconia, ma che si sente a casa solo lontano da casa - lo spazio e la realtà dei millanta libri che legge sull’argomento.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin: la caverna di Last Hope Sound.
Ci approda all’età di trentaquattro anni, alla fine del 1974, pubblica tre anni dopo, è il suo primo libro, e inizia una nuova leggenda: quella del viaggiatore Bruce Chatwin.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin.
Chatwin ha cominciato da qui, ha cominciato con questo libro.
Che è libro di viaggio, ma anche altro, e di altro, di più, ottima letteratura in assoluto: un precursore di quella narrativa contemporanea che mischia generi, tocca l’autofiction, torna indietro nel memoir, si spinge di nuovo avanti in altri territori.
Il suo primo lungo viaggio in una terra da sempre considerata alla fine del mondo, finis terrae.
Come Atlantide lo fu per il mondo antico.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin: la stazione di Jaramillo.
Melville usava l’aggettivo “patagonico” per indicare qualcosa di stranissimo, mostruoso e al contempo affascinante. Anche Calibano della Tempesta shakespeariana è un “mostro patagonico”. E il “vecchio marinaio” di Coleridge naviga da quelle parti come se fossero la porta di un altro mondo (o quella che chiude il nostro). Butch Cassidy e Sundance Kid vanno a nascondersi proprio lì per sfuggire all’esercito di inseguitori (indimenticabile il fermo immagine che chiude il magnifico film di George Roy Hill).
Invece la molla di Chatwin è ben più prosaica: un suo antenato aveva riportato a casa dalla Patagonia un pezzo di animale creduto preistorico, il milodonte, un bradipo del pleistocene, e Chatwin voleva saperne di più e possibilmente recuperare altro della bestia misteriosa.
Ma riesce subito a farsi compenetrare e catturare dal fascino di questa terra estrema. Estrema sotto tutti i punti di visti: la solitudine, il silenzio, il deserto, incluso quello umano, la durezza, le stranezze di un posto sperduto abitato da gente che arriva da zone del mondo opposte e si porta dietro il proprio guscio, l’eccentricità di certe architetture, di ninnoli e servizi da te conservati quasi con religione in una parte del mondo dove spesso i pavimenti non sono molto diversi dalla terra e dalla polvere.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin: relitto di una nave a Punta Arenas.
E nonostante abbigliamento e attrezzatura adeguata, Chatwin si portava dietro quella sua eterna aria da inglese educato nella buona società, così anacronistica in quella geografia che richiede tempra dura, carattere forte, spirito aspro e resistente: un uomo del primo mondo che approda nell’ultimo mondo.
Ma, animato dalla sua insaziabile curiosità - per le storie più che la Storia - riesce a trasformare ogni incontro in un evento, ogni aneddoto in un racconto e in una storia. Anche se mi pare che soprattutto vinca l’attrazione per leggenda e avventura (non quella all’Indiana Jones).
Eberhard, l’avo di Chatwin, e la pelle del milodonte.
La leggenda della Città dei Cesari, le spedizioni di Magellano e Darwin, la storia dell’indio Jemmy Button, la colonia missionaria del reverendo Bridges, il fiordo Última Esperanza…: sono queste e altre le storie, ammantate di mito, niente a che vedere con un documentario, che Chatwin riporta a casa dopo mesi di esplorazione in quella parte del mondo, incrociando ai luoghi e alle persone reali - gente emigrata, spesso intrisa di malinconia, ma che si sente a casa solo lontano da casa - lo spazio e la realtà dei millanta libri che legge sull’argomento.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin: la caverna di Last Hope Sound.
Ci approda all’età di trentaquattro anni, alla fine del 1974, pubblica tre anni dopo, è il suo primo libro, e inizia una nuova leggenda: quella del viaggiatore Bruce Chatwin.
Foto di Bruce Chatwin.
September 11, 2018
2.5 stars
This is my first foray into Bruce Chatwin. I have always been wary of travel writing of a certain type when it drifts into literary colonialism. It is too easy for wealthy white travellers to go to foreign lands in search of the interesting and exotic.
There is a good deal of myth surrounding Chatwin and even this book. The whole books starts and finishes with a fossilised piece of skin which Chatwin says he remembers from his childhood. Family myth said it was from a dinosaur, but in actuality it was from a Giant Sloth. It was found by a relative of Chatwin’s in Patagonia and he had always wanted to go there. The book is divided into very short chunks, 97 of them in total; Chatwin described the structure in artistic terms as cubist. It isn’t a traditional travel narrative as it is quite disconnected. Chatwin gave up his job with a newspaper to go to Patagonia and left in 1974; allegedly sending a telegram of explanation to his editor simply saying “Gone to Patagonia”.
A recurring theme of Chatwin’s writing is the nomadic life and this is no exception. What Chatwin does do is spend a good deal of time recounting tales of those who have left their mark on Patagonia; mainly European types who settled there in the nineteenth century. He visits the Welsh community and remnants of communities from other European nations. Chatwin chases up those who remembered these characters, now often very old. He also has an interest for significant events like strikes and riots and those who recall them. This leaves the reader wondering about the Patagonia of the time which Chatwin appears to neglect. He does have the ability to describe the backdrop well and there are compelling accounts of the landscape.
What we don’t know is whether this is meant to be fact or fiction. Many of those Chatwin spoke to complained bitterly that he had misrepresented them or even lied; Chatwin admitted that he rearranged events and conflated characters. There is a little travelogue, but there is as much myth and history. This makes the whole less easy to define. The reader discovers very little about Chatwin himself and how he relates to those he meets. There are plenty of cowboy myths (Butch Cassidy et al) and tall tales and I did wonder what was the point of travelling just to look for traces of people from Europe and the US.
This is not really about the people of Patagonia and especially not about the indigenous peoples who Chatwin ridicules in numerous stories. Their oppression and persecution seemed of little moment to Chatwin. I was left wondering what the point of it all was and on reflection I much preferred Patrick Leigh Fermor.
This is my first foray into Bruce Chatwin. I have always been wary of travel writing of a certain type when it drifts into literary colonialism. It is too easy for wealthy white travellers to go to foreign lands in search of the interesting and exotic.
There is a good deal of myth surrounding Chatwin and even this book. The whole books starts and finishes with a fossilised piece of skin which Chatwin says he remembers from his childhood. Family myth said it was from a dinosaur, but in actuality it was from a Giant Sloth. It was found by a relative of Chatwin’s in Patagonia and he had always wanted to go there. The book is divided into very short chunks, 97 of them in total; Chatwin described the structure in artistic terms as cubist. It isn’t a traditional travel narrative as it is quite disconnected. Chatwin gave up his job with a newspaper to go to Patagonia and left in 1974; allegedly sending a telegram of explanation to his editor simply saying “Gone to Patagonia”.
A recurring theme of Chatwin’s writing is the nomadic life and this is no exception. What Chatwin does do is spend a good deal of time recounting tales of those who have left their mark on Patagonia; mainly European types who settled there in the nineteenth century. He visits the Welsh community and remnants of communities from other European nations. Chatwin chases up those who remembered these characters, now often very old. He also has an interest for significant events like strikes and riots and those who recall them. This leaves the reader wondering about the Patagonia of the time which Chatwin appears to neglect. He does have the ability to describe the backdrop well and there are compelling accounts of the landscape.
What we don’t know is whether this is meant to be fact or fiction. Many of those Chatwin spoke to complained bitterly that he had misrepresented them or even lied; Chatwin admitted that he rearranged events and conflated characters. There is a little travelogue, but there is as much myth and history. This makes the whole less easy to define. The reader discovers very little about Chatwin himself and how he relates to those he meets. There are plenty of cowboy myths (Butch Cassidy et al) and tall tales and I did wonder what was the point of travelling just to look for traces of people from Europe and the US.
This is not really about the people of Patagonia and especially not about the indigenous peoples who Chatwin ridicules in numerous stories. Their oppression and persecution seemed of little moment to Chatwin. I was left wondering what the point of it all was and on reflection I much preferred Patrick Leigh Fermor.
January 25, 2024
It is a fantastic travel story and the opportunity to discover Patagonia, this distant land of which the author gives us a delightful description. Step by step, from La Plata in Argentina to Punta Arénas in Chile via Cape Horn, through the various encounters of the traveler, we will discover the journey of several historical figures: Magellan, Darwin, Red Russians or anarchists who came to carry the revolution in the new world, miners, North American gangsters, civilizers, Jesuits, English mercenary sailors, all a crowd of people looking for the promised land and the lost paradise and who, we shape this "new" country with their borrowing. We observe the waves of migrants from all over Europe who ended up imposing their marks in often predatory ways on these territories, as well as the tragic fate of the Indians plunged into servitude and alcohol. There are magnificent descriptions of landscapes: mountains, fields as far as the eye can see, tumultuous oceans, but also of various animals. It is a sensitive and contemplative book with only one drawback: it can give you an irresistible desire for adventure and go somewhere else.
July 15, 2023
I don’t regret reading this book. There is so much talk about it, I wanted to experience it for myself.
In 1974 Bruce Chatwin, working for The Sunday Times Magazine since 1972, is said to have sent the editor, Francis Wyndham, a telegram. The brief message relayed only four words--“Have gone to Patagonia”, this being the sole explanation for his departure. Well actually, what did happen was that he informed the editor via a letter explaining in more detail his need to go to Patagonia. "I am doing a story there for myself, something I have always wanted to write up." This is stated in Nicholas Shakespeare’s authoritative biography Bruce Chatwin.
So, what is my point? Much of what is said both about the book and what is in it is up for debate. Chatwin acknowledged that he rearranged events. People he spoke with have criticized him for misrepresenting what they have said. In any case, we are seeing events from one person’s point of view—Chatwin’s. On the other hand, isn’t history and fact often this way?! Artistic license is taken. If an author declares this openly and if the result is a better piece of writing, who is to say this is wrong?!
The book is a mix of many different elements. As explained, there is a mix of fact and fiction. There is description of the land, the vegetation and the people. Historical facts are related. Myths too. In one sense, the book is a travelogue, but Chatwin relates little about himself and little about what he himself saw and experienced during his six-month sojourn in Patagonia begun in November 1974. Instead, he focuses upon the stories told to him by those he met. All the time one must keep in mind that what we are told may not be absolutely true.
Who are the people Chatwin speaks with? Most of them are of European descent—many Welsh and Germans, as well as Italians, Swedes, a Persian and Americans. Many are the descendants of immigrants who left their homeland during the 1800s and early 1900s. Why? To find something better. Some were fleeing. Most have a nomadic strain in them. In coming to the Patagonian patch of earth, they have undeniably left their imprint upon it.
Much of what we are told are stories related by the descendants of the 19th and early 20th century immigrants. It is interesting to note how often they fled one country only to copy in the new what thy had before. One sees this in how they built their homes, set up their communities, in what they ate and in how they clothed themselves.
The volume is made up of ninety-seven short, short chapters. Some lead directly into the next. Many others change topic completely, the result being that what is delivered is disconnected. There is no overview. On closing the book, one has a feel for the place and its people, but the delivery is jumbled and unstructured.
History-wise, there are tidbits of information about strikes, anarchist and socialist movements leading up to the Revolution of 1920, the Council of the Cave Sect, jumbled and mixed with Butch Cassidy’s escapades. The lack of overview makes absorbing this information difficult, and in the back of one ‘s mind is always the nagging thought that perhaps what we are being told is not true!
Chatwin spends a lot of time talking about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Why he travels to Patagonia and then focuses upon them, well, this just seems silly to me. More significantly, why is there so little written about the indigenous people of the land? There is also a gap of information between the 1920s and his visit in 1974.
Chatwin does give the reader a feel for both the land and the people living there. He draws the physical landscape in brilliant colors, but other than these few pretty lines, I am not blown over by the prose. It is too jumbled, disconnected and choppy for me. It does not flow smoothly. I do not think the departure from truth and the artistic license taken have paid off.
The audiobook is very well narrated by Hugh Fraser. It is quite simply a delight to listen to. The pace is perfect. His tone is clear, but also calm and soothing which is really good given that the text itself is jumbled and disconnected. Four stars for the narration.
The audiobook begins with a long and tedious introduction.
In 1974 Bruce Chatwin, working for The Sunday Times Magazine since 1972, is said to have sent the editor, Francis Wyndham, a telegram. The brief message relayed only four words--“Have gone to Patagonia”, this being the sole explanation for his departure. Well actually, what did happen was that he informed the editor via a letter explaining in more detail his need to go to Patagonia. "I am doing a story there for myself, something I have always wanted to write up." This is stated in Nicholas Shakespeare’s authoritative biography Bruce Chatwin.
So, what is my point? Much of what is said both about the book and what is in it is up for debate. Chatwin acknowledged that he rearranged events. People he spoke with have criticized him for misrepresenting what they have said. In any case, we are seeing events from one person’s point of view—Chatwin’s. On the other hand, isn’t history and fact often this way?! Artistic license is taken. If an author declares this openly and if the result is a better piece of writing, who is to say this is wrong?!
The book is a mix of many different elements. As explained, there is a mix of fact and fiction. There is description of the land, the vegetation and the people. Historical facts are related. Myths too. In one sense, the book is a travelogue, but Chatwin relates little about himself and little about what he himself saw and experienced during his six-month sojourn in Patagonia begun in November 1974. Instead, he focuses upon the stories told to him by those he met. All the time one must keep in mind that what we are told may not be absolutely true.
Who are the people Chatwin speaks with? Most of them are of European descent—many Welsh and Germans, as well as Italians, Swedes, a Persian and Americans. Many are the descendants of immigrants who left their homeland during the 1800s and early 1900s. Why? To find something better. Some were fleeing. Most have a nomadic strain in them. In coming to the Patagonian patch of earth, they have undeniably left their imprint upon it.
Much of what we are told are stories related by the descendants of the 19th and early 20th century immigrants. It is interesting to note how often they fled one country only to copy in the new what thy had before. One sees this in how they built their homes, set up their communities, in what they ate and in how they clothed themselves.
The volume is made up of ninety-seven short, short chapters. Some lead directly into the next. Many others change topic completely, the result being that what is delivered is disconnected. There is no overview. On closing the book, one has a feel for the place and its people, but the delivery is jumbled and unstructured.
History-wise, there are tidbits of information about strikes, anarchist and socialist movements leading up to the Revolution of 1920, the Council of the Cave Sect, jumbled and mixed with Butch Cassidy’s escapades. The lack of overview makes absorbing this information difficult, and in the back of one ‘s mind is always the nagging thought that perhaps what we are being told is not true!
Chatwin spends a lot of time talking about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Why he travels to Patagonia and then focuses upon them, well, this just seems silly to me. More significantly, why is there so little written about the indigenous people of the land? There is also a gap of information between the 1920s and his visit in 1974.
Chatwin does give the reader a feel for both the land and the people living there. He draws the physical landscape in brilliant colors, but other than these few pretty lines, I am not blown over by the prose. It is too jumbled, disconnected and choppy for me. It does not flow smoothly. I do not think the departure from truth and the artistic license taken have paid off.
The audiobook is very well narrated by Hugh Fraser. It is quite simply a delight to listen to. The pace is perfect. His tone is clear, but also calm and soothing which is really good given that the text itself is jumbled and disconnected. Four stars for the narration.
The audiobook begins with a long and tedious introduction.
March 7, 2019
I picked up In Patagonia hoping to learn more about Argentina and Argentinians. After all, that's the country where this book is set and travel memoirs are usually great for an outsider's view of a place. Silly me! After reading this book, no one would fault the reader for thinking that Argentina was located somewhere in Europe. Chatwin deals exclusively with the European immigrants of various nationalities and some Americans in his travels around Patagonia. There are a however, a couple of small chapters about the local Yaghan tribals as well as some passing references to the "peons" (seriously?) hired by the ubiquitous Europeans. How lucky could I get? /sarcasm.
A worse crime is that Chatwin is boring. Though a couple of his subjects like the adventures of the Wild Bunch gang from the US were interesting, most of the subjects chosen were boring. Some were eccentric enough to allow me to continue reading, but I almost quit when Chatwin went on and on about some British sailor chap called Charley for what appeared at the time to be millions of pages.
The trip to Patagonia comes about when Chatwin sets out to find a piece of the mylodon skin. As a child, his grandmother had a piece of this skin, sent as a souvenir by an eccentric brother of hers. Chatwin grew up thinking it was from a Brontosaurus, but it turned out to be from a mylodon, and he plans a trip to see if he too could unearth something similar. This premise promised to be interesting but the mylodon story thread completely disappears until the very last chapter when Chatwin succeeds in his mission.
The author appears to have chosen his subjects at random. There is no flow to the narrative, and all the random people he meets are just ships that pass through in the night. We never get to know much about most of these characters. They disappear as soon as they appear, and never come back again. The book is arranged in a row of random snippets that would be better suited to weekly publishing in a magazine or on a blog.
I don't know why this stream of consciousness travel memoir is considered such a classic and a must-read on Argentina. I did not learn a single thing about the country, its nature, its politics, its people, or its culture. All I learned was that Chatwin can't write a travelogue for nuts!
A worse crime is that Chatwin is boring. Though a couple of his subjects like the adventures of the Wild Bunch gang from the US were interesting, most of the subjects chosen were boring. Some were eccentric enough to allow me to continue reading, but I almost quit when Chatwin went on and on about some British sailor chap called Charley for what appeared at the time to be millions of pages.
The trip to Patagonia comes about when Chatwin sets out to find a piece of the mylodon skin. As a child, his grandmother had a piece of this skin, sent as a souvenir by an eccentric brother of hers. Chatwin grew up thinking it was from a Brontosaurus, but it turned out to be from a mylodon, and he plans a trip to see if he too could unearth something similar. This premise promised to be interesting but the mylodon story thread completely disappears until the very last chapter when Chatwin succeeds in his mission.
The author appears to have chosen his subjects at random. There is no flow to the narrative, and all the random people he meets are just ships that pass through in the night. We never get to know much about most of these characters. They disappear as soon as they appear, and never come back again. The book is arranged in a row of random snippets that would be better suited to weekly publishing in a magazine or on a blog.
I don't know why this stream of consciousness travel memoir is considered such a classic and a must-read on Argentina. I did not learn a single thing about the country, its nature, its politics, its people, or its culture. All I learned was that Chatwin can't write a travelogue for nuts!
July 28, 2019
Suffering from emotional bumps and bruises I needed a holiday. My brother Tim sent me a voucher so that I could fly to San Francisco for free. I was grateful.
It was cold and gray but I was in San Francisco. One afternoon I found myself footsore and starving. I was heading towards a BART stop when I saw a Thai restaurant on the other side of the street. I trekked up a block, crossed the street and discovered a book shop. Ducking in, I was pleased with their selection. I bought In Patagonia and went down the block to the Thai restauant. Ordering a half liter of house red and pad thai with tofu I opened the book. My food was cold before I put the book down. I chugged the wine and gnoshed as best I could. I hurried to catch my train. Flushed from the wine and my sprint. I opened the book again, when a man seated across asked me if Chatwin was Australian. I told him I didn't think so but he wrote abook about the Outback titled Songlines. The man smiled. His name was Michel and that he was from France and was in California on holiday. His right hand was in a cast. We shook left hands and wished each other good travels.
It was cold and gray but I was in San Francisco. One afternoon I found myself footsore and starving. I was heading towards a BART stop when I saw a Thai restaurant on the other side of the street. I trekked up a block, crossed the street and discovered a book shop. Ducking in, I was pleased with their selection. I bought In Patagonia and went down the block to the Thai restauant. Ordering a half liter of house red and pad thai with tofu I opened the book. My food was cold before I put the book down. I chugged the wine and gnoshed as best I could. I hurried to catch my train. Flushed from the wine and my sprint. I opened the book again, when a man seated across asked me if Chatwin was Australian. I told him I didn't think so but he wrote abook about the Outback titled Songlines. The man smiled. His name was Michel and that he was from France and was in California on holiday. His right hand was in a cast. We shook left hands and wished each other good travels.
January 24, 2024
The concept of this book is very promising: rather than a linear narrative of the writer's trip through Patagonia, his account of the eccentric - at times outright bizarre - locals is presented as a series of short texts, some of them less than half a page long. Many of these record real life encounters and others are descriptions of long-dead historical figures based on stories heard from people who had known them and on Chatwin's meticulous historical research.
The book does not commit the cardinal sin of being boring; it is engaging and beautifully written, and yet I couldn't join the chorus of ecstatic critics hailing it as 'the book that redefined travel writing'.
Chatwin has been criticised for embellishing his stories, making up details and even outright lying about his encounters . For me mixing fact and fiction is not necessarily a problem, but he often takes the position of the omniscient narrator, who knows not only what the people he describes say and do but also how they feel and what they think. This destroys all sense of verisimilitude in many of his portrayals and turns them into fake, lifeless constructs.
Another issue is his obsession with European immigrants and in particular with those of Welsh , English , Scottish and American descent, to the point of almost excluding the Argentinian and Chilean population. A local who lives on the property of an English or Welsh resident is usually merely presented as 'a peon' without any further elaboration. The indigenous population is described as having been wiped out through epidemics and genocide, mere ghosts hovering between the lines of yellowing historical documents.
And finally, the book's biggest fault is that Chatwin says nothing about himself. This was a pattern throughout his life. He died of AIDS without letting anyone know that he was suffering from the disease, and despite being gay he was married for twenty-odd years, living a sham. In his introduction, Nicholas Shakespeare relates how Chatwin got arrested by the Chilean military authorities and how he had a fling with one of the boys described in the book, a talented pianist. These events are not even hinted at in the book, and yet surely a first person account of these experiences would have been more interesting than the endless historical details thrown at the reader by the bucket load. Had he written a more candid and revealing account of his time in Patagonia, Chatwin could have produced a truly remarkable book.
The book does not commit the cardinal sin of being boring; it is engaging and beautifully written, and yet I couldn't join the chorus of ecstatic critics hailing it as 'the book that redefined travel writing'.
Chatwin has been criticised for embellishing his stories, making up details and even outright lying about his encounters . For me mixing fact and fiction is not necessarily a problem, but he often takes the position of the omniscient narrator, who knows not only what the people he describes say and do but also how they feel and what they think. This destroys all sense of verisimilitude in many of his portrayals and turns them into fake, lifeless constructs.
Another issue is his obsession with European immigrants and in particular with those of Welsh , English , Scottish and American descent, to the point of almost excluding the Argentinian and Chilean population. A local who lives on the property of an English or Welsh resident is usually merely presented as 'a peon' without any further elaboration. The indigenous population is described as having been wiped out through epidemics and genocide, mere ghosts hovering between the lines of yellowing historical documents.
And finally, the book's biggest fault is that Chatwin says nothing about himself. This was a pattern throughout his life. He died of AIDS without letting anyone know that he was suffering from the disease, and despite being gay he was married for twenty-odd years, living a sham. In his introduction, Nicholas Shakespeare relates how Chatwin got arrested by the Chilean military authorities and how he had a fling with one of the boys described in the book, a talented pianist. These events are not even hinted at in the book, and yet surely a first person account of these experiences would have been more interesting than the endless historical details thrown at the reader by the bucket load. Had he written a more candid and revealing account of his time in Patagonia, Chatwin could have produced a truly remarkable book.
October 6, 2013
This book was a special treat to me as a unique form a travel writing. In its exploration of people encountered on his trip to Patagonia in the early 70’s, Chatwin makes magic as he uses his series of little quests and the actual places of his travels to make a doorway to imagination. The excellent introduction by someone named Shakespeare highlights the special qualities of the book:
Just as Patagonia is not a place with an exact border, so Chatwin’s “particularly dotty book”, as he called it, would not fall into an easy category. Was it travel writing? Was it historical fiction? Was it reportage? And was it true—and, if not, did it matter?
…Patagonia is the farthest place to which man walked from his place of origins. It is therefore a symbol of his restlessness. From its discovery it had the effect on the imagination something like the moon, but in my opinion more powerful.
I know little about Patagonia, having only encountered it in occasional National Geographic pieces and in books as a remote place of passage by naval explorers and in tales of the 19th century Royal British Navy. I have some images of it as a place of high plains and semi-desert, but in fact its 1,000 mile stretch includes diverse ecologies between the lush pampas of Argentina and trailing ridge of the Andes to the cold and windy site of icebergs and penguins of Tierra del Fuego. My conception of it as entirely rural had to be revised by a Wiki piece with the fact that Chile’s Punta Arenas on the Strait of Magellan has over 100,000 residents.
I get no coherent picture of the place and its peoples from Chatwin, but instead a delightful set of snapshots and vignettes of the motley crew of cultures and characters, present and past, who were drawn to live there. We encounter surprising communities of Welsh, Scots, and Boers, and odd stories of individual Russians, Germans, and Greeks. Chatwin makes diversions into the history of early explorers, missionaries, and pirates, tales of revolutionaries and anarchists, and generational memories of mining splurges, the growth of sheep farming and ranching enterprises, the sagas of notable naturalists and fossil hunters. Chatwin has a personal family interest in the discovery of the remains of recently extinct giant sloths. Another diversion delves into the story of how the outlaws known as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid tried to retire as ranchers there in a ménage a trois with the mysterious Etta Place, but ended up reverting to bank robbery. Chatwin plays detective in exploring how their tragic fate may be myth and hoax. In further diversions, as summarized in the introduction, Chatwin tries to account for the Patagonian origin of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, Darwin’s theory of evolution, Shakespeare’s Caliban, Conan Doyle’s Lost World, Swift’s Brobdignagians, Poe’s Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym..
Chatwin’s intention, according to the introductory piece, was to create a “meditation on the restlessness and exile”:
A theater for his own restlessness, Patagonia, he would covertly argue, was the source of everyone else’s restlessness too.
In Chatwin’s Patagonia, the uniqueness of the landscape hardly comes into view. His book is largely about interiors that are elsewheres. You won’t come across many Patagonian Patagonians in its pages; nor will you discover much about the author, who remains teasingly absent.
The latter aspect contrasts with Paul Theroux’s approach to travel writing, in which you are immersed in his direct experiences, though the use of such experiences as a stepping-stone into revery bears some similarity. The revery doesn’t become an end in itself as it does in Peter Matthiessen’s wonderful account of a Himalayan journey, “The Snow Leopard”. There is more lightness and playfulness in Chatwin. The people come alive, whether or not the portrayals are accurate. This reminds me of how the same issue pertains to Steinbeck’s collection of vignettes of people and place in “Travels with Charley”
To help readers get a sense of his artful method of delivery and thereby help with the decision to pursue reading the book I share two brief passages:
I stayed at the Estacion de Biologia Marina with a party of scientists who dug enthusiastically for sandworms and squabbled about the Latin names for seaweed. The resident ornithologist, a severe young man, was studying the migration of the Jackass Penguin. We talked late into the night, arguing whether or not we, too, have journeys mapped out in our central nervous systems; it seemed the only way to account for our insane restlessness. …
We watched them waddle awkwardly to the shore and wallop into the water. In the seventeenth century, the explorer Sir John Narborough stood on the same spot and described them ‘standing upright like little children in white aprons in company together’.
Albatrosses and penguins are the last birds I’d want to murder.
A straight-backed gentleman in his eighties peered through spectacles and grinned. His face was shiny pink and he wore khaki shorts. …Archie Tuffnell loved Patagonia and called her ‘Old Pat.’ He loved the solitude, the birds, the space and the dry healthy climate. He had managed a sheep-farm for a big English land company for forty years. When he had to retire he couldn’t face the coop of England, and he had bought his own camp, taking with him 2,500 sheep and ‘my man Gomez.’ …His domestic arrangements were a lesson in asceticism: a shower, a narrow bed, a desk, and two camp stools and no chairs.
‘I don’t want to get sunk down in an armchair. Not at my age. I might never get up.’
…His standards were Edwardian but he knew how the world changed; how to keep one step ahead of change, so as to not change himself. His rules were simple: Keep liquid. Never wait for higher prices. Never use money to show off to your workers.
Punta Arenas, Chile, on the Strait of Magellan
Just as Patagonia is not a place with an exact border, so Chatwin’s “particularly dotty book”, as he called it, would not fall into an easy category. Was it travel writing? Was it historical fiction? Was it reportage? And was it true—and, if not, did it matter?
…Patagonia is the farthest place to which man walked from his place of origins. It is therefore a symbol of his restlessness. From its discovery it had the effect on the imagination something like the moon, but in my opinion more powerful.
I know little about Patagonia, having only encountered it in occasional National Geographic pieces and in books as a remote place of passage by naval explorers and in tales of the 19th century Royal British Navy. I have some images of it as a place of high plains and semi-desert, but in fact its 1,000 mile stretch includes diverse ecologies between the lush pampas of Argentina and trailing ridge of the Andes to the cold and windy site of icebergs and penguins of Tierra del Fuego. My conception of it as entirely rural had to be revised by a Wiki piece with the fact that Chile’s Punta Arenas on the Strait of Magellan has over 100,000 residents.
I get no coherent picture of the place and its peoples from Chatwin, but instead a delightful set of snapshots and vignettes of the motley crew of cultures and characters, present and past, who were drawn to live there. We encounter surprising communities of Welsh, Scots, and Boers, and odd stories of individual Russians, Germans, and Greeks. Chatwin makes diversions into the history of early explorers, missionaries, and pirates, tales of revolutionaries and anarchists, and generational memories of mining splurges, the growth of sheep farming and ranching enterprises, the sagas of notable naturalists and fossil hunters. Chatwin has a personal family interest in the discovery of the remains of recently extinct giant sloths. Another diversion delves into the story of how the outlaws known as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid tried to retire as ranchers there in a ménage a trois with the mysterious Etta Place, but ended up reverting to bank robbery. Chatwin plays detective in exploring how their tragic fate may be myth and hoax. In further diversions, as summarized in the introduction, Chatwin tries to account for the Patagonian origin of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, Darwin’s theory of evolution, Shakespeare’s Caliban, Conan Doyle’s Lost World, Swift’s Brobdignagians, Poe’s Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym..
Chatwin’s intention, according to the introductory piece, was to create a “meditation on the restlessness and exile”:
A theater for his own restlessness, Patagonia, he would covertly argue, was the source of everyone else’s restlessness too.
In Chatwin’s Patagonia, the uniqueness of the landscape hardly comes into view. His book is largely about interiors that are elsewheres. You won’t come across many Patagonian Patagonians in its pages; nor will you discover much about the author, who remains teasingly absent.
The latter aspect contrasts with Paul Theroux’s approach to travel writing, in which you are immersed in his direct experiences, though the use of such experiences as a stepping-stone into revery bears some similarity. The revery doesn’t become an end in itself as it does in Peter Matthiessen’s wonderful account of a Himalayan journey, “The Snow Leopard”. There is more lightness and playfulness in Chatwin. The people come alive, whether or not the portrayals are accurate. This reminds me of how the same issue pertains to Steinbeck’s collection of vignettes of people and place in “Travels with Charley”
To help readers get a sense of his artful method of delivery and thereby help with the decision to pursue reading the book I share two brief passages:
I stayed at the Estacion de Biologia Marina with a party of scientists who dug enthusiastically for sandworms and squabbled about the Latin names for seaweed. The resident ornithologist, a severe young man, was studying the migration of the Jackass Penguin. We talked late into the night, arguing whether or not we, too, have journeys mapped out in our central nervous systems; it seemed the only way to account for our insane restlessness. …
We watched them waddle awkwardly to the shore and wallop into the water. In the seventeenth century, the explorer Sir John Narborough stood on the same spot and described them ‘standing upright like little children in white aprons in company together’.
Albatrosses and penguins are the last birds I’d want to murder.
A straight-backed gentleman in his eighties peered through spectacles and grinned. His face was shiny pink and he wore khaki shorts. …Archie Tuffnell loved Patagonia and called her ‘Old Pat.’ He loved the solitude, the birds, the space and the dry healthy climate. He had managed a sheep-farm for a big English land company for forty years. When he had to retire he couldn’t face the coop of England, and he had bought his own camp, taking with him 2,500 sheep and ‘my man Gomez.’ …His domestic arrangements were a lesson in asceticism: a shower, a narrow bed, a desk, and two camp stools and no chairs.
‘I don’t want to get sunk down in an armchair. Not at my age. I might never get up.’
…His standards were Edwardian but he knew how the world changed; how to keep one step ahead of change, so as to not change himself. His rules were simple: Keep liquid. Never wait for higher prices. Never use money to show off to your workers.
Punta Arenas, Chile, on the Strait of Magellan
Read
June 23, 2017Readable and pleasant. The author, allegedly inspired by schoolboy ponderings over the safest place in a post-nuclear war world and childhood atlas voyages, travels to Patagonia and travels around Welsh settlers, hunts for prehistoric mega beasts said to survive in the wilderness and generally comments on the history and cultures of the region.
Complaints from people mentioned in the book revealed that the literary result was fictionalised .
In adolescence I read this and The Songlines and a few other of Chatwin's books. Perhaps the true subject of his work was always himself. Reading one passes across the unseen boundary between fiction and non-fiction. I am no longer sure if the finished work is more fiction, a yarn, more Gulliver's Travels than reportage, and does it matter, Patagonia is still there if one wants to see it for yourself.
Complaints from people mentioned in the book revealed that the literary result was fictionalised .
In adolescence I read this and The Songlines and a few other of Chatwin's books. Perhaps the true subject of his work was always himself. Reading one passes across the unseen boundary between fiction and non-fiction. I am no longer sure if the finished work is more fiction, a yarn, more Gulliver's Travels than reportage, and does it matter, Patagonia is still there if one wants to see it for yourself.
October 30, 2009
The truly fine-grained books are always impossible to review or describe. Even dragged-out praise leaves most of the best things unnoted. Certainly this is true in the case of In Patagonia, one of those unclassifiable mandarin anatomies whose summarized “action” but barely suggests the innumerable felicities of perception that make the book. A copy of In Our Time packed in his rucksack, Chatwin busses from Buenos Aires into Patagonia, tramps around, meets people and collects their stories--much as Ishmael “goes whaling” or Bloom “runs some errands and thinks about stuff.” Updike, in his reviewer-guise of the Common Reader, on the occasion of Brodsky’s Venetian capriccio Watermark marvels at those writers “beyond academic conventions, beyond commercial hopes” who depart from, dispense with or otherwise transcend plot (or the story hooks of “travel writing”) to regale us with their “rare sensibility and curious fund of information; we are flattered to be in his or her company” (readers who complain that cetological lore trammels their breeze through Moby Dick miss the point: the prose of that long chapter is splendid). A truly picaresque narrative sensibility (rare enough) and a curio-cabinet of odd learning Chatwin indeed has, plus an enriching assimilation of those masters of unsettling concision, Mandelstam and Borges. Who knew a desert at land’s end would offer such a mad dream of the world? Chatwin has the magic eye.
Read
October 28, 2018This was published in 1977, and as I read it, I couldn't help but think of Edward Said's Orientalism, published a year later. I admit to fantasizing about Said clobbering Chatwin over the head with a large rock. But not before Said had given him some choice words that could not be reduced to faux-Hemingway dialogue. As in the Songlines, you have a traveler who is more obsessed with traveling than the places he travels to, or the people he meets. There are so many vignettes in this, some with fabulous characters, but none of these are developed as the narrative lurches about like a penguin on acid. So alright, I get it, the narrative is kind of like travel itself - you're never fully oriented. But that's what a writer is for. Orient me. And speaking of the Orient....
June 23, 2025
I was hoping this might have had something in common with Paul Theroux's fascinating The Old Patagonian Express, but it didn't. I rarely ever read travel writing, but thought I'd give this a go as it's seen as the book that revolutionized the genre. This was a strange mix of travelogue, history and myth, of which I found both interesting and at times uninteresting, with only the parts about the Welsh migration to Patagonia, the travels through the Puelo valley route to Chile, and towards the end of the book the story about a giant sloth that really stood out for me. There is some really good descriptive writing of the landscapes Chatwin encountered, and I only wish more of it was taken up by that, because for a book deemed to be a travel classic there was in fact little account of his actual travels, making the vastness of Patagonia feel more like a small county. Also, I wasn't so keen on the way he wrote in really short chapters, and overall the experimental nature did little to captivate me. Not a bad book, but just not what I expected at all. One thing that did surprise me more than anything else was when my birth town of Chippenham, Wiltshire, got mentioned. Never thought I'd come across that in a Patagonia travel book. I think I'd likely try Patrick Leigh Fermor next time, and hope his travels do more for me than what Chatwin's did here.
January 18, 2023
Lovely writing of many small tales and stories of several nationalities and races living in and around the southern edge of the Americas. Renewed my familiarity with the geography of Patagonia by following Chatwin’s peregrinations on Google Maps before my own trip south.
May 17, 2022
Leggere Chatwin equivale a rifiondarsi dopo anni in quelle storie di avventura che da piccoli accendevano fantasie e miraggi. E pazienza che particolari e persino parti di storie siano deliberatamente modificati o inventati di sana pianta. In fin dei conti si viaggia anche con l'immaginazione, non solo col fisico. E ciò che conta in Chatwin è sempre il viaggio, in tutte le sue sfumature. Viaggio come naturale conseguenza dell'irrequietezza umana, come frutto spontaneo del nomadismo insito in noi, e represso nel corso dei millenni. Ed è ciò che sprona non solo l'autore nel suo folle viaggio verso la mitica terra della Patagonia, ma quel coacervo di avventurieri che per vari motivi si sono sentiti attratti dalla misteriosa terra ai confini del mondo, fino a spodestare del tutto le popolazioni indios che da millenni abitavano i loro luoghi. E questo coacervo si riproduce nella meravigliosa narrazione di Chatwin, in cui la sua avventura si intreccia continuamente con le avventure di coloro che ormai si sono radicati nell'immobile landa della Patagonia, desertica, glaciale, arida, sfacciatamente ostile all'essere umano, eppur così attraente... In Patagonia è un testo splendido, uno di quei testi che speri possa finire mai,attrae e cattura il lettore nel suo mondo fantastico ricco di storie, dove l'eclettismo e l'eccentricità dell'uomo riflettono nella loro essenza più pura. Chatwin ispira il desiderio del viaggio autentico, della piena ed assoluta libertà, nella sua duplice essenza di spirituale e materiale.
December 21, 2025
Late to the party, so won’t provide a long review. A travel memoir about travels in the Argentinian side of Patagonia. The personal quest is to identify a potential dinosaur fossil. It leans heavily into human history. Some aspects being more interesting than others, eg voyages, political things, fugitives, skirmishes, colonisation. I found the travelogue aspects the most interesting. And there was something magical about the pampas.
June 24, 2018
Patagonia defies definition. It sits at the very end of a continent, nudges into the tumultuous Southern ocean, covers two countries and is a place of enigmas. It was a place that Brue Chatwin had longed to visit for years after seeing a piece of 'brontosaurus' in his grandparent's curiosity cabinet. It wasn't a piece of a dinosaur, but another part of an extinct animal that had been found in Patagonia.
The memory of it lived on in Chatwin's imagination and was the spark that made him give up his job and head out there in 1974. The six months that he spent there, become this book. It is not about the landscape or the countries, rather Chatwin spends his time there meeting people, finding out about them and then following the gossamer threads of their lives from place to place and backwards and forwards in time.
To be honest, this wasn't quite what I was expecting. It is often disjointed, it has some very short chapters, people only briefly appear in the narrative, before he heads off to the next location and snapshot of another life. And yet it is a wonderful piece of writing. Even though it is not about the place per se, Patagonia fully permeates the writing, you have a sense of the barrenness of the desert, the relentless wind off Tierra del Fuego, places that have attracted people from all over the world in search of the nomadic existence. He traces the characters backwards and forwards across this land but reveals as much about himself in his writing. Will try to get to Songlines a bit sooner than this now I have found a copy.
The memory of it lived on in Chatwin's imagination and was the spark that made him give up his job and head out there in 1974. The six months that he spent there, become this book. It is not about the landscape or the countries, rather Chatwin spends his time there meeting people, finding out about them and then following the gossamer threads of their lives from place to place and backwards and forwards in time.
To be honest, this wasn't quite what I was expecting. It is often disjointed, it has some very short chapters, people only briefly appear in the narrative, before he heads off to the next location and snapshot of another life. And yet it is a wonderful piece of writing. Even though it is not about the place per se, Patagonia fully permeates the writing, you have a sense of the barrenness of the desert, the relentless wind off Tierra del Fuego, places that have attracted people from all over the world in search of the nomadic existence. He traces the characters backwards and forwards across this land but reveals as much about himself in his writing. Will try to get to Songlines a bit sooner than this now I have found a copy.
May 1, 2023
Chatwin, the Great Mythologiser, excels at displaying facets of Patagonia that suit his style of narrative, while completely ignoring others. When one is familiar with his method of organisation, it becomes very difficult to review any of his books objectively without furtively imagining the real shenanigans occurring away from the page. ‘In Patagonia,’ then, is unlike any travel narrative but more an intellectual assembling of history, mythology, imagination and brazen cheek.
May 17, 2018
Probabilmente l'ho letto troppo tardi, per poterlo amare intensamente.
Troppo dopo il periodo in cui furoreggiava e sembrava che lo leggessero tutti, quindi perdendomi l'immersione nella condivisione e tenendomi invece quel tenace sentimento di stupida superiorità che proviamo rispetto alle mode che si sono lasciate scivolare lì vicino senza chinarsi a raccoglierle.
E troppo dopo aver letto diversi altri viaggi, che intaccavano quel luccichio di eccezionalità che continuava a balenare prima di aprire il libro.
Ma va detto che rimane comunque un bell'esercizio di arte della condensazione, coi suoi numerosissimi brevi capitoletti, dove il viaggiatore incontra persone di ogni provenienza arenatesi laggiù, entra nelle loro case, osserva i loro oggetti-talismano, riconosce i loro simboli d’identità.
Il suo vagabondare, incontrare e parlare, spostandosi in vari modi, insegue un po’ confusamente una serie di piste: dai resti di animali preistorici al viaggio di Magellano, dalle antiche popolazioni patagoniche alle trasferte sudamericane di mitici fuorilegge del Far West, spesso originate da leggendarie letture e immaginazioni d’infanzia.
E sì, alla fine, forse conterà anche il fatto che nessuno di questi argomenti mi interessa poi così tanto.
Troppo dopo il periodo in cui furoreggiava e sembrava che lo leggessero tutti, quindi perdendomi l'immersione nella condivisione e tenendomi invece quel tenace sentimento di stupida superiorità che proviamo rispetto alle mode che si sono lasciate scivolare lì vicino senza chinarsi a raccoglierle.
E troppo dopo aver letto diversi altri viaggi, che intaccavano quel luccichio di eccezionalità che continuava a balenare prima di aprire il libro.
Ma va detto che rimane comunque un bell'esercizio di arte della condensazione, coi suoi numerosissimi brevi capitoletti, dove il viaggiatore incontra persone di ogni provenienza arenatesi laggiù, entra nelle loro case, osserva i loro oggetti-talismano, riconosce i loro simboli d’identità.
Il suo vagabondare, incontrare e parlare, spostandosi in vari modi, insegue un po’ confusamente una serie di piste: dai resti di animali preistorici al viaggio di Magellano, dalle antiche popolazioni patagoniche alle trasferte sudamericane di mitici fuorilegge del Far West, spesso originate da leggendarie letture e immaginazioni d’infanzia.
E sì, alla fine, forse conterà anche il fatto che nessuno di questi argomenti mi interessa poi così tanto.
November 21, 2021
Published in 1977, this book is a mix of history and travel diary. Bruce Chatwin starts in Buenos Aires, and travels down Argentina, crossing the region known as Patagonia. He stops to visit people along the way, asks them questions about their family histories and the events that occurred in the area. We hear many immigration stories and local legends. Chatwin supplements what he hears from the people he meets with his own historical research.
It is all reasonably interesting, but there is little organization or narrative arc. As he travels, he jumps from one topic to the next in a series of extremely short chapters. We hear a lot about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who apparently owned a cabin in the region. We get a description of the landscape and see photos from his travels. There are descriptions of extinct giant sloths. We learn the story of Jemmy Button, an indigenous person taken in 1830 from Tierra del Fuego, who traveled on the HMS Beagle. These are just a few examples of many vignettes.
This is a memoir with very little introspection or analysis. He repeats historical stories that have been debunked as myths. I found lots of side dishes to enjoy, but it seems lacking in a main course.
It is all reasonably interesting, but there is little organization or narrative arc. As he travels, he jumps from one topic to the next in a series of extremely short chapters. We hear a lot about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who apparently owned a cabin in the region. We get a description of the landscape and see photos from his travels. There are descriptions of extinct giant sloths. We learn the story of Jemmy Button, an indigenous person taken in 1830 from Tierra del Fuego, who traveled on the HMS Beagle. These are just a few examples of many vignettes.
This is a memoir with very little introspection or analysis. He repeats historical stories that have been debunked as myths. I found lots of side dishes to enjoy, but it seems lacking in a main course.
March 14, 2021
Not your average travelogue, or perhaps even a travelogue at all - more a series of historical vignettes based on whatever piqued Chatwin's interest from the places he visited. Some of the history is interesting, some of it less so. Chatwin paints a somewhat unidimensional picture of Patagonia as a place of imperialist misfit exiles. Surely it must be more than that? And so, after reading the book, I am left feeling I will still need to read something else to find out about the true character of Patagonia.
December 22, 2019
Possiedo almeno quattro o cinque copie di "In Patagonia", sparse in giro tra le varie case di famiglia. avrò avuto una copia persino nella vecchia casa di campagna dei nonni materni dove ho passato tutte le estati della mia infanzia, casa che crollò in un incendio provocato non si sa bene come da un mio cugino durante una festa, diversi anni fa. Non avendo però nemmeno una copia nella casa dove risiedo attualmente, un giorno mi era venuta voglia di rileggerlo e sono andato alla Feltrinelli in corso. Mi sono diretto verso lo scaffale di narrativa, ho cercato la lettera C, ma niente. Chatwin non c'era. Ho provato a vedere più in là, nella lettera D, non si sa mai, qualcuno l'aveva potuto spostare, ma di Chatwin non c'era traccia. Così, esitante nel contattare un commesso (non lo faccio mai, perché i commessi delle librerie mi stanno sulla scatole), mi sono fermato un momento a ragionare e mi è venuto un pensiero malefico: e se fosse nella sezione letteratura di viaggio/ viaggi? io sapevo che Chatwin voleva che il suo agente si assicurasse che "In Patagonia" non fosse inserito nella sezione Viaggi delle librerie. Lo descrisse come "un viaggio simbolico che è una meditazione sull'irrequietezza e sull'esilio". Il paesaggio vi è solo vagamente descritto, e si raccontano invece una serie di storie vagamente connesse sulle persone che man mano vengono incontrate. Il libro inizia con un incipit straordinario: la decisione di andare in Patagonia viene presa sull'onda di un desiderio, andare alla ricerca di quel "brontosauro" (in realtà è un bradipo gigante) il cui pezzo di pelle, rinvenuto da un cugino in una grotta della Patagonia cilena, è custodito come un cimelio dalla famiglia di Chatwin. Il libro possiede una quindicina di foto, credo escluse dall'edizione originale finale, così belle che Rebecca West diceva che rendevano superfluo il testo, divertendo il grande Bruce.
Quel giorno mi sono diretto, per la prima volta in una ventina d'anni, da un commesso della Feltrinelli, e con tono minaccioso, rosso in volto, ho chiesto: "chi ha messo Bruce Chatwin nello scaffale letteratura di viaggio?"
il commesso mi ha guardato sorpreso, forse un po' divertito, e ha chiamato una sua collega dicendole: "puoi sentire cosa chiede il signore?"
la collega è arrivata, non riuscivo nemmeno a guardarla in viso, ho solo notato che aveva una ricrescita terribile. le ho ripetuto la mia domanda, questa volta alzando molto il tono di voce: "chi ha messo Bruce Chatwin nello scaffale letteratura di viaggio?".
In libreria è calato il silenzio. Solo un ragazzo si è avvicinato e mi ha detto: "che ci vuoi fare, io ho trovato il colibrì nella sezione scienze naturali".
Non controllando la rabbia e sentendomi come Gesù nel tempio, ho rovesciato tutto lo scaffale con i libri di Chatwin.
mi hanno portato via con l'ambulanza, sedandomi con una fiala di 100 mg di clorpromazina. Al mio risveglio, ho riconosciuto il reparto e un mio collega mi ha detto: "ti hanno portato qua perché hai sbroccato. volevi un pezzo di pelle di brontosauro. lo potevi di prima, che ti portavo da Benito a Orentano." (noto spacciatore di bistecche fiorentine). Non ricordo nient'altro.
Poi mi sono svegliato davvero.
Quel giorno mi sono diretto, per la prima volta in una ventina d'anni, da un commesso della Feltrinelli, e con tono minaccioso, rosso in volto, ho chiesto: "chi ha messo Bruce Chatwin nello scaffale letteratura di viaggio?"
il commesso mi ha guardato sorpreso, forse un po' divertito, e ha chiamato una sua collega dicendole: "puoi sentire cosa chiede il signore?"
la collega è arrivata, non riuscivo nemmeno a guardarla in viso, ho solo notato che aveva una ricrescita terribile. le ho ripetuto la mia domanda, questa volta alzando molto il tono di voce: "chi ha messo Bruce Chatwin nello scaffale letteratura di viaggio?".
In libreria è calato il silenzio. Solo un ragazzo si è avvicinato e mi ha detto: "che ci vuoi fare, io ho trovato il colibrì nella sezione scienze naturali".
Non controllando la rabbia e sentendomi come Gesù nel tempio, ho rovesciato tutto lo scaffale con i libri di Chatwin.
mi hanno portato via con l'ambulanza, sedandomi con una fiala di 100 mg di clorpromazina. Al mio risveglio, ho riconosciuto il reparto e un mio collega mi ha detto: "ti hanno portato qua perché hai sbroccato. volevi un pezzo di pelle di brontosauro. lo potevi di prima, che ti portavo da Benito a Orentano." (noto spacciatore di bistecche fiorentine). Non ricordo nient'altro.
Poi mi sono svegliato davvero.
July 9, 2020
Ho ripreso in mano questo bel libro di viaggio in questi ultimi giorni di agosto del 2015, dopo averlo letto e assaporato negli ultimi giorni di aprile del 2007, quindi otto anni fa. Stava nella mia libreria e ogni tanto, in questi anni, gli davo un'affettuosa occhiata. Forse annoiato da questa nuova sessione di esami, forse desideroso di viaggiare, l'ho riletto e sto per terminarlo per la seconda volta. Che potrei aggiungere? Mi fa svagare dall'ordinarietà della vita, riesce col suo stile inimitabile (spesso ironico) a farmi immaginare la Patagonia, questa terra desolata di allevatori di pecore, di indios, di ritrovamenti preistorici, di viaggi in mare. Chatwin ci descrive non solo la sua avventura in Patagonia, iniziata nel dicembre del 1974, ma anche le storie delle persone (che lui trasforma in personaggi degni del miglior film di avventura) soprattutto nella prima parte le storie di alcuni banditi che subito ti fanno venire in mente i film western come Butch Cassidy o Wilson e Evans. Ma l'autore ci descrive brevemente anche i fondatori di alcune città o villaggi della Patagonia, con riferimenti politici (seppur accennati) o alcune avventure di scopritori e studiosi come Darwin e Cook. Ripeto, per elencare tutti i personaggi che Bruce cita o ci presenta le gesta sarebbe davvero lunga, vi basti sapere che se amate viaggiare, soprattutto in posti solitari e poco conosciuti, allora questo è certamente il libro che dovete assolutamente leggere al più presto. Di Chatwin leggerò anche "Che ci faccio qui?" che ho già acquistato. Ho scoperto che ha anche scritto Ritorno in Patagonia (o un titolo simile) che devo recuperare assolutamente.
January 5, 2020
Prior to my reading this, if you had asked me what is Patagonia?, I probably would have said, "That company that makes backpacks and outdoor crap."
Within the first 30 to 40 pages, if you had asked me again, I would have said it was practically the end of the world, an exotic, magnetic, land, filled with strange characters and harsh, extreme, beautiful landscapes.
Having finished the book, it feels like Chatwin somehow drained the life out of the place and obliterated its magic. He left me a monotone landscape dotted by odd dwellings spaced far apart filled almost entirely by European emigrants either formerly rich, bored, restless, or mentally declining. Infrequently, the dying embers of my hopes for this book were almost rekindled by an historical anecdote, a local myth, or a name I'd not expected (say, Darwin, or Butch Cassidy), but most felt rushed, devoid of context, or enervated. Chatwin, himself, seems like a fascinating character and yet he even renders himself a tedious player in this adventure.
I forced myself through this--that's on me. But the writing--an ADHD's travelogue--that's on Chatwin.
Within the first 30 to 40 pages, if you had asked me again, I would have said it was practically the end of the world, an exotic, magnetic, land, filled with strange characters and harsh, extreme, beautiful landscapes.
Having finished the book, it feels like Chatwin somehow drained the life out of the place and obliterated its magic. He left me a monotone landscape dotted by odd dwellings spaced far apart filled almost entirely by European emigrants either formerly rich, bored, restless, or mentally declining. Infrequently, the dying embers of my hopes for this book were almost rekindled by an historical anecdote, a local myth, or a name I'd not expected (say, Darwin, or Butch Cassidy), but most felt rushed, devoid of context, or enervated. Chatwin, himself, seems like a fascinating character and yet he even renders himself a tedious player in this adventure.
I forced myself through this--that's on me. But the writing--an ADHD's travelogue--that's on Chatwin.
January 2, 2021
La «Vecchia Pat»
«La Patagonia! – gridò – È un’amante difficile. Lancia il suo incantesimo. Un’ammaliatrice! Ti stringe nelle sue braccia e non ti lascia più.»
Nel 1974 Chatwin parte per la Patagonia. Il viaggio durerà sei mesi. Nel 1977 trasformerà i suoi appunti, puntigliosamente redatti sui famosi quadernetti con la copertina nera, in uno splendido libro di viaggi.
Dal Rio Negro ad Ushuaia, un intrigante puzzle di mille, variopinte tesserine, a comporre uno splendido affresco della Patagonia e dei suoi abitanti, con le loro lingue, storie spesso tragiche e leggende stupefacenti.
Narrerà diffusamente anche di Butch e Sundance. «”Ci sono banditi?”, chiesero. E furono lieti di apprendere che non ce n’erano.»
Qualche anno dopo, in un caffè di Barcellona, lui e Sepúlveda progettano di ritornarci insieme. Ma Luis il viaggio dovrà farlo da solo. Nel 1989, a quarantanove anni, Bruce muore nel sud della Francia.
Archie Tuffnell amava la Patagonia e la chiamava «Vecchia Pat».
Questo libro? La fine del mondo!
«La Patagonia! – gridò – È un’amante difficile. Lancia il suo incantesimo. Un’ammaliatrice! Ti stringe nelle sue braccia e non ti lascia più.»
Nel 1974 Chatwin parte per la Patagonia. Il viaggio durerà sei mesi. Nel 1977 trasformerà i suoi appunti, puntigliosamente redatti sui famosi quadernetti con la copertina nera, in uno splendido libro di viaggi.
Dal Rio Negro ad Ushuaia, un intrigante puzzle di mille, variopinte tesserine, a comporre uno splendido affresco della Patagonia e dei suoi abitanti, con le loro lingue, storie spesso tragiche e leggende stupefacenti.
Narrerà diffusamente anche di Butch e Sundance. «”Ci sono banditi?”, chiesero. E furono lieti di apprendere che non ce n’erano.»
Qualche anno dopo, in un caffè di Barcellona, lui e Sepúlveda progettano di ritornarci insieme. Ma Luis il viaggio dovrà farlo da solo. Nel 1989, a quarantanove anni, Bruce muore nel sud della Francia.
Archie Tuffnell amava la Patagonia e la chiamava «Vecchia Pat».
Questo libro? La fine del mondo!
July 3, 2022
“La Patagonia! Ti stringe nelle sue braccia e non ti lascia più!”
”In Patagonia” è noto per essere uno dei simboli della controcultura e dei pilastri della narrativa di viaggio, ma chissà perché l’ho letto solo adesso, pur possedendo il libro da decenni e nonostante l’ottima precedente esperienza con ”Utz”. Credo di aver tardato troppo sia per raggiungere fisicamente la Patagonia, sia per subire appieno il fascino evocativo di queste pagine, la spinta a viaggiare alla ventura verso i luoghi più lontani del mondo. L’ho fatto a suo tempo, ma in direzione opposta, verso Est…
Anche con queste premesse personali che ne limitano l’impatto emotivo, l’ho trovato un testo comunque molto interessante, non solo per le terre esplorate da Chatwin lungo un itinerario che si può seguire passo dopo passo scorrendo sempre più giù la Carta Geografica, ma soprattutto per l’eccezionale sfilata di personaggi incontrati, descritti o raccontati dall’autore lungo il suo tortuoso cammino.
Si sconfina nel campo della psicologia per provare a comprendere l’irresistibile pulsione che ha concentrato in queste terre non troppo ospitali una tale quantità di esuli, fuggiaschi, misantropi, visionari, gente con in mente un progetto (scientifico, libertario, imprenditoriale, esistenziale) più o meno folle, in una parola avventurieri.
Una pletora di idiomi, di nazionalità, di culture tutti calamitati ai confini del mondo in un luogo popolato da ovini, indios non sempre benevoli, casine piatte con tetti in lamiera su un territorio sconfinato, votato molto più all’allevamento che all’agricoltura. Ogni personaggio ha una storia da raccontare fatta di abbandoni, sconfitte, colpi di testa e più di rado colpi di fortuna, vicissitudini precedenti in altri continenti, imbarchi, malattie. Alle testimonianze dirette si alternano i racconti sulle tracce dei predecessori, narrazioni ormai avvolte nel mito e molto spesso contraddittorie con protagonisti del calibro di Charles Darwin o Butch Cassidy, tanto per citarne un paio, fino al meno noto Charley Milward, prozio di Chatwin, che indirettamente indusse l’autore ad intraprendere un viaggio protrattosi, per il motivo che ho riportato nel titolo, per oltre sei mesi.
”In Patagonia” è noto per essere uno dei simboli della controcultura e dei pilastri della narrativa di viaggio, ma chissà perché l’ho letto solo adesso, pur possedendo il libro da decenni e nonostante l’ottima precedente esperienza con ”Utz”. Credo di aver tardato troppo sia per raggiungere fisicamente la Patagonia, sia per subire appieno il fascino evocativo di queste pagine, la spinta a viaggiare alla ventura verso i luoghi più lontani del mondo. L’ho fatto a suo tempo, ma in direzione opposta, verso Est…
Anche con queste premesse personali che ne limitano l’impatto emotivo, l’ho trovato un testo comunque molto interessante, non solo per le terre esplorate da Chatwin lungo un itinerario che si può seguire passo dopo passo scorrendo sempre più giù la Carta Geografica, ma soprattutto per l’eccezionale sfilata di personaggi incontrati, descritti o raccontati dall’autore lungo il suo tortuoso cammino.
Si sconfina nel campo della psicologia per provare a comprendere l’irresistibile pulsione che ha concentrato in queste terre non troppo ospitali una tale quantità di esuli, fuggiaschi, misantropi, visionari, gente con in mente un progetto (scientifico, libertario, imprenditoriale, esistenziale) più o meno folle, in una parola avventurieri.
Una pletora di idiomi, di nazionalità, di culture tutti calamitati ai confini del mondo in un luogo popolato da ovini, indios non sempre benevoli, casine piatte con tetti in lamiera su un territorio sconfinato, votato molto più all’allevamento che all’agricoltura. Ogni personaggio ha una storia da raccontare fatta di abbandoni, sconfitte, colpi di testa e più di rado colpi di fortuna, vicissitudini precedenti in altri continenti, imbarchi, malattie. Alle testimonianze dirette si alternano i racconti sulle tracce dei predecessori, narrazioni ormai avvolte nel mito e molto spesso contraddittorie con protagonisti del calibro di Charles Darwin o Butch Cassidy, tanto per citarne un paio, fino al meno noto Charley Milward, prozio di Chatwin, che indirettamente indusse l’autore ad intraprendere un viaggio protrattosi, per il motivo che ho riportato nel titolo, per oltre sei mesi.
July 2, 2016
Bruce Chatwin baulked at being called a travel writer and reading this I can see why. Part-literature, part-history, the slender volume is packed full of diverse and disparate characters and episodes. Then there is the flying off of tangents- satisfying tangents that entrench you in histories of.. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (the Patagonian years), the mylodon and other prehistoric beasts, Simon Radowitzky, the search for Trapalanda (a version of Eldorado), the creation of an extraordinary dictionary of native Indian language in the nineteenth century, the wooing of people's will by anarchists, Marxists, Catholics, protestants. Above all, the book is a record of immigrants from all over the world, ex-pat communities and (more often than not) ex-pat hermits, trapped in a hostile environment with the trappings of their past surrounding them, some loathing their lives, others held in a thrall, as if Patagonia has bewitched them with its end-of-the-earth brutal beauty.
The author writes in his signature detached style, adding a perfect power to everything he describes. Whether being lectured to by a dying priest detailing the magic of the area, the unfound remnants of unicorn bones, or recounting the story of Jemmy Button, a young native kidnapped and taken to England to be gentrified before being returned to his tribe, he writes without judgement and with sympathy. It is a book about his own personal quest and it is wonderfully alive.
The author writes in his signature detached style, adding a perfect power to everything he describes. Whether being lectured to by a dying priest detailing the magic of the area, the unfound remnants of unicorn bones, or recounting the story of Jemmy Button, a young native kidnapped and taken to England to be gentrified before being returned to his tribe, he writes without judgement and with sympathy. It is a book about his own personal quest and it is wonderfully alive.
December 12, 2011
This is the third time I have read this classic by the late Bruce Chatwin. While purporting to be an episodic treatment of various past and present individuals who have been drawn into the orbit of Patagonia, it is quite as fictional as it is nonfiction. Although Chatwin has no great love for the literal truth, his transformations of people and events are fascinating.
It is very much like the old joke about the patient who tells his therapist some made up stories, to which the therapist says, "That's very interesting." When the patient admits that he has been making all his experiences up, the therapist, without skipping a beat, says, "That's even more interesting!"
To present a simple example (there are more in Nicholas Shakespeare's excellent introduction to this edition), because Chatwin was fascinated with Russian poet Osip Mandelstam, he takes a person whose passion in life is actually Agatha Christie and presents her as a devotee of Mandelstam.
This time, I read Chatwin's book while traveling through Patagonia myself. I can see why the book remains so popular, irrespective of its literal truthfulness.
It is very much like the old joke about the patient who tells his therapist some made up stories, to which the therapist says, "That's very interesting." When the patient admits that he has been making all his experiences up, the therapist, without skipping a beat, says, "That's even more interesting!"
To present a simple example (there are more in Nicholas Shakespeare's excellent introduction to this edition), because Chatwin was fascinated with Russian poet Osip Mandelstam, he takes a person whose passion in life is actually Agatha Christie and presents her as a devotee of Mandelstam.
This time, I read Chatwin's book while traveling through Patagonia myself. I can see why the book remains so popular, irrespective of its literal truthfulness.
July 21, 2013
This is not a travelogue, in any normal sense. It is rather a collection of 97 very short vignettes (almost like 'palm-in-the-hand' stories), many (as is now generally admitted) partially fictionalized, based on Chatwin's wanderings and readings and musings and imaginings about Patagonia, aka 'the end of the world' (geographically speaking), written throughout with a very odd tilt which is quite unique and which is Chatwin's own. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid play as great a role (greater, in fact) as do the penguins and condors...
The book is really unclassifiable (as Chatwin himself insisted), and is a very enjoyable read.
The introduction to this edition, by Nicholas Shakespeare, Chatwin's biographer (and he was not at all a hagiographic biographer), is itself quite interesting and worthwhile.
4.5 stars
The book is really unclassifiable (as Chatwin himself insisted), and is a very enjoyable read.
The introduction to this edition, by Nicholas Shakespeare, Chatwin's biographer (and he was not at all a hagiographic biographer), is itself quite interesting and worthwhile.
4.5 stars
September 5, 2021
Βαθμολογία: 9/10
Δεύτερο βιβλίο του Μπρους Τσάτουιν που διαβάζω, μετά το καταπληκτικό "Ο αντιβασιλέας της Ουίντα" που διάβασα τον Ιούνιο του 2019, και δηλώνω ξανά μαγεμένος από τη γραφή, τις εικόνες που δημιούργησε, την όλη ταξιδιάρικη ατμόσφαιρα. Είχα αρκετά υψηλές προσδοκίες από το βιβλίο, τόσο γιατί με ξετρέλανε το προηγούμενο βιβλίο του συγγραφέα που διάβασα, όσο και γιατί το συγκεκριμένο είναι από τα κλασικότερα και πιο ιδιαίτερα ταξιδιωτικά χρονικά που κυκλοφορούν εκεί έξω, και χαίρομαι πολύ που το βιβλίο εκπλήρωσε στο ακέραιο όλες τις προσδοκίες που είχα. Ο Τσάτουιν δεν ταξιδεύει τους αναγνώστες μονάχα στην Παταγωνία, αλλά παράλληλα πίσω στον χρόνο, μιας και το βιβλίο είναι γεμάτο ιστορίες ανθρώπων που έζησαν ή πέρασαν από την Παταγωνία, θα συναντήσετε μέσα Ινδιάνους, εξερευνητές, ιεραποστόλους, εγκληματίες, επαναστάτες, Ναζί, τα πάντα όλα. Ο Τσάτουιν συνάντησε πολλούς ανθρώπους που είχαν πολλές ιστορίες να πουν (πραγματικές ή μη), πάτησε σε μέρη που πάτησαν άνθρωποι όπως οι Μπουτς Κάσιντι και Σάντανς Κιντ, ο Αντόνιο Σότο, ο Δαρβίνος και πολλοί, πολλοί άλλοι, που πλέον έχουν χαθεί στη λήθη, και νομίζω ότι κατάφερε να αγγίξει την ψυχή της Παταγωνίας. Η Παταγωνία είναι ένα από τα μέρη που πολύ θα ήθελα να επισκεφτώ αλλά που πιθανότατα ποτέ δεν θα τα καταφέρω, και διαβάζοντας το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο, το γεμάτο εικόνες άγριας ομορφιάς, ήταν σαν όντως να τα κατάφερα και να ταξίδεψα σε αυτό το υπέροχο μέρος. Υπέροχος συγγραφέας ο Τσάτουιν, κρίμα που έφυγε νωρίς...
Δεύτερο βιβλίο του Μπρους Τσάτουιν που διαβάζω, μετά το καταπληκτικό "Ο αντιβασιλέας της Ουίντα" που διάβασα τον Ιούνιο του 2019, και δηλώνω ξανά μαγεμένος από τη γραφή, τις εικόνες που δημιούργησε, την όλη ταξιδιάρικη ατμόσφαιρα. Είχα αρκετά υψηλές προσδοκίες από το βιβλίο, τόσο γιατί με ξετρέλανε το προηγούμενο βιβλίο του συγγραφέα που διάβασα, όσο και γιατί το συγκεκριμένο είναι από τα κλασικότερα και πιο ιδιαίτερα ταξιδιωτικά χρονικά που κυκλοφορούν εκεί έξω, και χαίρομαι πολύ που το βιβλίο εκπλήρωσε στο ακέραιο όλες τις προσδοκίες που είχα. Ο Τσάτουιν δεν ταξιδεύει τους αναγνώστες μονάχα στην Παταγωνία, αλλά παράλληλα πίσω στον χρόνο, μιας και το βιβλίο είναι γεμάτο ιστορίες ανθρώπων που έζησαν ή πέρασαν από την Παταγωνία, θα συναντήσετε μέσα Ινδιάνους, εξερευνητές, ιεραποστόλους, εγκληματίες, επαναστάτες, Ναζί, τα πάντα όλα. Ο Τσάτουιν συνάντησε πολλούς ανθρώπους που είχαν πολλές ιστορίες να πουν (πραγματικές ή μη), πάτησε σε μέρη που πάτησαν άνθρωποι όπως οι Μπουτς Κάσιντι και Σάντανς Κιντ, ο Αντόνιο Σότο, ο Δαρβίνος και πολλοί, πολλοί άλλοι, που πλέον έχουν χαθεί στη λήθη, και νομίζω ότι κατάφερε να αγγίξει την ψυχή της Παταγωνίας. Η Παταγωνία είναι ένα από τα μέρη που πολύ θα ήθελα να επισκεφτώ αλλά που πιθανότατα ποτέ δεν θα τα καταφέρω, και διαβάζοντας το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο, το γεμάτο εικόνες άγριας ομορφιάς, ήταν σαν όντως να τα κατάφερα και να ταξίδεψα σε αυτό το υπέροχο μέρος. Υπέροχος συγγραφέας ο Τσάτουιν, κρίμα που έφυγε νωρίς...
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