Into the Wild of California

The first book of the bet to be finished was the collected works of ee cummings. Once I happily finished that beautiful work, I was excited to move on to JD Salinger's Franny and Zooey. Since Salinger's recent death, his books Nine Stories and F&Z have been on my mind. I didn't especially enjoy The Catcher in the Rye, but I wanted to give his other works a chance. I read Catcher in high school, like pretty much every other student in the country, but wasn't as enamored with it as I felt I should have been. I think that is because I found Holden's character so hard to root for - by the second chapter, I was so annoyed with the hero that I wanted to keep reading just so I could finish the book and not have to follow his thoughts anymore. Its not very often that I dislike a character enough for it to ruin the entire book for me, especially with such a universal and interesting theme as maturation and loss of innocence. But Holden got under my skin enough to make me want to hide the book behind the couch in the living room just so I wouldn't have to look at in anymore.

As it turns out, F&Z had a very similar effect on me. When I turned the last page, I found myself wondering just what I was supposed to have gotten from the story - why did I read it? (Other than to get free tortilla soup and rub it in my boyfriend's face, of course.) What lasting impression was this story supposed to have on me? I didn't relate strongly to Franny or Zooey; in fact, the only strong feeling I got through all 200 pages was pity for the mother. How many times can a son call his mother a fat cow before he starts to feel a little bit guilty?

Overall, the experience left me disappointed and slightly confused. I am a little bit ashamed to say it, but perhaps Salinger just isn't for me. This makes me feel like I am a literature delinquent - after all, shouldn't I appreciate such a celebrated author? Normally, books considered "classics" leave me with warm, fuzzy feelings. Whether it is a fault of my own or of Salinger's, F&Z just didn't do it for me. However, I will not be deterred. Nine Stories is one of the remaining books in the betting pool, and I will tackle it soon enough.

After Franny and Zooey, I wanted to begin a straightforward, action filled story. Something that would have me tapping my leg with anticipation in the way that I love, but my boyfriend abhors. So I began Into the Wild, which has been exactly that. This week is spring break, and my boyfriend and I are spending it in California with my sister in the San Jose area. So throughout the entire 7 hour and 25 minutes of travel we did yesterday, I made it over halfway through Krakauer's documentary-esque story of Chris McCandless' tragic Alaskan journey, tapping my leg all the while. I think my boyfriend almost threw me out the window of the plane, but it has been very enjoyable regardless.

To me, many of Into the Wild's pages reflect the importance of balance within life. A relationship with nature (with the "wild", even), at least to me, is a crucial part of happiness and balance. An avid follower of yoga and pilates and a self-proclaimed physical activity fanatic, I am about twice as happy when I can get my heart rate up. If that involves being outdoors, I'm the happiest gal in the world. But, as Krakaur's book is reminding me, getting obsessed with nature, with its simplicity and cruel survival-of-the-fittest Darwinism can have terrifying, even lethal, consequences.

It was especially interesting to think about this juxtaposition this afternoon, as we hiked to the top of a 4 mile track in Los Gatos. Nature is is so stunning that it is easy to forget that it can be so dangerous. If I take anything from this book (other than pity for McCandless' family, of course), it will be how happy I am to be able to run around climbing and exploring things during the day, knowing that I can return to a hot shower, soft comforter, and bag of microwave popcorn later. I'm not sure that that is exactly what Krakauer meant for his readers to take from his book, but maybe it would comfort him to know that I have learned another important lesson? If I am ever traveling in Alaska in the late spring, I will take more than a ten pound bag of rice. And, no matter how tempting, I will avoid the seduction of taking up residence in an old, rusty bus.