This blog is quickly becoming a clearinghouse for my reflecting on literature. If I were to let these thoughts linger, without promptly recording them, I fear they would drift away forever.
On to Edward Abbey...why I had never come across The Monkey Wrench Gang in my past reading/coursework/Internet dwelling is almost incomprehensible. There was a distinct moment in which I realized this author, and his book of eco-terror crossed with a mid seventies national lampoon sensibility was a truly great Nature..no,...a great American Novel. This moment occurred somewhere within the first three pages, in a flickering instant, between the images of Doc lighting a billboard on fire and Albuquerque being described in terms of a neon-glassed cement tomb. Something in those pages drew me in and refused to let go...but what? I'm still looking for an answer, but I think I might be getting warmer.
Now, being close to halfway through the novel, I would like to think myself capable of reflecting on my initial impressions of Abbey's characters, and analyzing how wrong I was and for what reason. Such a task is certainly easier said than done. A constant motion invades the lives of the four "environmental" crusaders, making them hard to pin down from one page to the next. Doc is up and down emotionally, Hayduke is by turns bloodthirsty and lonely, Abbzug is a brain pricked by meditative visions and Smith...well, Smith is Smith, an anchor of sorts for the entire collective, and a lusty anchor at that.
The two concepts that make it hard for me to quit reading this book are relatively simple: a sense of it's geography, and the blurry motives of it's characters. Having recently lived in the Southwest, many of the locations described in the novel are near and dear to my heart. Constructing a mental image is much easier when you have driven through the locations featured in Chapters 3,4,5,6 and 7 all within the last six months. Adding to that is my growing empathy for the characters, and my hoping against hope that they are carrying out their plan for the same reasons I (hypothetically) would. Being a peace loving English major, I have never personally considered eco-sabotage as a viable option in relation to our countries pillaging of undeveloped terrain. I would be lying however, if I was to tell you I had never walked the streets of Tucson on a summer night, mumbling to myself: "why would anyone build a damn city here? Too hot, not meant for us to invade..ugh...another thorn, ow." That is precisely why I find the question of personal motive so fascinating within this book. Maybe the characters are thinking the same way I was last summer or maybe we are a million miles apart. Only the next 125 pages will tell me for sure.
For me, an Ohio transplant, it was easy to view the Desert as a ghost of American civilization, littered with abandoned mining towns and soiled cities. Now, after returning to the Midwest, and reflecting on my expieriences and this book, I am viewing the Desert more in terms of being the last remaining hope for a boxed in people.
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