http://dharmablog.everyday-beat.org/2007/06/20/a-beautiful-book/ ( )

I'd read some Sigurd Olson before picking up "The Lonely Land," but not a lot. Definitely not enough. So far, what I've noticed is different in this work is a) that it's not a collection of essays about disparate events and observations, but the telling of an entire story and b) the presence of other people plays a much larger role in "The Lonely Land" than the other Olson I've read.

In "Listening Point," "The Singing Wilderness," and many of Olson's other works, he largely writes accounts of solitary walks in the woods. It's stuff that has always resonated deeply in me because solitary walks in the woods are one of my favorite pastimes. But there's no denying that we often experience the wild with other people -- not just any people, but companions in the deepest sense of the word -- and the people and the relationships of the wild are not periphery to the experience. Though I couldn't find one passage in "The Lonely Land" that perfectly illustrates this (yet), it is seen throughout the book by the prevalence of the "we" over the "I." The presence of the other men in "The Lonely Land" only enhances the act of experiencing. The only times he seems to use “I” is when he is specifically describing something he did: building the fire or boiling water, steering the canoe, or the few other actions one performs alone when embarked on an adventure like the one in this book. The collaborative efforts of paddling a canoe or of making camp is one of the most glorious things about a canoe trip, in my mind. That feeling is well-described here.

I've thought for a while that one of the principal goals when I write a story is to somehow weave together the drama of the wild, of man interacting with the wild, and of interacting with man in the wild. The tension necessary to the success of this story is a product of all this combined, not just the excitement and adrenaline of running rapids, or observations of the flora and fauna, both of which exist in fine form, but also the engaging tale of friendship, of companionship, and a shared quest for the "payments" of wilderness travel.

The great thing is that not only are each of Olson's fellow Voyageurs complex and well-defined "characters" in the book, he doesn't neglect two things which I have always come to his books for: the "philosophical turn" of his spirit -- as Deb noticed in his digression about the ethics of hiring an Indian with a motor to tow them down the long, wind-blown lake or as Dave did in his post about the effect of money on the enjoyment of labor; and his powerful but unpretentious, and beautifully accurate, observations about the natural world -- as Dave admired in Olson's description of the rock and the geologic history of the area through which the Voyageurs were traveling. Also, not necessarily unique to "The Lonely Land," but definitely important, is the human history of the land, which in recounting, Olson only adds another fascinating layer to the story. ( )