Non-fiction seems to be photographic; it poses the same challenges of finding form and pattern in the stuff already out there and the same ethical obligations to the subject (144).
But the best writing appears like those animals, sudden, self-possessed, telling everything and nothing, words approaching wordlessness. Maybe writing is its own desert, its own wilderness (133).
Part of what makes roads, trails, and paths so unique as built structures is that they cannot be perceived as a whole all at once by a sedentary onlooker. They unfold in time as one travels along them, just as a story does as one listens or reads, and hairpin turn is like a plot… Read More Solnit, Rebecca “Wanderlust” (Penguin 2000)
I think now that the suburbs were a kind of tranquilizer for the generation before us, if topography can be a drug. The blandness of ranch houses, the soothing lines of streets curving into cul-de-sacs, the homogeneity, the repetition, the pretty, vacant names were designed to erase the desperation of poverty and strife, to erase… Read More Rebecca Solnit “A Field Guide to Getting Lost” (Penguin 2005)