cheryl strayed’s “wild”
Source: google.com via Joseph on Pinterest
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My desire to let Cheryl Strayed go in peace is almost as strong as my desire to record my own reactions to her book. Almost as strong.
But let’s get a few things clear, first:
1) She makes money selling mugs that say write like a motherfucker. This is the kind of bullshit advice that will never go out of style, because it is so meaningless. Lots of people write like motherfuckers, even though none of it is usable or good. Crazy people, too.
2) She writes an advice column which is, basically, an advice column, except she swears a lot. (See “motherfucker,” above.) She writes, in her most recent column, that if the reader takes her advice, they will “feel a fuck of a lot better.” It’s a lame gimmick, but OK, Ms. Strayed, let’s fucking do this goddamn thing.
3) This memoir of hers, Wild, is way out-of-date, and gives REI a lot of free advertising and publicity. REI exists to sell questionable goods, a lot of them, to people who don’t know what they are doing. I should know. They sold me $400 worth of essentially unnecessary things, mostly clothing, before I went off to Thailand. I could have gotten by with T-shirts and jeans. (However, I wasn’t on the verge of death either. I was just out some money.)
By “out of date,” I mean that the events in the book happened during the OJ Simpson trial. The book is being published now because, I suspect, the publishers saw something that would be devoured by the same demographic that ate up Eat Pray Love.
I have respect for Elizabeth Gilbert, actually. She did something that a certain type of man has been doing for ages. She “finds herself.” That means divorcing her husband, sleeping with a soulful young dude, going to Italy, sleeping with beautiful Italians, going to India and forgiving everyone in her life (this is very do-able since the only person wronging anyone is her), and then going to Bali and embarking on a new romance. It’s not very deep, but it obeys the pleasure principle.
As it happens, I also respect Christopher McCandless, the anti-hero of Into The Wild. McCandless stood for something. It may have been trite, and he may have gone about his rebellion in an immature way, but he wasn’t merely trying to find himself. He was trying to escape society. He just got in over his head when he took the revolution to Alaska.
Strayed combines the worst of McCandless with the worst of Gilbert. Like Gilbert, she has no cause greater than herself. Like McCandless, she has no fucking idea what she is doing. It is excruciatingly boring to read her descriptions of running short on cash. She had a job. She decided when to quit. It’s her own fault that she can’t afford soft drinks or new boots.
It gets worse. She doesn’t know that foxes aren’t dangerous unless they’re rabid. (In fact, I seriously doubt that she even knows what a rabid animal looks like.) She doesn’t know how to select hiking boots that fit properly. I’ve gone backpacking many times, and I’ve never had my toenails blacken and fall off. She doesn’t know how to use a fucking compass.
I realize that I was very lucky to grow up in a wild part of the country. I’ve camped in Lassen Volcanic National Park and in the shadow of Mount Shasta. I’m certainly not suggesting that anyone who didn’t grow up that way should keep out…but there’s nothing dramatic about self-inflicted crisis. I could wake up tomorrow, empty seven dollars in quarters into my pockets, and try to walk to Reno. It would be perilous. I could easily die. But it wouldn’t make a great story, and neither does Wild.
Plus, from reading the book reviews, you’d think Wild is just about hiking, when in fact half of it is about all the dysfunctional behaviors that push her to go hiking in the first place. She becomes a junkie. She’s a sex addict (like most people, I only half-believe in sex addiction, but she obviously does believe in it). She’s self-centered, dependent, and cynical. The reasons for all of this are that her father abused her and her mother was poor.
Wild is the most self-aggrandizing tale of trauma that I’ve read in many years. Yes, it’s horrible to suffer abuse and poverty, but that does not explain or excuse every single unethical act an adult chooses to perform. People who think it does become abusers themselves. Has Strayed ever met a junkie or an adulterer who didn’t have a sob story? I certainly never have.
Furthermore, most of the people in this story are extremely benevolent. She must realize this, but she’s still not above pretending that a stranger is menacing to keep a chapter humming along. OH MY GOD, IS HE GOING TO RAPE HER? (No. He’s going to share his licorice.)
Because she has such a confused idea of other people, and such a simple narrative explaining herself, the reader doesn’t really come to understand her or anyone in her circle. Sure, we can project all sorts of personal hurts and triumphs onto her story, but we’re not learning anything.
There are some delightful encounters woven into the narrative, and I’m enjoying her descriptions of the natural landscape and her increasingly tough body. But if her goal was to write like a motherfucker, she was a little too successful here. Maybe, Sugar Strayed, it’s time to write like something else.
“there’s nothing dramatic about self-inflicted crisis”- I am embroidering this motto onto a swatch of linen (alongside some blue birds), framing it and hanging it above my couch. Well said.
I bought the book because I do admire some of the Dear Sugar columns. However, I’m on page 81, and it’s getting painful. All the reviews I’ve read about her writing have been positive. But I don’t think I can go on with this book.
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I’m shocked as well on how positive the reviews on this book are. I was trying to find a review that questioned some of the events in her story and there was nothing. I’m part way through and am making a valiant effort to finish. I find the writing style is overwrought and her character interactions are kind of painful.
Because I just can’t leave it alone, what bothers me most is how her fellow hikers are so *amazed* that she is a woman doing the hike alone, and treat her like small child because of it. And she just eats it up.
Thank you for writing this! I couldn’t believe all the positive reviews and it really made me question peoples ability to distinguish between great and “not-so-great” writing. I found the book very boring and …well…just irritating.
Your write up is pathetic while Wild was written beautifully. Yes, she may have bitched and then talked about it but at least she’s not behind some computer bitching about someone else bitching such as yourself. The memoir is written simply, euphonically, and, most importantly, with a strong sense of reality. She wrote the book to share a common human experience of painful change and realization–one that perhaps you have not experienced yourself or you would know how profound it can be. Her story was one worth telling and there are quite literally millions of people who are glad she shared it. I am sorry I stumbled across your sad article. I hope you rest well knowing that your words will never affect her or her admirers.
Dear Lauren,
Get a clue. She is behind a computer. Constantly. I’m not sure what great realization she attained, and I’m not sure you know either, or you would have been more specific. I question whether someone as self-centered and heedless as herself actually possesses a strong sense of reality. Enjoy your status as one of millions of people who feel and think, at least in your own mind, just like you.
Furthermore, you will NEVER know how unsafe it feels to be a woman in a man’s world. Do not ever patronize this extraordinarily harmful byproduct of man’s physical dominance lest you come off an ignorant prick. That is all.
My point had nothing to do with her feelings; it had to do with how she exploited those feelings on the page. Nor are the risks that women face related primarily to physical strength and size. They are a byproduct of patriarchal oppression, you witless troll.
Having known many junkies in my youth, i find it hard to believe she was withdrawing (maybe last stages) from heroin and taking on the PCT, plus carrying a huge pack, walking in 90+ temps up mountains wo training. well i’m only on the 4th chapter…
Thank-you for writing this. I am a woman and a writer so perhaps I can echo some of the things you said without getting bashed. I saw the movie first and was moved, so then I got the book. One-third of the way into the book I was furious. At Strayed. At Witherspoon. For sanitizing the story of a narcissistic, manipulative woman who rarely hikes alone, rarely eats alone, is apparently so magnetic that people just go out of their way to give to her constantly and was as far from bereft as imaginable.
The movie left out the very decent stepfather. Why? I’ll tell you why-so she could appear bereft. The same reason the grandfather and all the other supportive relatives were left out. She wanted to paint a picture of a woman truly alone. It left out that she had hordes of people calling her, writing her, mailing her packages while she hiked She had two men she was stringing along. Cheryl did not have one second of psychological solitude as she hiked the PCT. By the time Cheryl hiked the PCT she was a college homecoming queen with many, many friends. Friend who drove cross-country to rescue her. Friends who drove a thousand miles to help her with her car. Friends who gave her free places to live. I have no problem with this-I just wish she hadn’t manipulated her readers. This is the story of a highly resourceful woman (She later got her graduate degree for free and got paid as well. Way to go!) and that is a story many people ned and want to hear.
I was looking (because that was the hype of the movie) for a narrative about a solitary experience where one confronts their inner demons. Strayed boozed and sexed her way along the PCT. As an addictions counselor for thirty years I agree with the person who commented earlier that no way was she strung out and then did the PCT. Also if a man wrote this book about seeing every female as a sex tool, we would be disgusted. (The scene where the dog rubs up against her leg then the creepy old hippy and she is turned on says it all.) She was (is?) a sex addict and like all sex addicts a master manipulator. The fact that she has also been writing an advice column makes me very sad. Wake up people! See who you are receiving advice from.
The proof that the original story was so uninspiring is that the movie sanitized the whole thing.
As far as not having proper equipment or knowing how to use it, that seems very normal. Also, being afraid of men on the trail at times, also is the way any woman would feel.
I suggest a new title for the movie in the tradition of Debbie Does Dallas. Cheryl Does the PCT.