fi_shka: (suspense)
[personal profile] fi_shka
прочитала Into the Wild, где Jon Krakauer описал короткую жизнь Криса МакКендлесса. под катом, в основном, интересные эпиграфы, которые он подбирал к своему повествованию. ещё пара фрагментов, показательных по отношению к трагедии юного и, в общем-то, неуникального, путешественника. часто юность и неопытность дает ощущение, что всё, чего бы мы ни желали или почитали как высшую истину, принадлежит нам и должно требовать это от мира, быть бескомпромисно требовательным к себе и к обществу, тогда как реальность не подчиняется исключительно человеческой воле и (особенно) романтическим идеалам, мир далеко не черно-белый, а боль, которую ты причиняешь другим (и себе), - реальна. и если с обществом ещё можно играть в прятки, то природа глуха к мечтам и красивым книжным цитатам. особенно Аляска. так и получается, что умный, образованный и добрый (хоть и довольно эгоистичный) мальчик, экипированный близорукой в силу юношеского максимализма верой в Толстого, Торо и Эмерсона и мешком риса, не справившийся с сепарацией от родителей (особенно отца) и с тем, что родители оказались не идельны, самонадеянно спутавший сопутствующее ему везение на юге с компетентностью по выживанию в дикой природе, отправляется без карт, часов, тёплой одежды и компаса "в чащу" Аляски и погибает от голода в нескольких километрах от цивилизации спустя четыре месяца. его последние записи, однако, говорят о том, что это путешествие, как и предполагалось, стало для него важной точкой отсчёта для новой жизни, что эпоха поиска романтических благородных страданий закончилась и что он собирается возвращаться, что счастье лишь тогда становится счастьем, когда делишь его с кем-то ещё. последнюю мысль он почерпнул из книги Толстого. вот уж у кого я бы не училась благодетельности. трагический конец и родительский траур.


ch. 4
“The desert is the environment of revelation, genetically and physiologically alien, sensorily austere, esthetically abstract, historically inimical. ... Its forms are bold and suggestive. The mind is beset by light and space, the kinesthetic novelty of the aridity, high temperature, and wind. The desert sky is encircling, majestic, terrible. In other habitats, the rim of sky above the horizontal is broken or obscured; here, together with the overhead portion, it is infinitely vaster than that of rolling countryside and forest lands. ... In an unobstructed sky the clouds seem more massive, sometimes grandly reflecting the earth’s curvature on their concave undersides. The angularity of desert landforms imparts a monumental architecture to the clouds as well as to the land. ...

To the desert go prophets and hermits; through deserts go pilgrims and exiles. Here the leaders of the great religions have sought the therapeutic and spiritual values of retreat, not to escape but to find reality.” ― Paul Shepard, Man in the Landscape: A Historic View of the Esthetics of Nature

ch. 7
“It is true that many creative people fail to make mature personal relationships, and some are extremely isolated. It is also true that, in some instances, trauma, in the shape of early separation or bereavement, has steered the potentially creative person toward developing aspects of his personality which can find fulfillment in comparative isolation. But this does not mean that solitary, creative pursuits are themselves pathological. ...
[A]voidance behavior is a response designed to protect the infant from behavioural disorganization. If we transfer this concept to adult life, we can see that an avoidant infant might very well develop into a person whose principal need was to find some kind of meaning and order in life which was not entirely, or even chiefly, dependent upon interpersonal relationships.” ― Anthony Storr, Solitude: A Return to the Self

ch. 8
“It may, after all, be the bad habit of creative talents to invest themselves in pathological extremes that yield remarkable insights but no durable way of life for those who cannot translate their psychic wounds into significant art or thought.” ― Theodore Roszak, In Search of the Miraculous

“We have in America "The Big Two-Hearted River" tradition: taking your wounds to the wilderness for a cure, a conversation, a rest, whatever. And as is in the Hemingway story, if your wounds aren't too bad, it works. But this isn't Michigan (or Faulkner's Big Woods in Mississippi for that matter). This is Alaska.” ― Edward Hoagland, Up the Black to Chalkyitsik

ch. 14
For two days I slogged steadily up the valley of ice. The weather was good, the route obvious and without major obstacles. Because I was alone, however, even the mundane seemed charged with meaning. The ice looked colder and more mysterious, the sky a cleaner shade of blue. The unnamed peaks towering over the glacier were bigger and comelier and infinitely more menacing than they would have been were I in the company of another person. And my emotions were similarly amplified: The highs were higher; the periods of despair were deeper and darker. To a self-possessed young man inebriated with the unfolding drama of his own life, all of this held enormous appeal.

ch. 15
It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it. When I decided to go to Alaska that April, like Chris McCandless, I was a raw youth who mistook passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic. I thought climbing the Devils Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams. And I lived to tell my tale.

Epilogue
“Still, the last sad memory hovers round, and sometimes drifts across like floating mist, cutting off sunshine and chilling the remembrance of happier times. There have been joys too great to be described in words, and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared to dwell; and with these in mind I say: Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.” ― Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps

“There are no events but thoughts and the heart’s hard turning, the heart’s slow learning where to love and whom. The rest is merely gossip, and tales for other times.” — Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm
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