Trespass: Living at the Edge of the Promised Land

by Amy Irvine

Trespass is the story of one woman's struggle to gain footing in inhospitable territory. A wilderness activist and apostate Mormon, Amy Irvine sought respite in the desert outback of southern Utah's red-rock country after her father's suicide, only to find out just how much of an interloper she was among her own people. But more than simply an exploration of personal loss, Trespass is an elegy for a dying world, for the ruin of one of our most beloved and unique desert landscapes and for our vanishing connection to it. Fearing what her father's fate might somehow portend for her, Irvine retreated into the remote recesses of the Colorado Plateau--home not only to the world's most renowned national parks but also to a rugged brand of cowboy Mormonism that stands in defiant contrast to the world at large. Her story is one of ruin and restoration, of learning to live among people who fear the wilderness the way they fear the devil and how that fear fuels an antagonism toward environmental concerns that pervades the region. At the same time, Irvine mourns her own loss of wildness and disconnection from spirituality, while ultimately discovering that the provinces of nature and faith are not as distinct as she once might have believed.

Genres: Nonfiction, Nature, Memoir, Environment, Biography, Travel, Essays

384 pages, Hardcover

First published February 19, 2008

Reviews

[Yaaresse · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have mixed feelings about this book. They got more mixed with every passing chapter.

Trespass is a memoir wrapped around geographical and cultural/historical observations of southeastern Utah's San Juan County. Or maybe it's the other way around. Or maybe they are metaphors for each other. It was hard to tell sometimes, just as it was hard to tell how much of the content is factual and how much is revisionist.

Irvine describes herself as a sixth-generation Utahan and Jack Mormon* environmental activist. At the time of the book, Irvine was a part-time grant writer for the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance. (It's worth noting SUWA is not a popular agency in "we do whatever the #@&~ we want with public land here as long as it makes us money" San Juan County. At least not popular with the white population. I believe the resident Native Americans look on it a bit more favorably.)

A year prior to the book's opening chapter, Irvine's father, to whom she had not spoken in years, committed suicide using his inherited shotgun, her first marriage was unraveling, and she spontaneously decided to move from urban Salt Lake City to San Juan County, five hours south and definitely not urban, to be near her boyfriend (a SUWA lawyer). Basically, she was running away from everything she didn't want to deal with under justification of "needing more space" and with some half-formed idea that scorning modern life to live a kind of noble savage life would give her peace...or something. It's a pattern set on repeat within the book.

The San Juan area is known for stunning scenery, cattle ranching, uranium waste (from former mining), a strong LDS presence (and site of one of the first "mini-temples") and, of all the idiotic things developers insist on building in the least appropriate places, a highly-ranked golf course. Because, you know, there's absolutely nothing better to do in the what is arguably the most scenic areas of the desert Southwest that encourages one to contemplate nature's glory except go knock a tiny ball around on acres of non-native, artificially grown, and chemically maintained turf laid over uranium waste. (I'm not so much of a tree-hugger as I just think golf is utterly ridiculous and a blight on the planet.)

Side note: San Juan County WAS one of the most remote areas of Utah not that long ago. Depending on how you crunch the numbers, it's currently listed as one of the fastest growing counties in the US, a trend that has even San Juan County confused given it is still poor, ultra-conservative, climatically harsh, and lacking jobs or amenities (or water -- including running potable water if you live in the Diné community outside Blanding) to speak of. The only way most people know about the place at all is because of the political posturing concerning Bear Ears Monument and because they pass through it on the way to of such national parks/monuments as Canyonland and Natural Bridges.

Irvine writes beautifully about the Redrock region of the Colorado Plateau. Her descriptions of the geography and geology are poetic and visceral. It's clear she loves the desert, or at least the idea of the desert. Her tales of the early LDS settlers, including her direct ancestor Howard Egan, are fascinating. While she admires their stamina and perseverance, Irvine doesn't sugar coast or gloss over some of their less noble actions. Her musing about the previous inhabitants of the area, the Native Americans of various periods and tribes, are imaginative, but perhaps too much so. She knows a great deal about their artifacts and history, but often her fictive pondering ends up in a fantasy where the natives' conflicts, motivations, and actions seem little more than projections of her own issues. While a good archeologist uses imagination to decipher clues from the past, Irvine goes far beyond that. She romanticizes the natives and their history in a way that disconnects them to reality and strips them of their own identity.

The memoir part of the book follows Irvine for 18-20 months as she struggled against just about everything: her job, the boyfriend, the community, health issues, history. Mostly, though the thing she struggled against was herself. After a few chapters filled with her sullen, indignant judgements and ... yeah, I'm going to say it ... whining, my initial positive impression of the book took a dive.

The more Irvine described her actions and behaviors, the less I could empathize. In the end, I found her whole "It's not me, it's everything/everyone else" justifications and excuses off-putting. I was irritated by her heavy-handed metaphors that twisted everything in the whole region to be about herself. She simultaneously pushed and pulled at everything in her life until the stress fractures became too big to ignore, then lurched around for a way to paint herself a victim, the passive outcast from family, community, religion, work, marriage, everything. She wanted be part of a community, but she didn't want to be part of the existing community. She wanted to be an activist, but she didn't want to put in the time or effort to dig in for the long haul. She imagined herself as a kind of primitive, self-sufficient wild woman, but continually whimpered about being abandoned/lonely. She spent half her time trying (and failing) to pass as a local and the other half flipping the bird (or her lid) at the people she tried to impress and emulate.

She came across as a fickle, bitter, and querulous (dare I say effed up?) person who invests far too much in what other people think of her. And while I understand she had a health issue that possibly contributed to her behavior, I suspect, given her descriptions of herself as a child, that the health issue was only a minor factor -- another excuse and one more justification. Some of her outlook may be due to her childhood environment. Utah has a rep as a place where conformity has high value, and too much individuality is frowned upon and punished. Certainly parents can screw with kids' heads in spite of their best intentions. As will religion. But there comes a point where you have to grow up and either own your own crap or end up buried by it.

The thing is, she knew she was a pain in the ass. She chose to be a pain in the ass. After a passage in which she gets a bit too dramatic about how inevitable and futile everything felt, she added this:

Yes, the battles, the losses, they take their toll. Every day is a struggle, for the desert, for my lover, for a place to dwell as if I were an integral part of things, And the effort has shaken me--left me teetering precarious. The thunder of Herb's voice. The rumble of ORV's and thumper trucks. The pound of the judge's gavel as it ensures the demise of my (marriage). Passion and fury are close cousins, and hard to bear. But the alternative is apathy -- a white on white, a monochromatic scheme where spirituality is bleached of both sense and sensibility.

Beautifully crafted sentences? Perhaps. Certainly dramatic...and IMO complete bullshit. Passion and apathy might be opposites, but they are never the only two options. That spectrum has infinite shades. It's this kind of either/or thinking that feeds conflict and unearned entitlement posturing. It's so reductionist and so melodramatic. The whole passage, even as well-written as it is, carries the tone of the self-appointed martyr ... which is really just a form of masochism. She's getting off on being miserable. Some people aren't happy unless they're miserable, and her own words show, over and over, that she's up for a little self-sabotage if that's what it takes to do some public wallowing in self-pity.

Perhaps Irvine should have disclosed her diagnosis at the beginning so readers could decide whether to cut her a little leeway going into the story. As it is, by the time she got around to mentioning it, I flat-out didn't care. Lots of people have similar diagnosis and don't use it as social currency.

I also felt she lacked credibility as a reliable narrator.

So, while Irvine is a talented writer, I ended up ambivalent about this book. Were she to write an objective history or geography--or even a historical fiction--I might read it. This combination in Trespass, however, didn't work for me. I'd give it a two except that she's such a damn good wordsmith. Irvine has a wonderfully fertile imagination; perhaps focusing it outward would be more constructive, professionally and personally.


*According to Wikipedia, the term Jack Mormon refers to a non-practicing member of the LDS church who maintains an interest in or friendly relations with other LDS. Someone once described the term to me as "the Mormon equivalent to a cultural Jew or an Easter Catholic." (I'm pretty sure those last two things aren't as similar in meaning as the person who mentioned them thought.)

[Hazel · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had to keep putting this down to read something lighter but then I had to keep picking it up. It's dark and painful stuff but so well-written it's worth suffering through.
Reviewers seem to be divided into Mormons who hated it, Jack Mormons who related to it, non-Mormon westerners who are fascinated by the book and are unsurprised to have their opinions confirmed and outsiders to it all who found it all too much to handle.
As a non-Mormon westerner who looks on in stunned amazement at what some Utahns do their piece of heaven (yes, I know they think that comes next)I thought she did a fair job of describing so many different types of people there. I loved the way she wove her own story with the history of her ancestors and with the landscape and earlier people who lived there and still try to. It never seemed difficult to work out which strand she was working with in any section.
Also, the whole book was worth suffering through for the analogy of Mormonism and Coyote.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

I often wonder if I exist in the wrong earth suit. I cherish my solitude to such an extent that I question whether I shouldn’t have come into this world as a jungle cat, an arctic bear, or an old oak tree. Don’t get me wrong— I love my small chosen community of family and friends and wouldn’t want to escape them— but something about vast, open land calls to my soul in ways that I can’t explain. Nature is the company that my heart truly craves and yet I find myself bound within cities too close; within relationships and responsibilities to people I don’t fundamentally connect with. It deeply saddens me that our world no longer values Nature; that we have so utterly abandoned and discarded the wisdom and truth that comes from being one with Mother Earth. We’ve so distanced ourselves from the cycle of life that we no longer live with purpose, direction, or passion- we’ve evolved into mindless consumers that will, in the end, consume ourselves with violent abandon.

More than any other memoir, Amy Irvine’s tale of escape resonates with the very core of my being. The fact that Irvine has lived her life in Utah only makes this tale more relevant and alive— I easily recognize the names of the landmarks she speaks of and the red and purple hues of Redrock Country are vivid and real in my mind. She speaks of solitude in ways that any natural recluse can identify with and shares with her readers her battles with the demons that inherently lurk in the minds of the solitary.

Seamlessly woven into the story of her life, Irvine retells the stories of ancient peoples who first inhabited these beautiful spaces we now call home; and she describes the many social transitions that have led us to where we are now. And, as if that weren’t enough brilliance for one small book, Irvine effortlessly describes the impact of religion- Mormonism, in particular- on the way we view our relationship to the Earth, and to Utah.

[Chris · Rating 1 out of 5]

God-awful. I didn’t care one bit about Irvine’s personal issues. I expected to read about her experiences with the Mormon religion. Sure, there is some pretty damning content on that, but it all eventually is buried by her need to overshare her miserable life.

As the ORV’s tear up more and more of the desert landscape, and her self-admitted hormonal (her word) problems worsen, by the end you find yourself deep down some dark depressing hole wondering what happened to the desert sunshine. What is the purpose of this book other than a selfish groping for her readers’ sympathy?

For a leaner and more literary evocation of the same desert’s beauty, and a stronger polemic against its destruction, read Abbey’s Desert Solitaire instead. It’s a permanent classic which will far outlive the inevitable end of the American desert wilderness. I suspect, in fact, Solitaire will be its final epitaph, despite all the later derivative works by authors who never experienced what Abbey did back in 1956-57. That’s gone forever now.

[Kristen · Rating 2 out of 5]

I read Trespass because I'm going to to Utah next month. I like to read as much and as diversely as possible about a place before traveling to it and Irvine's memoir, written by a jack Mormom and an environmentalist, promised to cover two of the area's major themes. The book also seemed darker than most wilderness writing, as the narrator moves to the desert in the wake of her father's suicide, which added to my interest.

Irvine's memoir scores big with me as a history of Mormon settlement in the area. The founding of Utah is part of Irvine's family history as her great-great-great-grandfather arrived in the Salt Lake Valley with the first wave of Mormon settlers in 1847. Irvine weaves her ancestor's accounts, based on his diary, into the state's larger history yet remains critical of this legacy and adds some much needed feminist analysis to the story. I read Trespass alongside David Bigler's Forgotten Kingdom: The Mormon Theocracy in the American West, 1847-1896 and found it almost as useful as the longer, more academic tome. The history of the Mormon church is also just surprisingly fascinating if you are unaware of it.

Irvine's also big on native history, at least ancient native history. She provides a lot of archaeological and anthropological analysis that I'm unfamiliar with and therefore found intriguing. She has a clear fetish for hunter-gatherer societies, but she sources the theorists behind her ideas, offering a useful introduction to the topic. I learned a good deal from her in this regard.

She writes a bit as well about post-colonial native history and contemporary issues, but this is where she begins to fall short. The modern-day native communities in her area are mostly absent from her book after a brief and unsuccessful attempt at friendship with a native woman she meets at the laundromat. Granted, Irvine admits her detachment from the local native population when she laments that the only native person at her wedding is an elder whom she hired to perform a ceremony. She is clearly disappointed the next day, however, when he shows up drunk, no longer fitting the spiritual image she wants of him. In turn, I was disappointed with the way she uses native culture and history to support her own points yet shows little understanding of their contemporary situation. Effectively, she perpetuates a narrative that treats native people as mere historical artifacts.

And while I did learn much from Irvine about wilderness issues in southern Utah, she really starts to bug me on this subject. She comes across as a stereotypical elitist, laying all blame on the ignorance of rednecks. Particularly when she is living in Moab, she exhibits the worst kind of environmentalism that has zero analysis of power or capitalism. Her descriptions of the locals are filled with the same resentment that they have towards her and her friends. There is surely a more complex story here, but Irvine has too limited of a view to be able to tell it.

She does an equally poor job of describing the conflict between her and her lover, despite the many, many pages she spends trying. She really lost/bored me here, clearly feeling a lot of emotion around the situation but failing to make me understand her ordeal. Despite looking forward to some more literary inner turmoil, I really didn't get anything out of these passages.

I am glad I read this book. I learned a lot about the Mormon church, the Bureau of Land Management, ancient petroglyphs, and more. I enjoyed mulling over some of Irvine's ideas (I was particularly amused by her comparison of Mormons to coyotes for their mutual ability to reproduce rapidly in the face of adversity and spread out from their desert homeland). Still, I would hesitate to recommend Trespass to anyone without a specific interest in the history and landscape of Utah.

[Lee · Rating 1 out of 5]

Complete bummer of a book. Avoid.

[Nanette · Rating 2 out of 5]

I picked this book up because I wanted to read the author’s work in prep for a future nature writing event—she’s not a terrible writer. Indeed, Irvine follows the lead of male nature writer Edward Abbey (whose classic on Moab/Arches Nat’l Park I read prior) in celebrating the southern Utah landscape. However, Irvine fails by succumbing to the low fruit of gossip and bigotry by focusing on the religious and cultural traditions of Mormons who colonized the area in the 19th century. Just cuz she’s female & digs the earth doesn’t make Irvine a “redrock hero.” She doesn’t “break ranks.” In fact, she exotifies, mocks, and villainizes the people of whom she writes—people who she writes into the past while failing to respect their presence. She capitalizes on her own Mormon pedigree while simultaneously painting Mormons a peculiar, oppressive, and untrustworthy people—from their places of worship to their religious practice.

For example, in recalling her childhood visit to a temple open-house, she anecdotally tells readers that the purpose for visitors wearing shoe covers is to protect the building from the “filth of the unworthy.” This is rank yellow journalism. Click-bait. Again, and again Irvine takes liberties with Mormon history, culture, and faith to mock and devalue in order to write a salacious memoir.

(Hey—there’re millions of us out there TODAY, Amy. Mormons aka members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You said it. We live and breathe the life and faith you, an outsider, appropriate for your own self-interest. Many of us also love this land you feel so connected to. Outta my face, Ho.)

So while I wanted to like this piece of “nature writing,” I was constantly bombarded with mischaracterizations and ahistorical recitations that seemingly conflated with the land and this “pocket-hunter” author. Emperor Irvine has no clothes. If only Irvine could have resisted the urge to display Mormons and their mystery—actually not mysterious at all—and write about NATURE, she might have “[spoken] up for the living world.” This is a case of bigotry from the bottom up. “Disappointing” and “offensive” are my review keywords.

If I weren’t part of Irvine’s spectacle, would I have liked “Trespass”? IOW, will gentiles applaud? Well, some did/do. But I wonder how those react to other instances of cultural appropriation, racism, bigotry, neoliberalism, and toxic consumerism. My guess is: if they liked Irvine’s account then they’re probably fast asleep.

[Paula Hagar · Rating 3 out of 5]

It took me a long time to read this book, and I'm glad I finished it, but I had a hard time doing so. I was torn between loving her writing about the Utah Canyon Country and wanting to like but having trouble, at times, with the intensely personal aspects of her inner struggles. There are passages of spectacular writing, and there are long passages of historical writing that slowed me down. So while I ultimately enjoyed the natural and anthropological history of the Anasazi and ancient cultures of southeastern Utah, at times I felt bogged down by it. So while I ultimately liked the book, it was somewhat of a push-pull for me throughout. Because I've spent a lot of time in and love the landscape of southeastern Utah, I enjoyed her story, but am not sure that someone unfamiliar with this landscape would like the memoir.

[Sara · Rating 2 out of 5]

I really wanted to like this book but it never happened for me. The reviews from other people were great and I thought, based on those reviews, that I would really enjoy this read.

In actuality, I found the storyline to be too heavy. I suppose I wanted more of a memoir and less of a history lesson. I also had a hard time relating to the author. I found her to be rather self-loathing. I know it turns out that she had a hormone deficiency which caused this but still-a couple hundred pages of her internal dialogue was a bit too much for me to handle.

[Camille · Rating 3 out of 5]

I always enjoy reading books set in my home state of Utah. Trespass, was well written and very enjoyable to read. The author adeptly describes the turmoil of growing up in Utah as a non-Mormon. I think the book would occasionally become a little tedious if the reader couldn't relate, in some way, to the Mormon culture. Otherwise, the information about San Juan and it's people was very interesting and the landscape description made me yearn for red rock.

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book! Being a non-mormon growing up in Utah the daughter of a "jack" mormon mother and a non-religious father, I could relate to a lot of the interactions/judgements the author has encountered in her life growing up in Utah. Also lots of wonderful Utah history about the indigenous peoples who lived in southern Utah and about the pioneers who came to avoid persecution.

[Melissa Stacy · Rating 4 out of 5]

This memoir is quite long, and rather ponderous. The author is a woman on a journey of self-discovery, which she documents over a few years spent in southeastern Utah. Ms. Irvine gives the reader a lot of general history about Utah -- especially the Mormon settlement of the West and the Ancestral Puebloans and other ancient Native American tribes. Far more interesting to me were the smaller sections of information the author shared about the Native Americans who inhabited the land right before European immigrants forced the surviving tribes onto reservations.

Since I grew up in southwest Colorado, and live there as an adult, this is all territory and history I'm really familiar with, and I found myself pretty bored reading most of the long general history summaries loaded into this book. That information felt like reading a high school text on general Western history. For readers who've never read about these topics, and have never been exposed to great books like "Desert Solitaire" or "Under the Banner of Heaven," the long history sections in "Trespass: Living at the Edge of the Promised Land" might be more interesting.

During the rare moments and scenes in which Ms. Irvine focused on her own life, I wanted so much more -- I wanted the author to delve deeper into the problems and pain that drove her to live in a more isolated part of the state of Utah than where she'd grown up (in Salt Lake City). I wasn't interested in reading about the general problem of not fitting in, which so many of us suffer from -- I wanted the author to detail more of her personal life, rather than keeping the focus on what "typical Mormons" think and act like.

But on the most bracing subjects to read -- such as the topic of child abuse, and how abusive the author's stepfather was -- the reader gets only one glancing sentence, near the end of the book. Likewise, the subjects of adultery and giving birth to a stillborn child are also heart-wrenching and gripping, but the author mentions these pieces of her life with swift, light sentences that don't dig into pain so much as skim over it, leaving the reader to assume a depth of feeling that I never felt resonate.

The final conclusions of the book were deductions I came to in the first half of the book -- namely, that the author had grown up in a community she couldn't emulate, and in her search for freedom, and her desire to embrace her authentic self, she struggled to find not only an accurate role model, but a community of like-minded souls who would accept her and support her as one of their own.

In the end, the author's life is given purpose and connection after she delivers a living child and becomes a mother, followed by a move to southwest Colorado. This biology-is-destiny ending seemed to sidestep the author's agony by simply shunting her pain aside in the face of the onslaught of parenting duties. It made me wish the author had ended the book before the birth of her living child.

For so many people, it's easy to find Meaning in life after the act of procreation, and the author didn't begin the memoir by hungering to have a child. Based on the opening chapters, I thought I was being set up for a different kind of journey, but this author's search for identity returned her to the gender roles she'd found so stifling while growing up -- in the act of bearing children, forgiving her adulterous mate, and letting her husband provide for her (building their house, working outside the home, providing for their food and material needs) while she saw to the duties of breastfeeding and childcare.

Ms. Irvine's journey of self-discovery ends with the life-affirming gift of motherhood lighting her way, and suggests that her embrace of gender roles is more enlightened because she lived with psychological chaos and a hormonal deficiency for so long before bearing a child and finding her purpose/meaning/spiritual self in life. Enduring the emotional hardship before finding Meaning in motherhood and a sense of authentic belonging in Colorado is the purpose of Ms. Irvine's memoir.

My favorite scene occurred when a Utah cowboy found himself clashing, and then flirting with Ms. Irvine in a Laundromat, which was followed by some really great information about the Paiute -- the history of their tribe and their current reservation status.

Long after those pages, by the time I arrived at the moment Ms. Irvine learned her first child no longer had a heartbeat in utero -- a revelation that was skimmed over the same way many other important moments were skimmed over -- I felt really let down by the book. Instead of being able to truly embody those scenes, I felt like I was reading a journal. Which had to have been what the author intended, but I wanted something else. Something more like the scenes I experienced when reading "Into Thin Air" or "Wild" -- I wanted to experience the horror and pain of the journey, but what I felt instead were cerebral brushstrokes of moments, a light sketch of a personal history, rather than a full embodiment of a life.

I would recommend this book to anyone who loves memoir, history, and Western culture, as well as to anyone who might be considering moving to Utah.

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Great book. Full of fascinating, interwoven histories and clashes between nature and culture, people and place. The author’s personal searching is a courageous lens on how she thinks, who she is. The storytelling is tough and tender. Throughout, she holds herself accountable to the layers of complicity forced by modern life: pressure to conform, to take on approved identities and continue to please others by doing what’s expected of her as a woman. Each time she sheds one of those layers, she discloses the costs as well as the benefits.

The story weaves the history of Mormon expansion together with modern archeology of Native settlements, geology, natural history, and the author’s own life: encounters with judgmental or friendly neighbors, 9/11, the scourge of oil and gas leases on public lands, and the BLM allowing destructive off-road vehicles into fragile desert ecosystems for no good reason other than for clueless people to get their yayas off. The litany of assaults on her beloved homeland adds up to a crushing weight.

One of my favorite passages is in the chapter, “Flight,” when she goes canyoneering with her husband and a friend who knows the area better than anyone. It’s a great adventure, well told.

[Jennifer · Rating 4 out of 5]

My husband picked this up for me in preparation for our trip to Utah this summer. I found the history of the area absolutely amazing and mourn the loss of what has been destroyed both in the natural world and and the artifacts left by such intriguing cultures. I am excited to see the stark beauty and will tread lightly.

The memoirs were at first difficult to relate to but I understand the journey now. I can relate to the crazy feelings of being a wife and mother and wanting to be the best of both and yet feeling like a total disaster. Life is complicated today. The primitive ways of our hunter gatherer natives seem so much happier than our so called upgraded version.

I will pick up a copy of Against the Grain by Manning next. My curiosity was piqued by the mention of it in Irvine's work.

[Carol Dalton · Rating 4 out of 5]

At first I thought this was just another book where the disenfranchised ex Mormon bashes the majority culture with which she grew up.... it is, and it isn't. (Not that I don't do my own share of subtle bashing!) Amy drew me in, and her self reflections struck a chord. I'd love to go along on one of her meanders into the south Utah desert.. Amy knows her stuff about pre historical Utah. And I hear she went to PCHS.

[Ralph · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very personal, very interesting, very real, and very sad in places. So many of Irvine's experiences mirror my own that I became quite absorbed in the experience. Amy Irvine lives close to where I spend the winter, and Monticello is next door to Indian Creek where I climb spring and fall, so it hit close to home on many levels.

[frank ciccarelli]

this is an indelible book about Utah, the Mormons & the West ... everything you never knew about one of the world's newest, strangest & fastest growing new religions & the Pleistocene landscape that nurtured them ... an insider's view of the looking glass world & state-within-a- state that is the Kingdom of Deseret.

[Becky Roper · Rating 2 out of 5]

This non-fiction account was written by an enviornmental activist and Jack Mormon who goes to live in San Juan County and encounters a lot of people have a very different outlook from hers. There was a fair amount of unvarnished church history which was interesting, but all in all her brand of navel-gazing combined with a lot of anger was tiring. She had a lot of axes to grind.

[Malia · Rating 1 out of 5]

Amy writes compelling prose about the history, geology, archeology, etc. of the SE corner of Southern Utah. It's too bad she also had to include so much whining and complaining and making excuses about her personal life circumstances. She made herself seem like a gutless spoiled princess, and I lost any respect for her. It's too bad. I don't recommend this book.

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is listening to a good friend who is extremely good with words, somtimes near poetic, update you on all that has gone on since you last talked. She weaves land use, land history, her life and Mormonism as symbolic threads that come together in the end. Self-interested but insightfully so.

[G Vahl · Rating 2 out of 5]

this book is not what it was chalked up to be – especially with the native american style cover. it talks about the western settlement of mormonism without talking about the displacement of native people and lands it caused in its wake. she talks about the grueling endeavor, something somewhat interesting to read about, hearing about life during the 1800s, but at the same time, it failed to talk about the undeniable displacement these settlers and settlements wrought on to native lands and peoples. but she thinks she is doing her white people due diligence by dissecting the ancient native civilizations that once lived on this land she now occupies. but without acknowledging the displacement this settlement caused – the settlement this book is based around, the Mormon western expansion she merely describes and does not condemn (as I thought it was going to and thus why I was excited to pick up this book because fuck colonization) – it fails to hit the mark for me. You cannot talk about western expansion without talking about displacement in what she was trying to accomplish: a socially aware historic rendering of her life and ancestral past. Instead if not from a slightly out of touch millennial, that would have, yes, talked about the western mormon expansion, PLUS the repercussions it wrought on the native people and lands. Not go over in depth about the western expansion and think that talking about the ancient civilizations is accomplishing your culturally awareness. It just was very obvious she was a bit oblivious to what was going on, what hole inadvertently dug for herself.

it was also quite morbid. the thread was her fathers death, she miscarried, her marriage was in ruins, the earth is being disrespected, she was an outsider in all respects – her Mormonism, her environmentalism – she was unhappy / unsettled most of the book. Especially at the end when she was talking about the qualms with her marriage, it felt like we were reading her journal, which is not what I find issue with, it is the fact that she should have been saying all these things to her husband and not to us. Or at least used this as a way to articulate her problems and do something about them, like communicating the issues, but the book ended like she was going to just see how it goes and let him figure it out for himself? Which from personal experience, is a doomed route of action (or lack thereof).

Her author's note at the beginning as well really misses the mark for me. "throughout the text I have chosen to use two traditional terms: 'Indian' and 'Anasazi.' Current etiquette has replaced the first term with 'Native American,' and the latter with 'Ancestral Puebloans.' I mean no offense here; I am only attempting to capture a mainstream, historical understanding of these cultures." Well if the new mainstream etiquette is to refer to these peoples as the latter, than why not do that? I do not really understand why she is acknowledging these new and more socially conscious addresses without using them herself.

Overall it just felt like this book was her thinking she was doing her due diligence by talking about these ancient civilizations that existed long before us, when she failed to acknowledge the displacement and disturbances western colonization wrought on those more "modern" communities by her ancestors she gladly catalogued in a historical, non-condemning lens. And then going back to the cover, a big reason why I picked this book up, thinking I was going to get some native american perspective and history, now just feels appropriated and like an attention grab. Using beautiful native iconography and imagery for the uplifting of this white voice when the native populations mentioned in this book are not represented the way this cover makes it out to be.

I will say the descriptions she makes of the land and her surrounding environments were very lasting. I vividly remember being placed in the environments, abodes, canyons, sunsets with her in the Utah desert. Having been there myself, it was a lovely transport to at least find beauty in the land that is being raped of resources everyday for the sake of our human expediency and greed. Her distraught reactions to how people were treating the earth is relevant, real and relatable. Something that definitely deserved the spotlight she gave it in this book. A silver lining to this mark miss of a book.

[Paris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Amy Irvine's writing captures the essence of wild places that speaks deeply to me, similar to the way Terry Tempest Williams' writing makes me feel. I felt as if I was in the wilderness with her, both in southeastern Utah and the wilderness of depression and isolation that she describes as she tries to navigate her place and purpose among Utah's redrock country's ultra-conservative locals. She describes the kind of anxiety present in my own life as I'm trying to unravel who I am and in the process, see the gulf between an ideal self and my actual self. I saw this present throughout her writing, particularly in instances where she wants to respond to someone in a particular way that will make her seem more likeable, but the truth of how she feels comes spilling out of her mouth. Amy Irvine is kind of a mess - a full human being baring her soul to us and not claiming to have figured anything out, and it is beautiful.

The only thing I didn't like about this book was how often Irvine "mused" about Anasazi and Ancestral Puebloan life; essentially projecting her own life, experiences and feelings onto the image of a nameless Ancestral Puebloan woman she made up. I understand that during this time of her life, she was spending a lot of time reading about Ancestral Puebloans and the region in general, so it makes sense that she would write about it, but I found these passages unreadable and inappropriate. I don't think in order for white women to "find" themselves, they need to insert themselves (even in their imagination) into an indigenous culture they have no connection to.

In spite of this book's shortcomings, I appreciated and deeply resonated with Irvine's exploration of her relationship with her father, the land she loves and her identity as a woman, mother and human being. I think those of us drawn to the wilderness, to the beauty of nature, have souls that are prone to wander and search; I'm grateful I got to wander with Irvine for awhile in this book.

[Richard · Rating 4 out of 5]

OK, fine, you can't tell a book by its cover, though this one has a damn fine cover, and, it turns out to be a fine book, as well.

Trespass is a memoir written by a sixth generation Mormon, now a Jack Mormon, who works for an environmental organization in Utah, and is married to an ex-Catholic who is a lawyer for the same org. The Catholic part doesn't figure all that much in the story, the Mormon part is key.

Ms. Irvine, and her partner try to establish themselves in a community in Southeast Utah that is almost 100% Mormon, and near enough to 100% cattle rancher that the percentage that isn't is either related to, or providing services for the ranchers. They all seem to hate environmentalists, and don't feel that friendly toward gentiles either. And there-in is the story, interspersed with the history of Mormonism, and the settling of the land; the culture and history of the indigenous tribes; the science of the land and the degradation caused by ranching and off-road tourism. Even coyotes get a shout out in the tale, and well they should.

Memoirs, of course, are always about the author, and as with all memoirs we get the archetypical hero myth. In this case the hero's descent into the underworld is Ms. Irvine's stint on the land, that's where she learns her lessons, and when she's finally released she takes new understandings to Colorado, just over the state line, and brings the story to us.

I know this review isn't telling you much, but if you want to read about our relationship to wildness through the eyes of a person who grows into her life, this is a good book to read.

That's all from me.

[Michaela · Rating 4 out of 5]

The writer cleverly weaves her childhood history into the historical tale of the Mormons and the desert. Her story is now eighteen years old and I wonder how her personal story played out.

I struggle with commenting on religion because I have good friends who are good people from a variety of religious backgrounds. But God the Scientologists and LDS creep me out. LDS founded by a serial paedophile. And their descendants firmly entrenched in Utah soil, repeatedly telling themselves a creation myth where they are the good guys and great lovers of the land. What a joke. Most infuriating of all that the same people who beat the drum of inviolable ownership and would shoot you dead for infraction, will invade your land for inhibiting their rec vehicle access to places they want to go. At least make it make sense, crazy snowflakes. "We are the original independent survivalists...oh, never mind the Federal subsidies supporting our business".

Whatever. Honestly, even if people knew how much damage and unsupportable their lifestyles are, I don't think we'd be able to change it. The author's Grandmother's words, near her end are haunting. "Bombs. Cars. Television. Rockets. Computers. It's too much, too fast. And there's no beauty in it."

The author does a lovely job invoking the beauty of the desert and the history of its peoples, as well as the potential harm of agriculture compared to hunter-gatherer lifestyle. I looked up her Grandmother Ada's artwork too and it was lovely and more modern than I had anticipated.

[M R · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book definitely left an impression on me, especially as I am a long term visitor to this region of the world. some of the reviewers here have some strong opinions on what they view as pretty self indulgent writing. And while I think the book could be read that way, I also think it's indeed a memoir and the authors liberties and feelings as they relate to the past and the present and the land are the point. I felt multiple times that it was/is probably difficult to have written that book and been brutal both with yourself and those around you, but honest. For me, the ending of the book where Irvine is wondering about and relating to the evolution of feminine qualities/ways of being (when these qualities flourished and when they were abandoned by different cultures) was a strong way to bring it together. This ending helped me identify some strong feelings within myself and I wonder why we're all not more confused and enraged...I think this book was an attempt to work through such feelings.

[Erica · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really loved this. Which is not to say it doesn't have some super problematic elements (remember, just saying you don't mean to romanticize people doesn't stop you from doing it!), and much of the narrative is driven by delving into those problematics, sometimes more effectively than others. Other reviewers have made legit points about Irvine's unexamined blind spots and biases, and I don't need to retread that ground. And yet...

The inseparable nature of personal experience from place hit home for me, and I loved the messiness of Irvine's attempt to make sense of it all. A lot has happened in the region in the last 10-20 years, and I appreciated reading partially in San Juan County in the wake of Zinke & Bears Ears, etc. This is a powerful book, personally and politically, including its flaws.

[Shari Gullo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Some of the reviews said this is a difficult book and that they had to put it down and then pick it up again later. I had the same experience, but I'm thankful I dealt with the discomfort. Reading this book reminded me of A Language Older that Words by Derrick Jensen, the most difficult book I've ever read. But isn't it the difficult memoirs the ones that are painful to read that one can't forget?

Irvine at sometimes was unlikable. Too few writers of memoirs are truly transparent. All of us aren't likeable all the time. I appreciated Irvine's candor.

I rarely write reviews. I'd rather get onto reading the next book. I felt the need to write this one, because I feel many of the reviews were unappreciative of Irvine's fine writing and the story she told. I give the book 5 stars and would like to give it more.

[Michael · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’m glad I read this book. Dr. Motley has had an interesting life, being abandoned by his mother and adopted by his grandparents who raised him. Actually - all of Madison Park raised him, and together celebrated who he is, who he was becoming as a young person, and who they were as a community. This little community autside of Montgomery, Alabama sent him on a journey that took him to (among other places) Samford, St. Andrew University (in Scotland), to the White House and later to the Aspen Institute.

[Catherine · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars. As can happen with memoirs, this was a little dramatic. The author made the choice to leave her Mormon upbringing behind but didn’t seem willing to accept the drawbacks of doing so as she and her partner moved to a remote area occupied almost entirely by devout Mormons. The land descriptions were beautifully written, and I enjoyed reading histories of Mormon pioneers and the indigenous peoples.

[Callie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amy Irvine pulls you into the red canyons of South Utah. Gripping and lyrical, Trespass is beautiful writing first as it weaves current and historical accounts of San Juan County with Amy’s own experience. I have read quite a bit literature out of the desert but nothing quite so poignant, artful, and darkly determined at Trespass.