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The Black Penguin
A devout young boy in rural Ohio, Andrew Evans had his life mapped for him: baptism, mission, Brigham Young University, temple marriage, and children of his own. But as an awkward gay kid, bullied and bored, he escaped into the glossy pages of National Geographic and the wide promise of the world atlas. The Black Penguin is Evans's memoir, travel tale, and love story of his eventual journey to the farthest reaches of the map, a wild yet touching adventure across some of the most astonishing landscapes on Earth.
Ejected from church and shunned by his family as a young man, Evans embarks on an ambitious overland journey halfway across the world. Riding public transportation, he crosses swamps, deserts, mountains, and jungles, slowly approaching his lifelong dream and ultimate goal: Antarctica. With each new mile comes laughter, pain, unexpected friendship, true weirdness, unsettling realities, and some hair-raising moments that eventually lead to a singular discovery on a remote beach at the bottom of the world.
Evans's 12,000-mile voyage becomes a soulful quest to balance faith, family, and self, reminding us that, in the end, our lives are defined by the roads we take, the places we touch, and those we hold nearest.
Ejected from church and shunned by his family as a young man, Evans embarks on an ambitious overland journey halfway across the world. Riding public transportation, he crosses swamps, deserts, mountains, and jungles, slowly approaching his lifelong dream and ultimate goal: Antarctica. With each new mile comes laughter, pain, unexpected friendship, true weirdness, unsettling realities, and some hair-raising moments that eventually lead to a singular discovery on a remote beach at the bottom of the world.
Evans's 12,000-mile voyage becomes a soulful quest to balance faith, family, and self, reminding us that, in the end, our lives are defined by the roads we take, the places we touch, and those we hold nearest.
304 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2017
22 people are currently reading
560 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 52 reviews
April 28, 2017
This fascinating memoir can be read two ways. It gives us a marvelously detailed picture of an overland journey from Washington D.C. to the Antarctic. But it is also a part of a series called "Living Out: Gay and Lesbian Autobiographies", published by the University of Wisconsin Press.
The title and cover photo emphasize the Antarctic and the black penguin, a rare bird that doesn't fit in with the tuxedo-clad King and tiny Adélie penguins crowding the icy land. That unique all-black bird makes an appropriate metaphor for Andrew Evans, who grew up as a devout Mormon, but was expelled from his beloved church because he is gay. First they tried to reform him, and he tried to conform, but he could not change any more than the melanistic penguin could choose to look like his brothers. Although Andrew Evans has found a partner he loves and a satisfying life, there is still a hole where the routines and rules and rituals of the church used to be.
However, if you are looking at this as the memoir of a travel writer, the cover and title are somewhat misleading. The book is not about the Antarctic. The continent stirred the curiosity of the young, geography-obssessed boy and became a lifelong dream. Now it is the goal of the journey but does not take center stage until the very end of the book.
As travel literature, the fascination of The Black Penguin lies in the difficulties Evans has undertaken by choosing to travel only by bus all the way12,000 miles through the Southern USA, Central America and South America. He has already achieved the travel writer's Holy Grail--an assignment from Keith Bellows at National Geographic Magazine. When Bellows asked if it was even possible to travel all the way by bus, Evans fudged the truth and answered with an enthusiastic 'yes.'
Maybe not.
But the rides on buses varying from sleek, modern air-conditioned marvels to Central American "chicken buses" provide a different view of the countryside along the way, and allow Evans to introduce us to an array of interesting characters. The long bus ride also provides the writer ample opportunity to ponder his life and gracefully weave thoughts about Andrew Evans, former Mormon and gay man into the story of Andrew Evans, travel writer on an adventure.
The writing is skillful. The story is compelling and well worth your time.
The title and cover photo emphasize the Antarctic and the black penguin, a rare bird that doesn't fit in with the tuxedo-clad King and tiny Adélie penguins crowding the icy land. That unique all-black bird makes an appropriate metaphor for Andrew Evans, who grew up as a devout Mormon, but was expelled from his beloved church because he is gay. First they tried to reform him, and he tried to conform, but he could not change any more than the melanistic penguin could choose to look like his brothers. Although Andrew Evans has found a partner he loves and a satisfying life, there is still a hole where the routines and rules and rituals of the church used to be.
However, if you are looking at this as the memoir of a travel writer, the cover and title are somewhat misleading. The book is not about the Antarctic. The continent stirred the curiosity of the young, geography-obssessed boy and became a lifelong dream. Now it is the goal of the journey but does not take center stage until the very end of the book.
As travel literature, the fascination of The Black Penguin lies in the difficulties Evans has undertaken by choosing to travel only by bus all the way12,000 miles through the Southern USA, Central America and South America. He has already achieved the travel writer's Holy Grail--an assignment from Keith Bellows at National Geographic Magazine. When Bellows asked if it was even possible to travel all the way by bus, Evans fudged the truth and answered with an enthusiastic 'yes.'
Maybe not.
But the rides on buses varying from sleek, modern air-conditioned marvels to Central American "chicken buses" provide a different view of the countryside along the way, and allow Evans to introduce us to an array of interesting characters. The long bus ride also provides the writer ample opportunity to ponder his life and gracefully weave thoughts about Andrew Evans, former Mormon and gay man into the story of Andrew Evans, travel writer on an adventure.
The writing is skillful. The story is compelling and well worth your time.
August 7, 2017
Andrew Evans would be the perfect guy to sit next to on a long bus-trip – bright, well-traveled, friendly and unpretentious – and he's definitely your guy if the bus bangs into a cow in the middle of the night or slides sideways off a muddy road in the misty Andes. But you may want to bring along a thermos of Sleepy Time tea, and a couple Ambien.
For The Black Penguin he's taken his partly-published epic of a journey by bus from Washington DC to Tierra del Fuego, and interspersed it with memoirettes of growing up a gay & geeky Mormon boy in Findlay, Ohio – plus some excruciating revels at BYU, where he opted to out his fellow fags. This isn't The End of Eddy; it's the start of Andrew, and he's dragging his feet.
As a kid who also consumed piles of my grandparents' National Geographic collection, I enjoyed the extended bus trip picaresque; I was much less patient with the protracted psychodrama of Andrew's coming out. One awful chapter from his late 20s or early 30s has him groveling before a Waddle of tetchy patriarchs who want to him marry a woman and sire a child pronto, never mind the boyfriend. Even then it takes a few more pages and tearful visits before he can tell the excommunicators to go to hell. The requisite head-held-high, back-turned, thank-god-I'm-free-to-be-me epiphany doesn't come until late in the book, maybe 15 years after it would have made emotional sense. As anyone who's exited the Godly closet could have told him (and probably did) there's no negotiating with theocrats. Kick the doctrines in the balls and strike out on your own path. Tweet if you must, but disentangle, disencumber, and hook up with someone who makes you laugh.
That expectoration aside…
There are similar Lonely Gay Men Travel The Lonely Planet books out there; the ones I've read are much starker, more terrifying, sadder and better crafted. The Black Penguin is an annotated Twitter feed, and has all the virtues of its form. Andrew makes his ship on time. Everyone is happy, including the boyfriend to whom Andrew proposes from the Antarctic rookery. At the end he snaps a photo of a very unusual black penguin. Is it a symbol or sign? For me it meant we'd finally found the title and we could all fly back home.
For The Black Penguin he's taken his partly-published epic of a journey by bus from Washington DC to Tierra del Fuego, and interspersed it with memoirettes of growing up a gay & geeky Mormon boy in Findlay, Ohio – plus some excruciating revels at BYU, where he opted to out his fellow fags. This isn't The End of Eddy; it's the start of Andrew, and he's dragging his feet.
As a kid who also consumed piles of my grandparents' National Geographic collection, I enjoyed the extended bus trip picaresque; I was much less patient with the protracted psychodrama of Andrew's coming out. One awful chapter from his late 20s or early 30s has him groveling before a Waddle of tetchy patriarchs who want to him marry a woman and sire a child pronto, never mind the boyfriend. Even then it takes a few more pages and tearful visits before he can tell the excommunicators to go to hell. The requisite head-held-high, back-turned, thank-god-I'm-free-to-be-me epiphany doesn't come until late in the book, maybe 15 years after it would have made emotional sense. As anyone who's exited the Godly closet could have told him (and probably did) there's no negotiating with theocrats. Kick the doctrines in the balls and strike out on your own path. Tweet if you must, but disentangle, disencumber, and hook up with someone who makes you laugh.
That expectoration aside…
There are similar Lonely Gay Men Travel The Lonely Planet books out there; the ones I've read are much starker, more terrifying, sadder and better crafted. The Black Penguin is an annotated Twitter feed, and has all the virtues of its form. Andrew makes his ship on time. Everyone is happy, including the boyfriend to whom Andrew proposes from the Antarctic rookery. At the end he snaps a photo of a very unusual black penguin. Is it a symbol or sign? For me it meant we'd finally found the title and we could all fly back home.
May 15, 2017
I have often liked an author after finishing their book, but in this case, I liked the author first, and then read his book. I'm happy to say that the book is just as likeable as the author. It is partially a travel book and partially a memoir of growing up Mormon and gay in middle America. I wasn't sure the combination would work, but it does.
It an engaging read, and the sweetness and warmth that make this author so special as a person really shine through in the book. I loved reading it. At times hilarious and at others heartbreaking, It was fascinating, well-written, easy to read, and riveting. Anyone who has travelled through Latin America on a local bus will find an echo of their experiences in this book, as will anyone who has ever been bullied or felt like an outcast in their own beloved family.
At one point, Andrew's father tells him: "if a pair of homosexuals moved onto my street, I'd be grabbing my kids and getting out of there so fast." All I can say to that is, my husband and I am so glad THIS pair moved onto our street. My family is blessed to know him and his partner, and my daughter in particular has benefited so much from these wonderful and understanding neighbors, though my sons think Andrew is a sneaky poker player.
HOWEVER, I do have to say that you shouldn't expect to pay any attention to your family while reading this book. I had a really hard time tearing myself away. So don't start it on Mother's day weekend unless your family is VERY understanding
It an engaging read, and the sweetness and warmth that make this author so special as a person really shine through in the book. I loved reading it. At times hilarious and at others heartbreaking, It was fascinating, well-written, easy to read, and riveting. Anyone who has travelled through Latin America on a local bus will find an echo of their experiences in this book, as will anyone who has ever been bullied or felt like an outcast in their own beloved family.
At one point, Andrew's father tells him: "if a pair of homosexuals moved onto my street, I'd be grabbing my kids and getting out of there so fast." All I can say to that is, my husband and I am so glad THIS pair moved onto our street. My family is blessed to know him and his partner, and my daughter in particular has benefited so much from these wonderful and understanding neighbors, though my sons think Andrew is a sneaky poker player.
HOWEVER, I do have to say that you shouldn't expect to pay any attention to your family while reading this book. I had a really hard time tearing myself away. So don't start it on Mother's day weekend unless your family is VERY understanding
April 11, 2019
Absolutely fantastic! Andrew Evans is an excellent writer and his book is fascinating. I had to force myself to take my time with it so that I didn’t finish it too quickly. Part memoir, part travel journal, I was amazed by all of it. I think this book could be hugely popular if only it would get more notice. You might have a hard time finding it at your local library since it’s from a university press, but it is well worth the money to buy it. (My library did have a copy but I bought one for myself anyway, I loved it that much!) I do, however, wish he had included a map outlining his journey from DC to Antarctica. An excellent, excellent read.
July 21, 2017
A couple of weeks ago John Fowles, a former student of mine when I was teaching in the BYU Department of Germanic and Slavic Languages, wrote me from China, where he was on business. “I’ve been reading your ‘non-memoir’ Immortal for Quite Some Time,” he said, “and like it very much.” He had just read another book, The Black Penguin, by Andrew Evans, whom he had known at Oxford, and thought I might find it interesting.
I did.
Andrew Evans grew up in a large Mormon family in Ohio. He was bullied mercilessly in school. He loved geography passionately. He was a foreign-exchange student in France. He served an LDS mission in Ukraine. He was a student at BYU, where the institutional bullying was intense. He studied at Oxford, where he met the man who would eventually become his husband. He was excommunicated by the Mormons, whose community he desired. He approached National Geographic with a proposal to travel from Washington D.C. by a series of busses to Antartica, documenting his journey through social media. They liked the idea and the lively account of the precarious trip forms the narrative backbone of the book.
The Black Penguin was a window for me into the experiences and feelings of a gay Mormon. I had written about my gay brother John, also a Mormon, and had done so as well as I could. But as a straight man, I was an outsider to much of the life he led. Andrew Evans filled some of the gaps.
Evans was remarkably open with his ecclesiastical leaders about his desire for intimacy with men rather than with women. At BYU those leaders were remarkably ready to cure him of those desires: “You can start by lowering your voice. . . . And change the way you walk. Men walk tall and proud, head up, shoulders out. . . . If you start acting like a real man, then you’ll become a real man.” His art major, the Bishop advises, will surround him with homosexuals. Still awkwardly between his desire and his belief in the truth of the Mormon gospel, he becomes a geography major. None of this works, of course, and he has his first sexual experiences with a ballet dancer.
He ends up in a Vice President’s office who threatens to expel him and freeze his transcripts so they won’t transfer. That’s option A. But the kind man has a second option: “First, you will attend reparative therapy. We have a whole team of professionals who have been quite successful in correcting same-sex attraction.” Evans knows students who had agreed to such treatment and who were made to throw up while watching gay porn or who were shocked with electrodes attached to their genitals. Second, he is forbidden to associate with homosexuals. “Finally, you must write down a list of names of each and every homosexual you know on campus.” Evans reflects on the impossibility of this: “One page was not enough—there were hundreds, probably thousands, of gay students at BYU, some closeted and most of them terribly repressed. The vice president had to know that, didn’t he? But no—he didn’t. He thought he could weed us out like cockroaches on the kitchen floor.” It is an impossible choice. Evans agonizes. He is gay. He has friends who are gay. He has almost earned a college degree. He doesn’t want to be a victim or a martyr. “And so I picked up the piece of paper, set it on the desk, and began to write.”
Never, never have I read a sentence like that. It is an absolutely damning admission. Whose names did he write? Whose lives did he put in jeopardy? Whose trust did he betray?
Then my focus changes. Who sits in a seat of power and forces a young man to make a decision like that? An evil man serving an evil system. Goddamn both the man and the system.
There is a scene later in the book when a mostly sympathetic Bishop in England who has called Evans to be the primary chorister is required by Church leaders in Salt Lake to call him in and ask if he is a pedophile and then, again on their command, to release him from the position.
The stories are heartbreaking. The tensions arise because Evans is so intimately connected to the Church, because he loves it and its people, because he is a believer. Other than his relationship with the man he will marry and sweetly call “honey” in the book, he is a Mormon, wants to be a Mormon, practices as a Mormon. And the bastards ask if he is a pedophile and ultimately excommunicate him in a goddamned “court of love.”
Near the end of his harrowing journey, riding a bus across a thousand-mile stretch of the Pampas of Argentina, Evans says
“I saw my own childhood in the landscape—I imagined the awkward school dances, the ticking hours in church pews, and the family expectations to grow up and be as vacant and fertile as the land, framed only by evenly knotted barbed wire fences.”
And I end my account here, grateful for The Black Penguin, with a passage from nineteenth-century barbed wire advertising: “It watches with argus eyes the inside and outside, up, down and lengthwise; it prevents the ‘ins’ from being ‘outs’; and the ‘outs’ from being ‘ins’; watches at day-break, at noontide, at sunset and all night long.”
I did.
Andrew Evans grew up in a large Mormon family in Ohio. He was bullied mercilessly in school. He loved geography passionately. He was a foreign-exchange student in France. He served an LDS mission in Ukraine. He was a student at BYU, where the institutional bullying was intense. He studied at Oxford, where he met the man who would eventually become his husband. He was excommunicated by the Mormons, whose community he desired. He approached National Geographic with a proposal to travel from Washington D.C. by a series of busses to Antartica, documenting his journey through social media. They liked the idea and the lively account of the precarious trip forms the narrative backbone of the book.
The Black Penguin was a window for me into the experiences and feelings of a gay Mormon. I had written about my gay brother John, also a Mormon, and had done so as well as I could. But as a straight man, I was an outsider to much of the life he led. Andrew Evans filled some of the gaps.
Evans was remarkably open with his ecclesiastical leaders about his desire for intimacy with men rather than with women. At BYU those leaders were remarkably ready to cure him of those desires: “You can start by lowering your voice. . . . And change the way you walk. Men walk tall and proud, head up, shoulders out. . . . If you start acting like a real man, then you’ll become a real man.” His art major, the Bishop advises, will surround him with homosexuals. Still awkwardly between his desire and his belief in the truth of the Mormon gospel, he becomes a geography major. None of this works, of course, and he has his first sexual experiences with a ballet dancer.
He ends up in a Vice President’s office who threatens to expel him and freeze his transcripts so they won’t transfer. That’s option A. But the kind man has a second option: “First, you will attend reparative therapy. We have a whole team of professionals who have been quite successful in correcting same-sex attraction.” Evans knows students who had agreed to such treatment and who were made to throw up while watching gay porn or who were shocked with electrodes attached to their genitals. Second, he is forbidden to associate with homosexuals. “Finally, you must write down a list of names of each and every homosexual you know on campus.” Evans reflects on the impossibility of this: “One page was not enough—there were hundreds, probably thousands, of gay students at BYU, some closeted and most of them terribly repressed. The vice president had to know that, didn’t he? But no—he didn’t. He thought he could weed us out like cockroaches on the kitchen floor.” It is an impossible choice. Evans agonizes. He is gay. He has friends who are gay. He has almost earned a college degree. He doesn’t want to be a victim or a martyr. “And so I picked up the piece of paper, set it on the desk, and began to write.”
Never, never have I read a sentence like that. It is an absolutely damning admission. Whose names did he write? Whose lives did he put in jeopardy? Whose trust did he betray?
Then my focus changes. Who sits in a seat of power and forces a young man to make a decision like that? An evil man serving an evil system. Goddamn both the man and the system.
There is a scene later in the book when a mostly sympathetic Bishop in England who has called Evans to be the primary chorister is required by Church leaders in Salt Lake to call him in and ask if he is a pedophile and then, again on their command, to release him from the position.
The stories are heartbreaking. The tensions arise because Evans is so intimately connected to the Church, because he loves it and its people, because he is a believer. Other than his relationship with the man he will marry and sweetly call “honey” in the book, he is a Mormon, wants to be a Mormon, practices as a Mormon. And the bastards ask if he is a pedophile and ultimately excommunicate him in a goddamned “court of love.”
Near the end of his harrowing journey, riding a bus across a thousand-mile stretch of the Pampas of Argentina, Evans says
“I saw my own childhood in the landscape—I imagined the awkward school dances, the ticking hours in church pews, and the family expectations to grow up and be as vacant and fertile as the land, framed only by evenly knotted barbed wire fences.”
And I end my account here, grateful for The Black Penguin, with a passage from nineteenth-century barbed wire advertising: “It watches with argus eyes the inside and outside, up, down and lengthwise; it prevents the ‘ins’ from being ‘outs’; and the ‘outs’ from being ‘ins’; watches at day-break, at noontide, at sunset and all night long.”
June 27, 2025
Happy Pride to this great read!
July 18, 2024
When Charlie told me that one of his guides on his trip to Eastern Europe was a gay Mormon and he that he’d written a book about his bus ride from DC to the Antarctic , I knew this would be on my reading list.
A memoir about his life, the author interspersed it with this incredible true account of this possibly ridiculous idea of his to take a bus (more than one, but I won’t spoil it for you) all the way down to Antarctica.
To say I loved it would be too simplistic.
But now I’ve read 2 nonfiction books in a row. And loved them both. So very much.
Maybe I’m not a murder mystery gal after all.
A memoir about his life, the author interspersed it with this incredible true account of this possibly ridiculous idea of his to take a bus (more than one, but I won’t spoil it for you) all the way down to Antarctica.
To say I loved it would be too simplistic.
But now I’ve read 2 nonfiction books in a row. And loved them both. So very much.
Maybe I’m not a murder mystery gal after all.
November 24, 2017
Since it is Thanksgiving Day I will say I am grateful I had the opportunity to read this book. It was a beautiful adventure by buses from Washington DC to Antarctica. I would have titled it “At the End of the Rainbow”.🌈 It was a story of love and hate and redemption. So well written, “mashed potatoes in the
sky ” describing clouds. I was expecting a tale of penguins and instead traveled on this journey with Andrew via my globe and world map. It also pointed out the narrow-minded attitude of the Mormon Church - a sect founded on gold plates and magic glasses. Who are they with such a checkered sexual past (and present) to condemn homosexuality? A bunch of old white perverts!! I actually cried tears of joy when the same sex marriage law passed. So glad Andrew and Brian found happiness together. I may be straight but I’m not narrow!!
sky ” describing clouds. I was expecting a tale of penguins and instead traveled on this journey with Andrew via my globe and world map. It also pointed out the narrow-minded attitude of the Mormon Church - a sect founded on gold plates and magic glasses. Who are they with such a checkered sexual past (and present) to condemn homosexuality? A bunch of old white perverts!! I actually cried tears of joy when the same sex marriage law passed. So glad Andrew and Brian found happiness together. I may be straight but I’m not narrow!!
January 18, 2023
Loved this! I too was a National Geographic nerd who bought up old issue bundles at used booksales with "found" and chore change. I dreamed of going places, but now that I am an adult with anxiety and sleep issues, reading about traveling to Antarctica works for me. But I loved that this author made it! It was great reading along the way, and also reading about his personal trials. Great story.
September 22, 2017
This book by Andrew was fascinating. I have been lucky to get to know Andrew through my line of work and was thrilled to read his personal memoir mixed up with a bus ride to the Antartica. The book intertwines three stories at the same time - and sometimes even added my own. At times the read of the journey on a bus to the Antartica from DC was tiresome - probably a portion of what the real bus ride was for Andrew. He was able to bring emotions from the bus ride, the thrill and the love from his personal life.
Well done Andrew. An Inspiration.
Well done Andrew. An Inspiration.
March 10, 2018
I finally get why it's called The Black Penguin... and it's so much better to not know going into the book because the discovery as you travel along Andrew's side makes the surprise even better.
November 9, 2020
He just left Marvin passed out in that truck?
June 26, 2017
Vaguely annoyed. That’s how I felt after months of following Andrew Evans on Twitter. When was this guy’s paid vacation going to end? Did he really think he could infect me with his exuberance for world travel? Who was funding him? Annoying! The only reason I followed Andrew was Twitter told me to. That and it seemed a little fun, keeping tabs on a literal globe trotter. Plus, his tweets often displayed a celebratory quality about our world.
Okay, so my early annoyance turned out to be jealousy. Years later, @WheresAndrew remains a Twitter account I recommend following. Even so, buying a copy of his new book The Black Penguin was not an immediate priority, but for one fact that eluded me until last week. I’d never realized Andrew Evans was raised Mormon.
Andrew and I have two critical things in common. We both served LDS Church missions, and we both eventually walked away from the Church. Being both a Twitter fan and a fellow “returned missionary” makes it near impossible for me to write a fully objective review of The Black Penguin. I was rooting for Andrew before I finished reading the preface. Still, this is not a book solely, or even mostly, about his journey out of Mormonism.
The Black Penguin recounts Andrew’s bus trip from Washington D.C. to Antarctica (including a short plane ride and a necessary transfer to a boat near the end). The book exhibits a binary structure. While Andrew proceeds southward by bus in the narrative present, his book flashes back to school years spent in Ohio and Utah, and his time in the Ukraine as a Mormon missionary. Yet, even with this time hopping, The Black Penguin displays a unifying sense of rising action and purpose.
Andrew’s epic bus trip eventually became an article for National Geographic Traveler, supplemented by blog posts and tweets from the road. Along the way the book detours further into his past to reveal an origin story fraught with bullying, religious judgement, and family crisis. All these ordeals were reactions to Andrew’s same-sex orientation. For Andrew, the science of geography became the art of escape.
By running past and present storylines in tandem, The Black Penguin offers engrossing parallels. For instance, the chapter about Andrew being found out at Brigham Young University connects to chapters about dangerous travel through Mexico and Central America. Both episodes exhibit the same sense of peril, fueled by powerful, sometimes unseen, forces that may decide his fate at any moment.
Yet, like his tweets, Andrew’s book also provides humor, beauty, and excitement. The personable, empathic prose creates a sensation of being in the seat next to him, staring out the bus window while passing near cliffs, through jungles, and along coastlines. And while the book is ultimately about Andrew’s quest, it teams with lively stories about people he meets along the way—quite like an issue of National Geographic.
Page after page, I experienced a keen sense of us all being on a globe, feeling the pace of its spin, gaining greater awareness of our relationship to each other and Earth. I highly recommend The Black Penguin. It’s a trip we all should experience.
Okay, so my early annoyance turned out to be jealousy. Years later, @WheresAndrew remains a Twitter account I recommend following. Even so, buying a copy of his new book The Black Penguin was not an immediate priority, but for one fact that eluded me until last week. I’d never realized Andrew Evans was raised Mormon.
Andrew and I have two critical things in common. We both served LDS Church missions, and we both eventually walked away from the Church. Being both a Twitter fan and a fellow “returned missionary” makes it near impossible for me to write a fully objective review of The Black Penguin. I was rooting for Andrew before I finished reading the preface. Still, this is not a book solely, or even mostly, about his journey out of Mormonism.
The Black Penguin recounts Andrew’s bus trip from Washington D.C. to Antarctica (including a short plane ride and a necessary transfer to a boat near the end). The book exhibits a binary structure. While Andrew proceeds southward by bus in the narrative present, his book flashes back to school years spent in Ohio and Utah, and his time in the Ukraine as a Mormon missionary. Yet, even with this time hopping, The Black Penguin displays a unifying sense of rising action and purpose.
Andrew’s epic bus trip eventually became an article for National Geographic Traveler, supplemented by blog posts and tweets from the road. Along the way the book detours further into his past to reveal an origin story fraught with bullying, religious judgement, and family crisis. All these ordeals were reactions to Andrew’s same-sex orientation. For Andrew, the science of geography became the art of escape.
By running past and present storylines in tandem, The Black Penguin offers engrossing parallels. For instance, the chapter about Andrew being found out at Brigham Young University connects to chapters about dangerous travel through Mexico and Central America. Both episodes exhibit the same sense of peril, fueled by powerful, sometimes unseen, forces that may decide his fate at any moment.
Yet, like his tweets, Andrew’s book also provides humor, beauty, and excitement. The personable, empathic prose creates a sensation of being in the seat next to him, staring out the bus window while passing near cliffs, through jungles, and along coastlines. And while the book is ultimately about Andrew’s quest, it teams with lively stories about people he meets along the way—quite like an issue of National Geographic.
Page after page, I experienced a keen sense of us all being on a globe, feeling the pace of its spin, gaining greater awareness of our relationship to each other and Earth. I highly recommend The Black Penguin. It’s a trip we all should experience.
April 17, 2024
I'm giving Andrew Evans three stars for what he did, and deducting two for what he wrote.
It's clear to me that Evans is a remarkable person. He's a world traveler who speaks at least three languages and has written dozens of assignments for National Geographic, a dogged seeker of hidden gems, and an LGBT luminary who left the shelter of the Mormon church to stay with the love of his life. And he really did travel most of the way from D.C. to Tierra del Fuego by bus, a journey that only sounds easy to people who have never spent a full day on a Greyhound.
Evans's achievement here is inspiring. I just wish it had been more fun to read about.
The problem, as I see it, is that Evans is an influencer at heart, more comfortable on Twitter and Instagram than he is with managing the ebbs and flows of a long-form narrative. The chapters in The Black Penguin don't cohere into a thematic whole; each has the feeling of a blog post banged out on two hours of sleep and then republished as a memoir with only cursory editing. He has an annoying habit of starting so deep in medias res that the reader has no idea where he is, what he's doing, or even what kind of vehicle he's on.
Like any influencer, Evans is prone to seeing himself as the protagonist, not just of his life but of everyone else's. After finishing the book, I know a lot about what he thinks of every country in Central and South America, but I don't feel like I've learned very much about Central and South America. Evans can't seem to comment on anything he sees without reflexively cramming in a tweet-sized thought about what it means for his own journey. Potentially intriguing traveling companions are rarely allowed to breathe beyond thumbnail sketches. Vibrant cities are described primarily in terms of how they make Evans feel. It all shrinks the world, and not in a good way.
Maybe it's just that the last nonfiction book I read was Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, in which John Berendt achieves a kind of ego-death for long passages, but Evans is allergic to letting his story tell itself. Even the intermittent flashback chapters see Evans repeatedly yanking us out of his own memories to tell us how we should feel about them. Nothing gets to stand on its own. Hundreds of pages before the titular black penguin showed up, I knew the poor bird was going to be pressganged into service as a metaphor.
A travel writer should see everything and judge nothing, and by that standard, Evans falls short of greatness. He spends far too much time looking down on backpackers for doing the exact same thing he's doing, or assuming nobody will understand his fairly simple objective. On multiple occasions, he becomes convinced he's about to be mugged and kidnapped because a Latin man is talking to him, and one deeply uncomfortable sequence with a Mexican bus driver serves up the most unnecessary fatphobia this side of Evelyn Hardcastle.
Even so, I devoured the book, because the actual journey is exciting enough to overcome any deficiencies in the telling. I recommend this for travel fans, especially the armchair ones like me who can easily imagine hopping on their own bus and heading south.
It's clear to me that Evans is a remarkable person. He's a world traveler who speaks at least three languages and has written dozens of assignments for National Geographic, a dogged seeker of hidden gems, and an LGBT luminary who left the shelter of the Mormon church to stay with the love of his life. And he really did travel most of the way from D.C. to Tierra del Fuego by bus, a journey that only sounds easy to people who have never spent a full day on a Greyhound.
Evans's achievement here is inspiring. I just wish it had been more fun to read about.
The problem, as I see it, is that Evans is an influencer at heart, more comfortable on Twitter and Instagram than he is with managing the ebbs and flows of a long-form narrative. The chapters in The Black Penguin don't cohere into a thematic whole; each has the feeling of a blog post banged out on two hours of sleep and then republished as a memoir with only cursory editing. He has an annoying habit of starting so deep in medias res that the reader has no idea where he is, what he's doing, or even what kind of vehicle he's on.
Like any influencer, Evans is prone to seeing himself as the protagonist, not just of his life but of everyone else's. After finishing the book, I know a lot about what he thinks of every country in Central and South America, but I don't feel like I've learned very much about Central and South America. Evans can't seem to comment on anything he sees without reflexively cramming in a tweet-sized thought about what it means for his own journey. Potentially intriguing traveling companions are rarely allowed to breathe beyond thumbnail sketches. Vibrant cities are described primarily in terms of how they make Evans feel. It all shrinks the world, and not in a good way.
Maybe it's just that the last nonfiction book I read was Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, in which John Berendt achieves a kind of ego-death for long passages, but Evans is allergic to letting his story tell itself. Even the intermittent flashback chapters see Evans repeatedly yanking us out of his own memories to tell us how we should feel about them. Nothing gets to stand on its own. Hundreds of pages before the titular black penguin showed up, I knew the poor bird was going to be pressganged into service as a metaphor.
A travel writer should see everything and judge nothing, and by that standard, Evans falls short of greatness. He spends far too much time looking down on backpackers for doing the exact same thing he's doing, or assuming nobody will understand his fairly simple objective. On multiple occasions, he becomes convinced he's about to be mugged and kidnapped because a Latin man is talking to him, and one deeply uncomfortable sequence with a Mexican bus driver serves up the most unnecessary fatphobia this side of Evelyn Hardcastle.
Even so, I devoured the book, because the actual journey is exciting enough to overcome any deficiencies in the telling. I recommend this for travel fans, especially the armchair ones like me who can easily imagine hopping on their own bus and heading south.
April 8, 2019
This is one of my favorite travelogues. Evans weaves anecdotes from his bus trip from D.C. to Patagonia plus boat trip to Antarctica with memoir-style reflections growing up gay in the Church Of Latter Day Saints. Both parts are are curious, well written; , amusing, revelatory.
Evans practices really refreshing travel writing. He is imperfect like us. He feels joy, awe, and reverence. He has adventures like being on a bus in Colombia that hits a cow and a bus in Bolivia that gets stuck in mud. He gets tired, bored; angry. He talks to everyone. He doesn’t by and large see sights or tell history. He’s occupied with small interactions with people—he talks to everyone—and observing what can be observed from the bus, small things and big things that give a remarkable and unique perspective on some 10 countries from the U.S. to Argentina (not to mention the non-country of Antarctica).
Evans is fun to travel with. He has a dry sense of humor and is self deprecating. He’s self-aware without being navel gazing. He speaks and writes plainly. He makes you ike him. Occasionally, he turns to cliche at moments of emotional power that would best speak for themselves. In addition, some tense time-pressured parts of trip feel too convenient, like when he almost misses key transitions, but they also ring resoundingly true.
The memoir side of the book is equally engrossing as the travels, a detailed but concise and colorful description of being gay in a devout Mormon family and the church. Conformist measures taken informally and formally by homophobia friends, family, and church authorities are rendered plainly and in the end humanizing. Evans is an excellent writer with a breezy style, a worthy guide on this double journey of a book.
Evans practices really refreshing travel writing. He is imperfect like us. He feels joy, awe, and reverence. He has adventures like being on a bus in Colombia that hits a cow and a bus in Bolivia that gets stuck in mud. He gets tired, bored; angry. He talks to everyone. He doesn’t by and large see sights or tell history. He’s occupied with small interactions with people—he talks to everyone—and observing what can be observed from the bus, small things and big things that give a remarkable and unique perspective on some 10 countries from the U.S. to Argentina (not to mention the non-country of Antarctica).
Evans is fun to travel with. He has a dry sense of humor and is self deprecating. He’s self-aware without being navel gazing. He speaks and writes plainly. He makes you ike him. Occasionally, he turns to cliche at moments of emotional power that would best speak for themselves. In addition, some tense time-pressured parts of trip feel too convenient, like when he almost misses key transitions, but they also ring resoundingly true.
The memoir side of the book is equally engrossing as the travels, a detailed but concise and colorful description of being gay in a devout Mormon family and the church. Conformist measures taken informally and formally by homophobia friends, family, and church authorities are rendered plainly and in the end humanizing. Evans is an excellent writer with a breezy style, a worthy guide on this double journey of a book.
July 6, 2023
“I just wanted to be me, wherever I could do that in the world.”
I *love* this book. I feel — and relate to — the passion of this dream, and I was captivated by the story. While this is a book about travel, about the unique journey to Antarctica via buses, it’s more about family, love, adventure, and the bravery to be who you truly are in a world that tells you not to be. And whew!, the imagery is sooo good!
For any wanderlust soul, for the queers whose loved ones shamed their sexuality in the name of religion, for those who have had to reshape and rediscover their spiritual relationship with God and with themselves — this book is for you.
“The world is new to us every morning — this is God’s gift; and every man should believe he is reborn each day.”
Note: my only complaint was the emphasis on social media postings and the author’s need for external validation online (ick), tied with a bit of ego. Fortunately, he does a solid job of checking his privilege and speaking candidly and openly — an honest, conversational voice that I appreciate. 4-4.5 stars.
I *love* this book. I feel — and relate to — the passion of this dream, and I was captivated by the story. While this is a book about travel, about the unique journey to Antarctica via buses, it’s more about family, love, adventure, and the bravery to be who you truly are in a world that tells you not to be. And whew!, the imagery is sooo good!
For any wanderlust soul, for the queers whose loved ones shamed their sexuality in the name of religion, for those who have had to reshape and rediscover their spiritual relationship with God and with themselves — this book is for you.
“The world is new to us every morning — this is God’s gift; and every man should believe he is reborn each day.”
Note: my only complaint was the emphasis on social media postings and the author’s need for external validation online (ick), tied with a bit of ego. Fortunately, he does a solid job of checking his privilege and speaking candidly and openly — an honest, conversational voice that I appreciate. 4-4.5 stars.
December 20, 2022
I read this book twice, with just a few days in between, because it is so engaging and compelling. Part-memoir, part-love story, and part-travel book, The Black Penguin is beautifully written. Andrew Evans is a skilled writer whose unforgettable descriptions will stay with you forever. His similes are to be discovered and savored, read and reread. I felt as though I knew all of the characters he introduced because of how vividly he brought them to life. If you are a traveler, you will find yourself looking out for some of these folks on your won travels. His adventures and misadventures created a sense of suspense and have you wondering: Will he actually make it to Antarctica riding on buses? I feel so lucky to have come across this book and have already ordered two as gifts. Once you pick it up, you will not put it down until you reach the end.
September 22, 2017
Travel writer and National Geographic correspondent Andrew Evans has written a wonderful book about his 45 day trip, by bus (!), from Washington D.C. to Antartica. I heard him on NPR and noted that he was raised Mormon, as I was, so it caught my attention and after listening to his interview, I wanted to read the book. What I discovered is a heartwarming, and sometimes heart wrenching personal story, not only about his trek across two American continents but about his life and personal struggles growing up in rural Ohio, gay and in a strong Mormon family that was unable to accept his homosexuality. You have to read to the end to understand the double entender meaning of "The Black Penguin." It's definately not just a travel book but a really beautiful and insightful memoir.
January 14, 2022
I had no car, nor did I have any money, but I had the bus. I had been riding buses since kindergarten—it is the simplest and most accessible form of public transportation that exists. If I could just keep connecting from one bus to the next, the eventually I would reach the bottom of the world.
My rules were simple: take the nearest bus to the farthest point south, then hop on the next one, and another after that. I traveled this way for over ten thousand miles—without any planed route and without any advance tickets. When I felt too tired to go on, I took a break. Sometimes I checked into hotels—to sleep, to wash, and to write. Sometimes I rode the bus all night long and all the next day. (ix)Evans' story of taking busses to Antarctica isn't quite as offbeat and I-did-it-alone as he initially suggests (he had the backing of National Geographic, but it's a fun romp farther and farther south as he gets closer to his destination. Did I want more about Antarctica itself? Yes. And I'd like to read a book about the Darién Gap, which Evans (for very good reason!) skipped. But at its best, The Black Penguin is both a meditation on slow travel and a look back at the reasons Evans was so desperate to travel—to find a world beyond the suffocating conformity of his Mormon upbringing. A different kind of travel to a different kind of place.
November 25, 2022
A charmingly-told tale about a brave if quixotic idea realized through National Geographic — to travel by bus from DC to Antarctica — interspersed with thoughtful and sometimes painful recollections of the author’s alienation and loneliness as a gay Mormon kid from Ohio, and his eventual love story with (full disclosure) a guy I know from the wildlife conservation field, an amphibian ecologist named Brian whom he met in Oxford. The travel tales involve the numbing hours of endless bus rides, the fears of crime and roadside hazards on the chicken buses of Latin America, and the eventual thrill of the Antarctic coastline and the aforementioned penguins. But the flashback anecdotes may carry more emotional resonance overall.
December 25, 2017
Magnificent storytelling
I know Andrew Evans personally, but that fact alone does not carry with it a requirement to positively review this book. This book stands on its own merit easily. The greater portion of the story, of traveling by bus from one end of the world to the other, is fascinating and engrossing before a turn to exhilarating. I learned much about travel and geography, especially through Central and South America and Antarctica. The coming out portions of the book are intimate and pained, in a way that makes self-discovery a universal experience. There are many rewards in reading this book. I know I'll be reading it again and again.
I know Andrew Evans personally, but that fact alone does not carry with it a requirement to positively review this book. This book stands on its own merit easily. The greater portion of the story, of traveling by bus from one end of the world to the other, is fascinating and engrossing before a turn to exhilarating. I learned much about travel and geography, especially through Central and South America and Antarctica. The coming out portions of the book are intimate and pained, in a way that makes self-discovery a universal experience. There are many rewards in reading this book. I know I'll be reading it again and again.
April 19, 2022
I wish all my Mormon family and friends, and all my LGBTQ family and friends, and especially all my Mormon LGBT family and friends would read this insightful, fascinating, beautifully written book. I loved how the chapters moved between Evans' memoir of growing up gay in a Mormon family, community, and university (hard to believe there are still accredited religious universities!), and his travelog of taking buses from Washington, D.C. to Antarctica. I ordered this book on reading the NYTimes glowing review. I don't know Evans personally but wish I did!
July 27, 2017
As a child, Andrew Evans loved geography. As an adult, he traveled the world, eventually going by bus from Washington DC to the southern-most tip of South American, and then to antarctica by ship. Along the way we learn of his encounters with people, his experiences in different places, and the past that shaped him. Once in antarctica he photographs a very rare black penguin. Read this book and travel along with Andrew. You'll be glad you did.
August 2, 2017
Was following Andrew & his hike across Jordan & thus found out about his book "The Black Penguin." I looked forward to reading it, and I enjoyed the story of his life and his relationship with his family and how he grew along his path... I am hoping he does a book (or film!?) about his hike across Jordan.
November 22, 2017
Fantastic
I loved vicariously reliving Andrew’s adventures. Funny, suspenseful, and moving! The writing is beautiful and authentic. I also loved reading about Andrew’s experiences growing up with the trial of being gay and Mormon. Reading, just like traveling changes & broadens your perspective. I’m glad to have had the pleasure of that with this book.
I loved vicariously reliving Andrew’s adventures. Funny, suspenseful, and moving! The writing is beautiful and authentic. I also loved reading about Andrew’s experiences growing up with the trial of being gay and Mormon. Reading, just like traveling changes & broadens your perspective. I’m glad to have had the pleasure of that with this book.
September 13, 2018
Great Adventure Story
I thoroughly enjoyed this magnificent travel adventure. The book was very well written and I appreciated the dude story of a young gay man dealing with his sexuality. I am also a gay man and the struggles the author described were identical to my own. I'm so happy I bought the book. I intend on reading it again.
I thoroughly enjoyed this magnificent travel adventure. The book was very well written and I appreciated the dude story of a young gay man dealing with his sexuality. I am also a gay man and the struggles the author described were identical to my own. I'm so happy I bought the book. I intend on reading it again.
January 6, 2019
I’ve been saving this book and today was the day. I read it in one sitting and couldn’t put it down. Andrew Evans is so observant, so honest, and so fearless that my admiration for him —- already high —- has just magnified itself a zillion times. This is a poignant memoir of a born traveller and gifted storyteller. Highly recommend it.
January 22, 2019
Oh boy. I abandoned this at pg 106. I cannot deal with his privileged, judgemental and casually racist ramblings. As a queer woman dedicated to improving the lives of cis and trans POC folks in my community and constantly working to dismantle my own privilege, I find white cis gay men like Mr. Evans the most egregious and won't waste my time finishing this book.
May 26, 2019
As a fellow explorer, I appreciated this chance to join my friend, Andrew, via his generous storytelling along an ambitious route all the way south. Stories, like Andrew's, of discovery and transcendence of unaccepting religious traditions are of tremendous value. His voice and humor shine through the pages as a favored travel companion.
August 16, 2019
This is probably the best travelogue I’ve ever read. But, more than that, I came close to tears seeing myself in Andrew Evans as a lonely gay kid who found refuge in the pages of the encyclopedia and National Geographic magazine. I loved reading about Andrew’s adventures, his struggles with family and church, and his seemingly endless capacity to meet the world with love.
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