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Landscape and the Human Heart Trilogy #1
Mountains of the Mind: A History of a Fascination
MOUNTAINS OF THE MIND traces the historical antecedents that shaped our popular conception of the Great Outdoors--in particular, our desire to climb mountains. Journalist MacFarlane blends adventure story with poetry, art movements with history, to paint a vivid and richly detailed story about why we love to scale those d
320 pages, Paperback
First published May 8, 2003
721 people are currently reading
10918 people want to read
About the author
Robert Macfarlane
117 books4,391 followersRobert Macfarlane is a British nature writer and literary critic.
Educated at Nottingham High School, Pembroke College, Cambridge and Magdalen College, Oxford, he is currently a Fellow of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and teaches in the Faculty of English at Cambridge.
Robert Macfarlane is the author of prize-winning and bestselling books about landscape, nature, people and place, including Mountains of the Mind: A History of a Fascination (2003), The Wild Places (2007), The Old Ways (2012), Holloway (2013, with Stanley Donwood and Dan Richards), Landmarks (2015), The Lost Words: A Spell Book (with the artist Jackie Morris, 2017) and Underland: A Deep Time Journey (2019). His work has been translated into many languages, won prizes around the world, and his books have been widely adapted for film, television, stage and radio. He has collaborated with artists, film-makers, actors, photographers and musicians, including Hauschka, Willem Dafoe, Karine Polwart and Stanley Donwood. In 2017 he was awarded the EM Forster Prize for Literature by the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
Educated at Nottingham High School, Pembroke College, Cambridge and Magdalen College, Oxford, he is currently a Fellow of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and teaches in the Faculty of English at Cambridge.
Robert Macfarlane is the author of prize-winning and bestselling books about landscape, nature, people and place, including Mountains of the Mind: A History of a Fascination (2003), The Wild Places (2007), The Old Ways (2012), Holloway (2013, with Stanley Donwood and Dan Richards), Landmarks (2015), The Lost Words: A Spell Book (with the artist Jackie Morris, 2017) and Underland: A Deep Time Journey (2019). His work has been translated into many languages, won prizes around the world, and his books have been widely adapted for film, television, stage and radio. He has collaborated with artists, film-makers, actors, photographers and musicians, including Hauschka, Willem Dafoe, Karine Polwart and Stanley Donwood. In 2017 he was awarded the EM Forster Prize for Literature by the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
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September 24, 2022
“For centuries [mountains] were regarded as useless obstructions – ‘considerable protuberances,’ as Dr. Johnson dismissively dubbed them. Now they are numbered among the natural world’s most exquisite forms, and people are willing to die for love of them. What we call a mountain is thus in fact a collaboration of the physical forms of the world with the imagination of humans – a mountain of the mind. And the way people behave towards [a] mountain has little or nothing to do with the actual objects of rock and ice themselves. Mountains are only contingencies of geology. They do not kill deliberately, nor do they deliberately please: any emotional properties which they possess are vested in them by human imaginations. Mountains – like deserts, polar tundra, deep oceans, jungles and all the other wild landscapes that we have romanticized into being – are simply there, and there they remain, their physical structures rearranged gradually over time by the forces of geology and weather, but continuing to exist over and beyond human perceptions of them. But they are also the products of human perception…”
- Robert Macfarlane, Mountains of the Mind: How Desolate and Forbidding Heights Were Transformed Into Experiences of Indomitable Spirit
In my experience, mountaineering books tend to break down into two broad categories. The first are climbing memoirs, written by the men and women who’ve summitted the world’s highest and most dangerous peaks. Though often larded with a bit of entry-level philosophizing to explain their altitudinal-defying urges, these volumes typically focus on overcoming the technical challenges. They are – in the end – about conquering the mountain, bagging the summit, mastering the natural world. In other words, these memoirs are fueled by an underlying strain of alpha toxicity. The second group consists of mountaineering disasters, when the aforementioned need to stand atop the highest local geographical point ends in pointless suffering and death.
Robert Macfarlane’s Mountains of the Mind does not fit into either category, but it provides a nice exploration for how we came to this point. It is a reflective, meandering tale about how humans decided – for no evolutionarily imperative purpose – to risk their very lives to go up some very imposing chunks of rock.
***
Mountains of the Mind traces the gradual alteration of the mountain in humanity’s eye. In earlier times, they were seen as foreboding prominences, repositories of potential evil. More pragmatically, mountains were barriers to travel, affecting everything from trade to warfare. Certainly, there were very few who looked at a towering range and thought: I should climb that, just for the heck of it. After all, there is no biologically-ingrained need to ascend. Indeed, it is quite the opposite, as livability decreases as the altitude increases. At the top of the world’s highest summits, a climber is literally dying by seconds.
Over the centuries, though, this has obviously changed. Writers and painters began to look on mountains as things of beauty. Geologists studied them in their efforts to describe the creation of earth itself. With the reputation of mountains growing, adventurers began to assault their slopes, risking all for an ephemeral thrill, which then had to be rationalized at length.
Macfarlane tells this tale using a variety of techniques, melding cultural history, geological history, and his own experiences as a climber. The result is a beautifully written meditation that attempts to deconstruct the gravitational pull of mountains, while often succumbing to it.
***
I don’t read a lot of books like Mountains of the Mind. My bookshelves are lined with hefty volumes filled with high-stress historical events, of war and plague, oppression and political upheaval. In troubling times, I was drawn to this book’s low stakes, its thoughtful deliberations, and its gorgeous nature writing. Mountains are exceptionally hard to describe in words; even pictures often fail. But Macfarlane is exceptionally talented at describing indescribable sights.
For example, he tells of the complex formations he encounters in the Tian Shan:
Later, he conjures the magical light one experiences up high:
Frankly, I did not read Mountains of the Mind straight through. Rather, I kept it bedside, and used it like the Calm app, reading a few pages at a time, vicariously enjoying the sights.
***
Macfarlane is an accomplished climber, but he is not Ed Viesturs, the author-mountaineer who has surmounted all 14 of the world’s 8,000 meter peaks, nor is he Alex Honnold, the documentary star-free soloist who makes his career being daring while rock-climbing without ropes. Because of this, Mountains of the Mind has a distinct tone and attitude. There is a reason that it concludes with a chapter on George Leigh Mallory’s doomed attempt to scale Everest. Instead of heroizing Mallory for his near-feat, Macfarlane presents it as a tragic culmination of a line of thought, the senseless destruction of life for egotistical purposes.
So much of mountaineering today seems aggressively performative, meaning that it is perfectly in keeping with the 21st century social media-driven zeitgeist. Climbers keep finding new ways to be the “first” to do something. One of the symbols of conspicuous wealth is paying an outfitter to drag you to the top of Everest. Somewhat less ambitious influencers travel to the world’s other iconic wonders, where they proceed to take a selfie of themselves, sometimes dying in the process.
Macfarlane provides a refreshingly humble and welcome antidote to this preening, self-centered relationship with nature, which sees the mountain only as the backdrop to a person’s own existence. It traces how we came to be here, and gently asks if there’s a better way to interact. When you look at a mountain, you should be filled with awe, but the awe should not be with yourself. When your eye falls upon a peak, it should be more than a challenge, a foe, a box to check off a list, a post to put on Instagram; it should remind you that you are just a drop in eternity, a fractional part of a story four-and-a-half billion years in the making.
- Robert Macfarlane, Mountains of the Mind: How Desolate and Forbidding Heights Were Transformed Into Experiences of Indomitable Spirit
In my experience, mountaineering books tend to break down into two broad categories. The first are climbing memoirs, written by the men and women who’ve summitted the world’s highest and most dangerous peaks. Though often larded with a bit of entry-level philosophizing to explain their altitudinal-defying urges, these volumes typically focus on overcoming the technical challenges. They are – in the end – about conquering the mountain, bagging the summit, mastering the natural world. In other words, these memoirs are fueled by an underlying strain of alpha toxicity. The second group consists of mountaineering disasters, when the aforementioned need to stand atop the highest local geographical point ends in pointless suffering and death.
Robert Macfarlane’s Mountains of the Mind does not fit into either category, but it provides a nice exploration for how we came to this point. It is a reflective, meandering tale about how humans decided – for no evolutionarily imperative purpose – to risk their very lives to go up some very imposing chunks of rock.
***
Mountains of the Mind traces the gradual alteration of the mountain in humanity’s eye. In earlier times, they were seen as foreboding prominences, repositories of potential evil. More pragmatically, mountains were barriers to travel, affecting everything from trade to warfare. Certainly, there were very few who looked at a towering range and thought: I should climb that, just for the heck of it. After all, there is no biologically-ingrained need to ascend. Indeed, it is quite the opposite, as livability decreases as the altitude increases. At the top of the world’s highest summits, a climber is literally dying by seconds.
Over the centuries, though, this has obviously changed. Writers and painters began to look on mountains as things of beauty. Geologists studied them in their efforts to describe the creation of earth itself. With the reputation of mountains growing, adventurers began to assault their slopes, risking all for an ephemeral thrill, which then had to be rationalized at length.
Macfarlane tells this tale using a variety of techniques, melding cultural history, geological history, and his own experiences as a climber. The result is a beautifully written meditation that attempts to deconstruct the gravitational pull of mountains, while often succumbing to it.
***
I don’t read a lot of books like Mountains of the Mind. My bookshelves are lined with hefty volumes filled with high-stress historical events, of war and plague, oppression and political upheaval. In troubling times, I was drawn to this book’s low stakes, its thoughtful deliberations, and its gorgeous nature writing. Mountains are exceptionally hard to describe in words; even pictures often fail. But Macfarlane is exceptionally talented at describing indescribable sights.
For example, he tells of the complex formations he encounters in the Tian Shan:
Later that day, once we had set up our tents, I followed a faint track which led up the moraine towards China. After half a mile or so it turned behind a rocky spur and into a glacial cirque. I stood and watched the business of the cirque for a while – chunks of serac calving from a small hanging glacier, leaving patches of fresh blue ice behind them; a chough with its bright orange beak mewing to an invisible mate; a rough pyramid of shale shivering and reassembling itself as the main glacier shifted beneath it.
Later, he conjures the magical light one experiences up high:
Mountain light can…be architectural: the spires and pillars of luminescence which certain cloud configurations build, or the fan-vaulting effect created when the sun shines from below and behind a jagged rock ridge. It can be visionary, as when you climb above the clouds and the light strikes off the fields of ice beneath you, and it seems as though there are brilliant white kingdoms stretching as far as the eye can see. There is the Midas light, the rich yellow light which spills lengthwise across the mountains, turning everything it touches to gold. And there is the light which falls at the end of a mountain day, and unifies the landscape with a single texture.
Frankly, I did not read Mountains of the Mind straight through. Rather, I kept it bedside, and used it like the Calm app, reading a few pages at a time, vicariously enjoying the sights.
***
Macfarlane is an accomplished climber, but he is not Ed Viesturs, the author-mountaineer who has surmounted all 14 of the world’s 8,000 meter peaks, nor is he Alex Honnold, the documentary star-free soloist who makes his career being daring while rock-climbing without ropes. Because of this, Mountains of the Mind has a distinct tone and attitude. There is a reason that it concludes with a chapter on George Leigh Mallory’s doomed attempt to scale Everest. Instead of heroizing Mallory for his near-feat, Macfarlane presents it as a tragic culmination of a line of thought, the senseless destruction of life for egotistical purposes.
So much of mountaineering today seems aggressively performative, meaning that it is perfectly in keeping with the 21st century social media-driven zeitgeist. Climbers keep finding new ways to be the “first” to do something. One of the symbols of conspicuous wealth is paying an outfitter to drag you to the top of Everest. Somewhat less ambitious influencers travel to the world’s other iconic wonders, where they proceed to take a selfie of themselves, sometimes dying in the process.
Macfarlane provides a refreshingly humble and welcome antidote to this preening, self-centered relationship with nature, which sees the mountain only as the backdrop to a person’s own existence. It traces how we came to be here, and gently asks if there’s a better way to interact. When you look at a mountain, you should be filled with awe, but the awe should not be with yourself. When your eye falls upon a peak, it should be more than a challenge, a foe, a box to check off a list, a post to put on Instagram; it should remind you that you are just a drop in eternity, a fractional part of a story four-and-a-half billion years in the making.
April 16, 2016
Three centuries ago, no one was interested in mountains and other wild places. The land could not be cultivated, nor was there any point in possessing them and the people who inhabited these heights were considered a lesser human. They were considered no go areas. But in the middle of the Eighteenth century, this perception of the mountain began to change. The premise of the sublime, the balance point of fear and exhilaration that could be achieved when climbing, coupled with the sense that the mountains were much, much older than previously thought, meant that the great thinkers of the age became interested in the how and why they were formed.
And so begins Macfarlane’s mountain adventure. He writes about the forces that make mountains and the glaciers that populate them. There is lot on our perception of them too, the overcoming of the fear that these immense heights can bring, the fixation of getting to the summit of these peaks. These beautiful peaks can be deadly too, the Alps claim one climber a day during the season, and less people die on Scottish roads than they do in the mountains. But those that conquer the peaks are shown the magnificence and beauty of the world beneath their feet.
Macfarlane ends with an gripping account of Mallory and his obsession with the highest peak in the world, Everest. An avid climber and adventurer, who climbed various peaks including setting one of the hardest routes up Pillar Rock in the lakes. Starting in 1921, he was a member of three expeditions to Nepal where they explored various potential routes up the mountain. No one had tried to climb at this altitude before, and there were an number of fatalities and numerous cases of frostbite, before he returned in 1924 for the final attempt. On the 8th June Mallory and Irvine start for the final ascent. As they do a fine mist descends around them, and they are last seen moving along a ridge as the mist swirls around them.
I have been meaning to read this book for absolutely ages. Macfarlane is one of my favourite writers, and I have read all hi others, but not this, his first. He manages to weave together the mindset of the people that climb these peaks with the cultural history and deep geological time of these places. The writing is lyrical, poetic and engaging, and he describes what he sees with beautiful prose so you can drink in he view too. But in that beauty is danger too; no climb, even in summer is risk free, and even though mountains can bring exhilaration to your life, they can claim it too. For me it is a solid four, not as good as his later books though.
And so begins Macfarlane’s mountain adventure. He writes about the forces that make mountains and the glaciers that populate them. There is lot on our perception of them too, the overcoming of the fear that these immense heights can bring, the fixation of getting to the summit of these peaks. These beautiful peaks can be deadly too, the Alps claim one climber a day during the season, and less people die on Scottish roads than they do in the mountains. But those that conquer the peaks are shown the magnificence and beauty of the world beneath their feet.
Macfarlane ends with an gripping account of Mallory and his obsession with the highest peak in the world, Everest. An avid climber and adventurer, who climbed various peaks including setting one of the hardest routes up Pillar Rock in the lakes. Starting in 1921, he was a member of three expeditions to Nepal where they explored various potential routes up the mountain. No one had tried to climb at this altitude before, and there were an number of fatalities and numerous cases of frostbite, before he returned in 1924 for the final attempt. On the 8th June Mallory and Irvine start for the final ascent. As they do a fine mist descends around them, and they are last seen moving along a ridge as the mist swirls around them.
I have been meaning to read this book for absolutely ages. Macfarlane is one of my favourite writers, and I have read all hi others, but not this, his first. He manages to weave together the mindset of the people that climb these peaks with the cultural history and deep geological time of these places. The writing is lyrical, poetic and engaging, and he describes what he sees with beautiful prose so you can drink in he view too. But in that beauty is danger too; no climb, even in summer is risk free, and even though mountains can bring exhilaration to your life, they can claim it too. For me it is a solid four, not as good as his later books though.
January 22, 2012
This book was so enchanting. It felt like being brought into another world with a fascinating multi-faceted guide, who was a mountaineer, scholar, nature-lover, avid reader and, most importantly, a poet. I couldn’t believe he was so young when he wrote the book. His use of language to bring me into regions explored, read about and imagined often took my breath away, engaging all the senses and making me wonder what these marvels would be like to experience first hand. I love the way the book is structured, all but two chapters exploring the different ways in which mountains can possess the minds and hearts of men. He manages to keeps a sense of the mystery of why people risk death to climb mountains by telling the story of George Mallory, drawing all these strands into a myth rather than a scholarly argument. We journey through the book as we journey up a mountain, witnessing the marvels of nature, experiencing our capacity for wonder, enjoying the archetypal sense of a journey in itself. He leaves us with a beautiful account of his encounter with a snow-hare in a snow-storm, telling us that at that time “there was no other place he would rather be”. I think Robert MacFarlane is one of my new favourite writers.
June 9, 2021
Yet another beautiful read by Robert Macfarlane!!!
⛰️
Working my way through his list of books is one of my life's greatest pleasures!
He has a way of writing about nature and wildlife that is completely breathtaking!
⛰️
The way he describes mountaineering and the fascination behind it was indeed fascinating!
I couldn't help but wonder how it must feel for mountaineers to reach those great heights!
Indescribable I'd imagine!
⛰️
Can't wait to read my next Robert Macfarlane book!
⛰️
Working my way through his list of books is one of my life's greatest pleasures!
He has a way of writing about nature and wildlife that is completely breathtaking!
⛰️
The way he describes mountaineering and the fascination behind it was indeed fascinating!
I couldn't help but wonder how it must feel for mountaineers to reach those great heights!
Indescribable I'd imagine!
⛰️
Can't wait to read my next Robert Macfarlane book!
February 13, 2019
2nd book for 2019.
The book, published on the fiftieth anniversary of the first successful climb of Mount Everest, attempts to provide a history and an a justification for why certain people have placed such a high importance on risking their lives for what can be seen as a fairly pointless goal of being the first to get to the top of a pile of rocks. The book ends with a detailed and interesting description of three early expeditions in the 1920s of the British climber George Mallory, which ultimately lead to his death in 1924.
I found the writing in the book quite uneven, and lacking the overall poetry in MacFarlane's later and superior books The Wild Places and The Old Ways. While his accounts of his own mountaineering treks were entertaining, most of the history writing, barring the final chapter on Mallory, tended to drag somewhat.
Overall, an interesting read, but not one of Macfarlane's best.
3-stars.
The book, published on the fiftieth anniversary of the first successful climb of Mount Everest, attempts to provide a history and an a justification for why certain people have placed such a high importance on risking their lives for what can be seen as a fairly pointless goal of being the first to get to the top of a pile of rocks. The book ends with a detailed and interesting description of three early expeditions in the 1920s of the British climber George Mallory, which ultimately lead to his death in 1924.
I found the writing in the book quite uneven, and lacking the overall poetry in MacFarlane's later and superior books The Wild Places and The Old Ways. While his accounts of his own mountaineering treks were entertaining, most of the history writing, barring the final chapter on Mallory, tended to drag somewhat.
Overall, an interesting read, but not one of Macfarlane's best.
3-stars.
March 25, 2024
This is the human paradox of altitude: that it both exalts the individual mind and erases it.
It is surprising how enchanted I become each time I open a text by Macfarlane. There’s a sidelong sense where it shouldn’t work for me. The angles are excessively acute. Yet I marvel and even when I don’t, I still feel enriched by the experience.
There’s a possibility that an idea for this book was simply a treatment of famed/doomed climber George Mallory and the author’s ongoing parallel journey. This defined project may have grown to something more universal but as always this is a rich tapestry of analysis: Macfarlane examines the historic travel literature and parses how attitudes towards altitude have changed, how mountains went from obstacles to Romantic notions of actualization. Dr Johnson is cited for his jaunts, as are Coleridge and Shelley. As the maps of the globe were filled in and there was less to discover, less to conquer, the idea of self had to be validated in ever more perilous manners: hence the poles and those jagged peaks.
I was awed by much of this. The blending of such with the author’s own experience still clicked audibly and for the better.
It is surprising how enchanted I become each time I open a text by Macfarlane. There’s a sidelong sense where it shouldn’t work for me. The angles are excessively acute. Yet I marvel and even when I don’t, I still feel enriched by the experience.
There’s a possibility that an idea for this book was simply a treatment of famed/doomed climber George Mallory and the author’s ongoing parallel journey. This defined project may have grown to something more universal but as always this is a rich tapestry of analysis: Macfarlane examines the historic travel literature and parses how attitudes towards altitude have changed, how mountains went from obstacles to Romantic notions of actualization. Dr Johnson is cited for his jaunts, as are Coleridge and Shelley. As the maps of the globe were filled in and there was less to discover, less to conquer, the idea of self had to be validated in ever more perilous manners: hence the poles and those jagged peaks.
I was awed by much of this. The blending of such with the author’s own experience still clicked audibly and for the better.
July 19, 2009
It's a miracle that the ranks of people who have scaled mountains and rambled around hilltops count one of the most brilliant writers I have ever read -- a man totally perceptive to the impact that mountains have had on a human psyche, and also able to get across so richly the impact that they have had on his own. Robert MacFarlane cannot write two sentences without a stunning and meaningful turn of phrase, and his appetite for the vistas of nature matches the nuance of the historical research he has done. "Mountains of the Mind" is about one-third reflection on personal experiences, and two-thirds a survey of changing attitudes in Western Civilization toward altitude -- starting with Petrarch's moralizing view of mountains as an allegory for spiritual achievement and the Renaissance's disgust toward such unnatural and barren rocks and culminating in Everest as the final frontier of British Imperialism. There are plenty of stories about the immense passion of explorers for "stepping off the map," as well as the terror and despair of adventurers soon to become frozen mummies.
My only issue with this book was a perceived lack of organization. At first, the author seemed to jump between different time periods and thinkers, and there did not seem to be persistently developed themes (or even chronology) until more in-depth discussion of the late British imperial era (touching on the colorful characters of the Great Game). The final chapters end up tying the disparate threads, making for a stunning resolution. It is difficult to imagine a better narrative of Mallory's failed 1924 attempt on Everest (as well as the eventual discovery of his corpse), as it encapsulated all the joy and pain and promise of mountains.
My only issue with this book was a perceived lack of organization. At first, the author seemed to jump between different time periods and thinkers, and there did not seem to be persistently developed themes (or even chronology) until more in-depth discussion of the late British imperial era (touching on the colorful characters of the Great Game). The final chapters end up tying the disparate threads, making for a stunning resolution. It is difficult to imagine a better narrative of Mallory's failed 1924 attempt on Everest (as well as the eventual discovery of his corpse), as it encapsulated all the joy and pain and promise of mountains.
January 17, 2021
2.5 stars.
-
This book took me an embarrassingly long time to read, mostly because I was so frustrated with it. Based on the book's description, I was expecting a mixture of history and theory around why so many explorers find themselves drawn to perilous mountain climbing. What I got was almost 300 pages of nothing but repetitive mountaineering history that never went significantly beyond the 1920's. If you're looking for a book to give you a brief overview about the Western history of mountaineering, maybe you'll enjoy this.
The last two chapters of the book were the best. The chapter on Everest gave a straightforward account of George Mallory's obsession with climbing Everest that I found compelling, and the final chapter, which is also the shortest chapter, was most like what I expected the book to be about: a critical analysis of the human drive to climb to the top.
This book was really not what I was looking for, and I gave it 2.5 stars because a lot of times the writing feels extremely repetitive, as if Robert Macfarlane had a ton of research without any concrete idea of how to go about differentiating it all on the page. I did learn some interesting things, but in the end, I was really disappointed. So much so that I almost DNFed it, and I almost never do that.
-
This book took me an embarrassingly long time to read, mostly because I was so frustrated with it. Based on the book's description, I was expecting a mixture of history and theory around why so many explorers find themselves drawn to perilous mountain climbing. What I got was almost 300 pages of nothing but repetitive mountaineering history that never went significantly beyond the 1920's. If you're looking for a book to give you a brief overview about the Western history of mountaineering, maybe you'll enjoy this.
The last two chapters of the book were the best. The chapter on Everest gave a straightforward account of George Mallory's obsession with climbing Everest that I found compelling, and the final chapter, which is also the shortest chapter, was most like what I expected the book to be about: a critical analysis of the human drive to climb to the top.
This book was really not what I was looking for, and I gave it 2.5 stars because a lot of times the writing feels extremely repetitive, as if Robert Macfarlane had a ton of research without any concrete idea of how to go about differentiating it all on the page. I did learn some interesting things, but in the end, I was really disappointed. So much so that I almost DNFed it, and I almost never do that.
Read
May 4, 2023My first Macfarlane (and his first too), and it was plenty good enough. But not great. Plenty of because it was there kind of stuff. Which is all a set-up for the penultimate chapter which is all about Mallory's three attempts to summit Everest. You can't write that story badly. But you can't write it better than Wade Davis did.
March 19, 2024
Robert Macfarlane takes a look at our fascination with mountains and mountain climbing. He explains that this phenomenon is a somewhat recent development. Until the late seventeenth century mountains were viewed as obstacles and believed to harbor monsters. People living nearby had no desire to climb them. Gradual changes came about in the eighteenth century and exploded in the nineteenth century, when the idea of summitting peaks started to become an obsession.
When Macfarlane was young, he devoured his grandfather’s books about mountaineering expeditions and was awed by the explorers’ achievements, especially since they had none of the modern equipment or fabrics that dominate the scene today. There is plenty of geology, a closely related topic. Macfarlane provides a history of the major mountain ranges, and theories of how and when they were formed. He sprinkles in memories of his own mountaineering experiences. He recounts the endeavors of several well-known explorers, such as Mallory’s three attempts to summit Everest (1921, 1922 and 1924).
I think he achieves a nice balance between scientific facts, history, personal stories, and quotes from literature. It is written in a lively and entertaining style. It will appeal to those who appreciate books about the outdoors, climbing enthusiasts, and armchair explorers. I can also recommend this author’s Underland, which is one of my favorite books.
When Macfarlane was young, he devoured his grandfather’s books about mountaineering expeditions and was awed by the explorers’ achievements, especially since they had none of the modern equipment or fabrics that dominate the scene today. There is plenty of geology, a closely related topic. Macfarlane provides a history of the major mountain ranges, and theories of how and when they were formed. He sprinkles in memories of his own mountaineering experiences. He recounts the endeavors of several well-known explorers, such as Mallory’s three attempts to summit Everest (1921, 1922 and 1924).
I think he achieves a nice balance between scientific facts, history, personal stories, and quotes from literature. It is written in a lively and entertaining style. It will appeal to those who appreciate books about the outdoors, climbing enthusiasts, and armchair explorers. I can also recommend this author’s Underland, which is one of my favorite books.
June 21, 2025
nema se što zamjeriti ovom djelu. naslovnica je ispravno i izravno opravdana: u centru macfarlaneove priče se planine, ljubav prema njima i nagoni koji stoje iza avanturističkih poduhvata koji, nerijetko, znaju imati i tragičan epilog. u moru raznorazne planinarske literature, ovo je mnogo više od suhoparnih povijesti alpinizma ili prenabrijanih opisa pustolovina penjača... ovo je oda planinama, snijegu i ledu, inju, vjetru i svjetlosti. pisana sjajnom rukom svjedoka-očevica, dotiče ravno u dušu.
March 31, 2021
"The unknown is so inflammatory to the imagination because it is an imaginatively malleable space: a projection-screen on to which a culture or an individual can throw their fears and their aspirations."
When Hannibal crossed the Alps in ancient times, it was for the practical purpose of crossing a barrier with solid objectives in mind: surprise and conquest. Sea voyagers did what they did to find gold or to fill in the maps with seized colonial holdings for royalty. Nature, or nature for its own sake, was never a goal, it was an obstacle; something to be feared, surmounted, but not surmounted strictly to surmount it. It was an inconvenience, a challenge in the way of an end game.
But then, people began to climb mountains just because they could. Thor Heyerdahl crossed the oceans in a rickety ancient craft, just to see if he could do it. In these adventures, there was no particular sane reason to be doing them. Something had happened in the Western mindset to change the paradigm, the thinking -- about nature, how to engage it, and the inherent value of sheer challenge itself.
That history of a changing mindset is what Robert Macfarlane covers, gorgeously and sweepingly, in this mind-bending, swoon-inducing grand philosophical musing on why mountain climbing came to be, and the currents of Western thought that paved the way to the rationalizations for climbing them. It's a book that, in its way, becomes an alternate history of the West -- spanning the arts, sciences, philosophy, and social norms -- and it reads like the loveliest literary fiction. As I was reading it, drinking in and embracing its constantly scintillating and paradigm-shifting ideas, I once stopped to note: "this is a brain teddy bear."
Mountains, like many features of nature, were once mystified, and their meanings suffused with fear. They were places you avoided. Monsters and trolls lived there. Or bandits. Climbing them was not even considered. Why do it? There was no inherent material value in that sort of land; beauty was to be found in lower terra firma, in the rivers and the glades and the orderly tamed environs of arable lands. Western life, as it prospered, veered to the controllable, the comfortable. Mountains were literally seen as "God's mistakes" or the products of something Satanic. They were ugly and a pox on the landscape. It literally was not until a few centuries ago that they began to be considered beautiful and majestic, or something to be encountered, and to be conquered. Macfarlane goes into great detail on the evolution of this changing perspective as Western people began to explore the world and fill in the blank spaces on their maps. The book ends with Macfarlane's heartbreaking account of the tragic early climb of Mount Everest in 1924 by George Mallory, a dreamer who literally fell in love with the mountain, even though he dreaded it, and feared his own obsession. The exploration of such obsessions are a big part of the book.
It's a glorious book about human yearning, desires, and the need to define who we are, and our place in the world.
It's a book to cherish, and now, one of my all-time favorites.
Golden Holy Grail, and highly recommended.
EG-KR@KY 2021
When Hannibal crossed the Alps in ancient times, it was for the practical purpose of crossing a barrier with solid objectives in mind: surprise and conquest. Sea voyagers did what they did to find gold or to fill in the maps with seized colonial holdings for royalty. Nature, or nature for its own sake, was never a goal, it was an obstacle; something to be feared, surmounted, but not surmounted strictly to surmount it. It was an inconvenience, a challenge in the way of an end game.
But then, people began to climb mountains just because they could. Thor Heyerdahl crossed the oceans in a rickety ancient craft, just to see if he could do it. In these adventures, there was no particular sane reason to be doing them. Something had happened in the Western mindset to change the paradigm, the thinking -- about nature, how to engage it, and the inherent value of sheer challenge itself.
That history of a changing mindset is what Robert Macfarlane covers, gorgeously and sweepingly, in this mind-bending, swoon-inducing grand philosophical musing on why mountain climbing came to be, and the currents of Western thought that paved the way to the rationalizations for climbing them. It's a book that, in its way, becomes an alternate history of the West -- spanning the arts, sciences, philosophy, and social norms -- and it reads like the loveliest literary fiction. As I was reading it, drinking in and embracing its constantly scintillating and paradigm-shifting ideas, I once stopped to note: "this is a brain teddy bear."
Mountains, like many features of nature, were once mystified, and their meanings suffused with fear. They were places you avoided. Monsters and trolls lived there. Or bandits. Climbing them was not even considered. Why do it? There was no inherent material value in that sort of land; beauty was to be found in lower terra firma, in the rivers and the glades and the orderly tamed environs of arable lands. Western life, as it prospered, veered to the controllable, the comfortable. Mountains were literally seen as "God's mistakes" or the products of something Satanic. They were ugly and a pox on the landscape. It literally was not until a few centuries ago that they began to be considered beautiful and majestic, or something to be encountered, and to be conquered. Macfarlane goes into great detail on the evolution of this changing perspective as Western people began to explore the world and fill in the blank spaces on their maps. The book ends with Macfarlane's heartbreaking account of the tragic early climb of Mount Everest in 1924 by George Mallory, a dreamer who literally fell in love with the mountain, even though he dreaded it, and feared his own obsession. The exploration of such obsessions are a big part of the book.
It's a glorious book about human yearning, desires, and the need to define who we are, and our place in the world.
It's a book to cherish, and now, one of my all-time favorites.
Golden Holy Grail, and highly recommended.
EG-KR@KY 2021
October 13, 2018
Why do people climb mountains despite the obvious danger to their life and limb? This book attempts to answer that question.
Many examples are given here but I’ll just pick one, that of George Mallory. He was just 35 years old with a young wife and three kids ages 6, 4 and a baby of 6 months. He was a tall schoolmaster of excellent physique, with writing ambitions and interests in international politics. In his first two attempts his group of mountain climbers had already suffered deaths and yet, fully aware of what could happen to him, he still went ahead on his third, and final, try to do what no one, at that time, had ever done before: reach the summit of Mt. Everest. He perished on this final attempt.
He didn’t even reach the summit although his group had one, notable achievement of sorts: they were the first to discover a climbable path towards the very top of the tallest mountain in the world located at its so-called “North Face” (thus, maybe, where the now famous brand of outdoor gears and apparel got its name).
George Mallory’s body was discovered only in May 1999, seventy-five (75) years after his death and disappearance. His widow would have been long dead by that time and maybe even his children, but the book made no mention of this, just a description of Mallory’s body which had been preserved in ice:
“He (Mallory) was at an altitude of nearly 27,000 feet, face down on the steep shelves of talus on Everest’s north face, his arms flung up and out as though he had halted himself as he slid by digging his nails into the rock.
“Mallory’s clothes had been torn from his corpse by decades of wind and frost, and lay in rags. But the extreme cold had preserved his body. His back still undulated with muscle beneath skin that was bleached bright white. Up there, his body had not putrefied, it had petrified—his flesh looked like nothing so much as stone. When pictures of Mallory’s corpse were released to the world’s media, many commentators likened it to a white marble statue. In death as in life, for Mallory had been a man of unusual physical beauty whose appearance provoked ecstatic comparisons with classical sculpture from the men and women who fluttered around him. ‘Mon Dieu! George Mallory!’ exclaimed Lytton Strachey famously after first seen him in 1909. ‘My hand trembles, my heart palpitates, my whole being swoons away at the words…he’s six foot high, with the body of an athlete by Praxiteles, and a face—oh incredible.’ Strachey’s twittery comparison of Mallory with a Praxitelean sculpture in white marble would harden, ninety years later, into a macabre reality.”
He could have easily quit after his two failed tries, gone back to his school, to his family, wrote his short stories and novels, and watched his kids grow up and then die of old age. So why did he keep coming back to the mountain? Answering said question during a 1923 lecture, he said: “I suppose we go back to Everest…because in a word we can’t help it.” In a letter to a friend, he said: “Perhaps you will be able to tell me why I embarked on an adventure such as this?” And then there is this now immortal quote which he gave as an answer to a New York reporter in 1922 when asked why he keeps on returning to the mountain: “Because it’s there.”
Clearly Mallory himself didn’t know why he kept on doing what killed him in the end. Certainly there was a promise of fame and fortune. Had he succeeded, he would have come down from the mountain a hero and a celebrity, his name forever etched immortally in the history of mountain climbing. But this could not have been just the reason because even up to now, after countless successful climbs by all sorts of people (even kids, the blind, old people and the one-legged), people still continue to climb it and dying either on their way up or on their way down.
So, really, why? In a letter to his father in 1863, John Ruskin theorised:
“That question of the moral effect of danger is a very curious one, but this I know and find, practically, that if you come to a dangerous place, and turn back from it, though it may have been perfectly right and wise to do so, still your CHARACTER has suffered some slight deterioration; you are to that extent weaker, more lifeless, more effeminate, more liable to passion and error in the future; whereas if you go through with the danger, though it may have been apparently rash and foolish to encounter it, you come out of the encounter a stronger and a better man, fitter for every sort of work and trial, and NOTHING BUT DANGER produces this effect.”
Nietzsche, a more famous metaphysician of fear than Ruskin, had this famous line: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” What he failed to say however, based on countless experience, are two more indisputable truisms: One, is that “What doesn’t kill you now, may kill you tomorrow if you repeat it”; and Two, “”What didn’t kill the others and made them stronger, could very well kill you during your first try.”
In the final analysis, however, it could very well be just instinct. There is that universal, unexplainable pleasure in being confronted with fear and danger provided you survive it. That is why some love to watch horror movies, do shoplifting, race cars or ride roller coasters. I read someone describe mountain-climbers as the “Conquistadores of the Useless.” And echo of this is found in the following quote in this book:
“More recently, the mountain summit has become a secular symbol of effort and reward. ‘To peak’ is to reach the high point of an endeavour. To be ‘on top of the world’ is to feel incomparably well. Undoubtedly, the sense of accomplishment which comes from reaching a mountain-top has historically been a key element of the desire for height. This is unsurprising—what simpler allegory of success could there be than the ascent of a mountain? The summit provides the visible goal, the slopes leading up to it the challenge. When we walk or climb up a mountain we traverse not only the actual terrain of the hillside but also the metaphysical territories of struggle and achievement. To reach a summit is very palpably to have triumphed over adversity: to have conquered something, albeit something utterly useless. It is the imagined significance of the summit—which is, after all, nothing but a patch of rock or snow raised higher than any other by the contingencies of geology; a set of co-ordinates in space; a figment of geometry; a point without a point—which has largely given rise to the industry of ascent.”
So, really, why do people make dangerous mountain climbs? You could very well ask why moths are attracted to flames which incinerate them.
Many examples are given here but I’ll just pick one, that of George Mallory. He was just 35 years old with a young wife and three kids ages 6, 4 and a baby of 6 months. He was a tall schoolmaster of excellent physique, with writing ambitions and interests in international politics. In his first two attempts his group of mountain climbers had already suffered deaths and yet, fully aware of what could happen to him, he still went ahead on his third, and final, try to do what no one, at that time, had ever done before: reach the summit of Mt. Everest. He perished on this final attempt.
He didn’t even reach the summit although his group had one, notable achievement of sorts: they were the first to discover a climbable path towards the very top of the tallest mountain in the world located at its so-called “North Face” (thus, maybe, where the now famous brand of outdoor gears and apparel got its name).
George Mallory’s body was discovered only in May 1999, seventy-five (75) years after his death and disappearance. His widow would have been long dead by that time and maybe even his children, but the book made no mention of this, just a description of Mallory’s body which had been preserved in ice:
“He (Mallory) was at an altitude of nearly 27,000 feet, face down on the steep shelves of talus on Everest’s north face, his arms flung up and out as though he had halted himself as he slid by digging his nails into the rock.
“Mallory’s clothes had been torn from his corpse by decades of wind and frost, and lay in rags. But the extreme cold had preserved his body. His back still undulated with muscle beneath skin that was bleached bright white. Up there, his body had not putrefied, it had petrified—his flesh looked like nothing so much as stone. When pictures of Mallory’s corpse were released to the world’s media, many commentators likened it to a white marble statue. In death as in life, for Mallory had been a man of unusual physical beauty whose appearance provoked ecstatic comparisons with classical sculpture from the men and women who fluttered around him. ‘Mon Dieu! George Mallory!’ exclaimed Lytton Strachey famously after first seen him in 1909. ‘My hand trembles, my heart palpitates, my whole being swoons away at the words…he’s six foot high, with the body of an athlete by Praxiteles, and a face—oh incredible.’ Strachey’s twittery comparison of Mallory with a Praxitelean sculpture in white marble would harden, ninety years later, into a macabre reality.”
He could have easily quit after his two failed tries, gone back to his school, to his family, wrote his short stories and novels, and watched his kids grow up and then die of old age. So why did he keep coming back to the mountain? Answering said question during a 1923 lecture, he said: “I suppose we go back to Everest…because in a word we can’t help it.” In a letter to a friend, he said: “Perhaps you will be able to tell me why I embarked on an adventure such as this?” And then there is this now immortal quote which he gave as an answer to a New York reporter in 1922 when asked why he keeps on returning to the mountain: “Because it’s there.”
Clearly Mallory himself didn’t know why he kept on doing what killed him in the end. Certainly there was a promise of fame and fortune. Had he succeeded, he would have come down from the mountain a hero and a celebrity, his name forever etched immortally in the history of mountain climbing. But this could not have been just the reason because even up to now, after countless successful climbs by all sorts of people (even kids, the blind, old people and the one-legged), people still continue to climb it and dying either on their way up or on their way down.
So, really, why? In a letter to his father in 1863, John Ruskin theorised:
“That question of the moral effect of danger is a very curious one, but this I know and find, practically, that if you come to a dangerous place, and turn back from it, though it may have been perfectly right and wise to do so, still your CHARACTER has suffered some slight deterioration; you are to that extent weaker, more lifeless, more effeminate, more liable to passion and error in the future; whereas if you go through with the danger, though it may have been apparently rash and foolish to encounter it, you come out of the encounter a stronger and a better man, fitter for every sort of work and trial, and NOTHING BUT DANGER produces this effect.”
Nietzsche, a more famous metaphysician of fear than Ruskin, had this famous line: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” What he failed to say however, based on countless experience, are two more indisputable truisms: One, is that “What doesn’t kill you now, may kill you tomorrow if you repeat it”; and Two, “”What didn’t kill the others and made them stronger, could very well kill you during your first try.”
In the final analysis, however, it could very well be just instinct. There is that universal, unexplainable pleasure in being confronted with fear and danger provided you survive it. That is why some love to watch horror movies, do shoplifting, race cars or ride roller coasters. I read someone describe mountain-climbers as the “Conquistadores of the Useless.” And echo of this is found in the following quote in this book:
“More recently, the mountain summit has become a secular symbol of effort and reward. ‘To peak’ is to reach the high point of an endeavour. To be ‘on top of the world’ is to feel incomparably well. Undoubtedly, the sense of accomplishment which comes from reaching a mountain-top has historically been a key element of the desire for height. This is unsurprising—what simpler allegory of success could there be than the ascent of a mountain? The summit provides the visible goal, the slopes leading up to it the challenge. When we walk or climb up a mountain we traverse not only the actual terrain of the hillside but also the metaphysical territories of struggle and achievement. To reach a summit is very palpably to have triumphed over adversity: to have conquered something, albeit something utterly useless. It is the imagined significance of the summit—which is, after all, nothing but a patch of rock or snow raised higher than any other by the contingencies of geology; a set of co-ordinates in space; a figment of geometry; a point without a point—which has largely given rise to the industry of ascent.”
So, really, why do people make dangerous mountain climbs? You could very well ask why moths are attracted to flames which incinerate them.
December 19, 2019
This was a hard book to read at the start. I'm a bedtime reader, and there were so many words I had to look up! Partly because of jargon and partly because I'm not as eloquent in English as I might have thought.
But then, this was a truly wonderful book.
About mountains, sure, but even more so about people. How their perception of the world changed in the last centuries and how the influence of the mountains shaped everything. Everything? Yes. Everything.
Geology, philosophy, writing, painting, natural history, chemistry, physics, you name it, and this book lets you in on how it developed and changed humanities awareness of the world we inhabit since roughly the 1600's.
By now, my slow reading was more by choice. I was savouring the passages I read, seeing the world through new eyes.
If you like mountains: read this book.
If you like history: read this book.
If you like geology: read this book.
If you are a Romantic (the art period): read this book.
If you are captivated by white spots on a map: read this book.
If you want to read about a heap of travellers, mountaingazers and mountainclimbers, and explorers: read this book.
I could go on and on, but I'd rather tell you to go read this book. Get it. Treasure it. It's wonderful and one of a kind.
But then, this was a truly wonderful book.
About mountains, sure, but even more so about people. How their perception of the world changed in the last centuries and how the influence of the mountains shaped everything. Everything? Yes. Everything.
Geology, philosophy, writing, painting, natural history, chemistry, physics, you name it, and this book lets you in on how it developed and changed humanities awareness of the world we inhabit since roughly the 1600's.
By now, my slow reading was more by choice. I was savouring the passages I read, seeing the world through new eyes.
If you like mountains: read this book.
If you like history: read this book.
If you like geology: read this book.
If you are a Romantic (the art period): read this book.
If you are captivated by white spots on a map: read this book.
If you want to read about a heap of travellers, mountaingazers and mountainclimbers, and explorers: read this book.
I could go on and on, but I'd rather tell you to go read this book. Get it. Treasure it. It's wonderful and one of a kind.
November 8, 2010
What a stunningly good book! In an age of dodgy politicans, greedy bankers, money-grubbers and profiteers, Wayne Rooney, X-Factor and disposable junk culture in general, reading something like this is a total balm for the senses. The book is so obviously a labour of love for McFarlane and it is this passion for his subject that elevates(excuse the pun!)his writing. I really like the way he shares his passion with the reader. There isn't the remotest hint of showmanhip or a sense that he is writing a book to make a few quid. It's a complete history of why people became interested in mountains. Although it's only an interest that has developed in then last century or so, McFarlane traces this interest even further back to some of those wealthy English explorers of the 19th century who, at the drop of a hat, would try to scale soome of the world's highest peaks with hardly any experience and very dodgy gear.
If you love the outdoors, in particular the high places of the world then this is the book for you.
If you love the outdoors, in particular the high places of the world then this is the book for you.
April 17, 2017
Ik zal het zeggen zoals het is: ik ben een fan van Robert Macfarlane en ik hou ervan om te lezen hoe hij oude of wilde plaatsen zelf verkent en hoe hij dat ervaart. Ik hou van zijn stijl en van zijn gedachtengang, ik hou ervan hoe hij eerlijk is, hoe hij een boek opbouwt tot een soort climax, ik hou van zijn openheid tot een extra dimensie en ik hou van zijn spiritualiteit.
Bij de eerdere boeken die ik van zijn hand las, moest ik vaak naar adem happen en was er vaak een enorm gevoel van herkenning.
Niet bij dit boek - in dit boek reizen we slechts af en toe mee met MacFarlane - het gaat echt over de geschiedenis van de mensheid en hun relatie tot het gebergte, met de fascinatie voor hoogte en de ultieme offers die worden gebracht om dat ene doel te bereiken.
Het is een zeer goed boek, slim opgebouwd, ik heb weeral vanalles bijgeleerd, maar het is niet een boek dat me kort van adem achterliet. Daarom dus de 4 sterren.
Bij de eerdere boeken die ik van zijn hand las, moest ik vaak naar adem happen en was er vaak een enorm gevoel van herkenning.
Niet bij dit boek - in dit boek reizen we slechts af en toe mee met MacFarlane - het gaat echt over de geschiedenis van de mensheid en hun relatie tot het gebergte, met de fascinatie voor hoogte en de ultieme offers die worden gebracht om dat ene doel te bereiken.
Het is een zeer goed boek, slim opgebouwd, ik heb weeral vanalles bijgeleerd, maar het is niet een boek dat me kort van adem achterliet. Daarom dus de 4 sterren.
February 19, 2010
This book not only helped me to further understand my own fascination with mountains and mountaineering but also helped me to see the landscape and the pursuit in new lights, only furthering my love for mountains.
December 16, 2020
I love mountains, and in the absence of being able to visit them due to the pandemic or simple geography, I love reading about them. This book is a good, deep dive into Western/European cultural understanding of high places, and the Western/European development of "mountaineering". From the title/blurb/back cover (nothing Eurocentric) I expected a much more global, cross-cultural approach to the topic of humans' relationship with mountains. Many of the highest places on Earth are outside of Europe after all, and I would love to know more about how people and cultures in those regions related to high places, rather than a colonial understanding of how the Western/European explorer went out and discovered or conquered them. The climax of the book is a detailed account of Mallory's attempt on Everest, and pretty much the only references to Nepali and/or Tibetan understanding of the mountain is a four-line footnote on page 189. Overall, I liked the stories in the book, it just could have given us a lot more global, cultural, and colonial context.
November 22, 2015
Really struggled with this at times, the geology parts and MacFarlane's personal mountain experiences were interesting, unfortunately there was not much on this, the bulk of the book was the history of mountain climbing and this is where I had issues. It felt messy, jumping about in time mentioning a bit here and there about a climber, quoting a bit from a book and chucking in a bit more of his personal experience. Things change when he gets to the chapter on Everest and he focuses on the one climber, much better writing then. Finally my favourite part of the book was the last chapter, "Snow Hare", this short chapter was what I was hoping to get from the book, a short bit about meeting a snow hare during a whiteout, reminded me of Nan Shepherd's writing, really shame there was not more like this in the book.
This is the first book I've read by this author and it hasn't put me off his others books, I will give them a go.
This is the first book I've read by this author and it hasn't put me off his others books, I will give them a go.
July 24, 2022
Macfarlane is trying to trace what makes people fall in love with mountains, obsess over them, trying to conquer them. As a mountain - loving person myself, I enjoyed parts of the book, but other parts had an imperialistic, English touch to it that I disliked. Yes, Macfarlane is aware of this, but the book stills contains long passages about him travelling to remote & 'exotic' places or talk about people trying to be the first person (read: white, male, European...) to reach that summit. I do get the fascination, I really do, but I'd love to read and hear about other people too, those who have been exploited by Empire and imperialists and who have a very different relationship to these mountains. This book does not do them justice despite trying. It's not entirely the book's fault, but still. It's an interesting book, don't get me wrong... 3.5 stars
October 10, 2020
En las montañas de la mente MacFarlane ha tratado de explicar y ofrecer varios puntos de vistas del por que algunos hombres se sienten tan atraídos por las montañas. Con datos preciosos de índole científico, históricos, geográficos, religiosos, mitológicos,etc, etc, creo que al final me ha quedado mucho más claros del por que el poder de esta, muchas veces mortal, atracción. El libro se lee con algo grado de interés y casi siempre envuelto en un prosa magnífico y una estructura narrativa cuidada con el mejor arte. Es el segundo libro del autor que leo y ya estoy en fila para todos los demás.
June 15, 2025
I loved this book.
I miss mountains terribly, and I was so interested to learn in the cultural history that has led me to feel so viscerally and strongly about mountains. I remember 6 years ago when I read an essay that taught me that wilderness was a constructed concept, influencing how we feel about it now. I have talked about that idea so many times since then. This book took that idea and explored it further and more fully. I wish I had discovered this book sooner as I think it will sit with me for a long time.
I know I will reread it again soon.
*On women in the mountains*
One thing I don't love about this book is that Macfarlane only in passing mentions that women have not been the focus of the historical mountain story. This idea should have been explored beyond an acknowledgement. While this book only covers up to the 1920s, I am sure there is more to be said.
One way this really stuck out to me is that he referenced Percy Shelley frequently, and it seems an omission to not mention Mary Shelley, who is nowadays definitely the more famous of the two. Mountains obviously influenced Mary as well; the Alps are almost a character in their own right in Frankenstein (which I'm coincidently currently re-reading). They are the home of the monster, and alternatively inspiring and terrifying, themes that echo with Macfarlane's argument of the cultural perception of mountains.
I am not a historian, so maybe there is not much to be said about women and mountains in the past. Maybe mentioning Mary Shelley would have been irrelevant. But somehow I doubt it.
I miss mountains terribly, and I was so interested to learn in the cultural history that has led me to feel so viscerally and strongly about mountains. I remember 6 years ago when I read an essay that taught me that wilderness was a constructed concept, influencing how we feel about it now. I have talked about that idea so many times since then. This book took that idea and explored it further and more fully. I wish I had discovered this book sooner as I think it will sit with me for a long time.
I know I will reread it again soon.
*On women in the mountains*
One thing I don't love about this book is that Macfarlane only in passing mentions that women have not been the focus of the historical mountain story. This idea should have been explored beyond an acknowledgement. While this book only covers up to the 1920s, I am sure there is more to be said.
One way this really stuck out to me is that he referenced Percy Shelley frequently, and it seems an omission to not mention Mary Shelley, who is nowadays definitely the more famous of the two. Mountains obviously influenced Mary as well; the Alps are almost a character in their own right in Frankenstein (which I'm coincidently currently re-reading). They are the home of the monster, and alternatively inspiring and terrifying, themes that echo with Macfarlane's argument of the cultural perception of mountains.
I am not a historian, so maybe there is not much to be said about women and mountains in the past. Maybe mentioning Mary Shelley would have been irrelevant. But somehow I doubt it.
Read
January 14, 2022¿Cómo y cuándo las montañas pasaron de ser barreras peligrosas e infranqueables, habitadas por bestias y dragones, a suscitar los anhelos más aventureros de quienes se atreven a conquistarlas, incluso poniendo en riesgo su vida?
Me ha encantado. Sé que estamos en enero, pero ha entrado de lleno en mis favoritos de 2022. Estoy segura. Lo recomiendo muchísimo tanto si sois habituales de literatura de montaña como si es vuestro primer acercamiento. Precioso. Lleno de frases para enmarcar, crónicas personales, geografía e historia, y, por supuesto, vivencias crudas, propias del alpinismo.
El único asterisco que le saco al respecto es que me habría gustado encontrar más información local sobre la historia de Sagarmatha / Chomolungma / Monte Everest, no solo el punto de vista británico sobre las tres expediciones. Pero vaya: sigue siendo 15/10
Me ha encantado. Sé que estamos en enero, pero ha entrado de lleno en mis favoritos de 2022. Estoy segura. Lo recomiendo muchísimo tanto si sois habituales de literatura de montaña como si es vuestro primer acercamiento. Precioso. Lleno de frases para enmarcar, crónicas personales, geografía e historia, y, por supuesto, vivencias crudas, propias del alpinismo.
El único asterisco que le saco al respecto es que me habría gustado encontrar más información local sobre la historia de Sagarmatha / Chomolungma / Monte Everest, no solo el punto de vista británico sobre las tres expediciones. Pero vaya: sigue siendo 15/10
February 6, 2025
a really good book. learned about pleasures of mountain climbing such as frostbite, altitude sickness, snow blindness, and high altitude retinal detatchment! robert mcfarlane seems to be less (but still somewhat) confused as i am about why on earth people climb these damn things, but coming out of the book, i guess i have some abstract ideas as to why people climb big old rocks. am i inspired by these climbers? somewhat. will i climb a mountain? maybe. will i climb everest? you couldnt pay me enough.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 9, 2025
A thoughtful and truly unique book. It blends history and literature, science and anecdote, all to chart the story of man's fascination with mountains. This book will appeal to nature-lovers of every stripe, not just climbers.
Macfarlane is a talented and imaginative writer. His choice in chapter themes covered the subject from all angles, climaxing with a dramatic telling of George Mallory's three failed attempts on Everest.
This book isn't plain hero worship of early alpinists or thrillseekers. Despite being a climber himself, the author gives a pretty nuanced view on the activity's relationship to empire and colonialism, as well as the widows and children it's left behind.
Macfarlane is a talented and imaginative writer. His choice in chapter themes covered the subject from all angles, climaxing with a dramatic telling of George Mallory's three failed attempts on Everest.
This book isn't plain hero worship of early alpinists or thrillseekers. Despite being a climber himself, the author gives a pretty nuanced view on the activity's relationship to empire and colonialism, as well as the widows and children it's left behind.
November 30, 2014
A wonderful read that is not just for those who feel the need to climb higher and go further than others have gone before, but also for those like me who are content to learn about the seemingly contradictory addictive drive for glory and zen like pursuit of inner enlightenment that makes up that drive. This is not just a well written book about mountains, it is about how Western society has changed its attitudes towards mountains through history. McFarlane speaks of the early accounts of travellers and revelations of Romanticism with its reverence for the sublime and wild, high and remote places. He speaks of our changing in understanding, from mountains as an antediluvian remnant to the current understanding of deep time and the enormous geological processes that have thrust mountain ranges up and the glacial processes that have worn them down. This is a truly wonderful book that, as with all of McFarlane's, pivots around the life of a man, in this case Mallory, the man who died on his third attempt to climb Everest, and his internal struggle between beloved wife and the drive to reach the summit.
April 30, 2020
I think I haven't been this emotionally compromised by non-fiction since finishing Erebus: The Story of a Ship about the same time last year. I think it helps that I seem to be about as obsessed about landscapes, history, and polar exploration as Robert Macfarlane, and only slightly less about mountains.
[More eloquent review to come eventually, I hope. XD]
[More eloquent review to come eventually, I hope. XD]
December 29, 2010
Hmm, yes, writing style. This boy was too learned and it showed. I'm not sure if he meant it too, but again I couldn't engage with his philosophising over mountaineering. Even while much of it was about Mont Blanc and Chamonix which is where I was reading it. I'm writing this about two weeks later and I'm buggered if I can remember much about the book at all. Another one lying under my bed with a hundred pages to go and an appointment with ebay looming before I get to finish it.
June 1, 2023
I don’t feel the same need to summit mountains that Macfarlane feels, but when I read his writing, I am transported and transformed into a climber, an explorer, a mountaineer. He has some of the best landscape writing I’ve ever read. Beautiful, vibrant, inspiring. He asks the question why someone would leave hearth and home to risk their lives to summit a mountain. What are mountains to the climber? What do they embody? Why do we project those attributes to a mountain—the vastness, strangeness, majesty? He traces the tradition of climbing in the western world and writes about various mountaineers who risked or even lost their lives on mountain tops. Again, I am not one of these people, but I find myself fascinated by anything Macfarlane decides to write about.
May 20, 2025
Macfarlane is a fantastic writer, the kind that makes reading a small exaltation. I still think the type of mountaineering he describes is at best selfish, but I respect that people doing it can feel motivations they believe are worthwhile. And that a sense of ambition and wonder can elevate humanity through the actions of a few—although when it is inevitably couched in ineffable terms, as mountainous experiences seem to be, one wonders if it is shared or just gatekept. If you cannot share the experience you undertake on behalf of humankind, is it really for everyone? Or just for you? Macfarlane writes beautifully and I’ll excuse a lot for someone who does so.
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