Why does a man head out into the woods one night, leaving everything behind him: home, friends, old life, even clothes? No trauma triggers the decision: it's not preceded by dialogue or even observed by others. And yet that is what the narrator/main character does in the opening scene of the book. "Narrator/main character" may seem cumbersome, but one of the things he leaves behind is his name; he won't be needing it for a while.
It soon becomes clear that the "why" doesn't matter, though there are intriguing hints along the way. What matters is the journey-the inward one and the outward. At first, the issue is survival: how does an educated product of civilization survive without tools and clothes? Scavenging the forgotten and discarded detritus on farms and by the roadside gives him his start, and he discovers that what he needs can almost always be either found or made-as long as he needs only essentials. And that raises one of the central questions of the book: what do we really need?
From this barest of beginnings, he shuffles with the most destitute, hungers with the penurious, survives with an every-growing array of skills. Learn how to live, eat, make weapons and build shelters in the forest; learn to construct a raft and escape notice in the night. Find the fabric of our world through geology, metallurgy, botany, palaeontology, and finally myth and vision.
