Customer Reviews

In Patagonia (Penguin Classics)

5 star:		(17)
4 star:		(4)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Published back in 1978, Bruce Chatwin's seamless mix of fact and fiction is still among the most enthralling of travel books. Prompted by a piece of reddish animal skin he found in his grandmother's curio cabinet when he was a child, the author ignites himself on a flight of fancy about its origin. This leads him to an expansive area of wild beauty, Patagonia on South America's southernmost tip. I have been lucky enough to visit this part of the world myself about four years ago, and I can confirm from my travels that Chatwin does an amazing job of capturing not only its physical splendor but its colorful inhabitants. However, this is no linear travel narrative, as the author breaks his stories down into mini-sections, ninety-seven in total.

Several of the episodes deal with his own experiences on the road and the individuals he encounters like the gauchos on the pampas, the Welsh-originated villagers, a French soprano, and a hippie from Haight-Ashbury looking for work in the mines. Interspersed with these accounts are snippets of history, real or imagined, such as an unknown connection between Magellan's expedition and Shakespeare's "The Tempest", the whereabouts of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid after they left the states, and a 19th-century European lawyer who convinced the local Araucanian Indians to elect him their monarch. Chatwin shows particular gift for culling whimsical trivia into a greater storytelling context that is hard to resist as long as the reader is aware that little of it is verifiable. He inevitably ends the book the way he started - by finding the source of the animal scrap. Few writers have shown such a vivid imagination and a powerful sense of imagery as Chatwin has with his splendid travelogue. This will make those with an extreme case of wanderlust want to book their flights to Punta Arenas, Chile, right away.

In December 1947, Bruce Chatwin began a journey through Patagonia, a "vast, vague territory that encompasses 900,000 square kilometres of Argentina and Chile." As he wandered, Chatwin recorded the stories of the people he met and those who had gone before him; "fugitives of justice, regime change, or simply 'the coop of England.'" The result was In Patagonia, an instant classic that was described as "a law unto itself."

Thirty years later, I landed in Puerto Montt, Chile at the northwestern edge of Patagonia and started my own journey through that windswept country. I toted In Patagonia along with me as I traveled through Patagonia; resolving every few days to read it, only to put in down in favor of more entertaining books after the first few pages. Despite the book's inability to really grab my attention, I had this unshakable notion that if one has a book titled In Patagonia and one is, in fact, in Patagonia, one should read the book. (This was coupled with the fact that I had used precious cargo space to haul the book 6,000 miles from home and I was damn well going to make use of it.) It wasn't until the end of the journey, while bussing it across Patagonia, that I packed all of my books *except* In Patagonia in the backpack that was stored underneath of the bus. Upon arriving in Punta Arenas ten hours later, I still didn't like In Patagonia, but I had read over a hundred pages and felt honor bound to stick it out for the rest of the book.

Paul Theroux best sums up what I didn't like about In Patagonia: "How had he traveled from here to there? How had he met this or that person? Life was never so neat as Bruce made out." In Patagonia isn't Chatwin's account of his travels through Patagonia so much as it is a collection of biographic narratives of people who have nothing in common except their inhabitance in Patagonia. There is no sense of cohesion to the book. Chatwin bounces from the story of two long-dead bandits to the possible existence of a Patagonian unicorn to the struggles of an Haight-Ashbury Flower Child stranded in Argentina to a traditional Argentinean asado then returns to further exploits of the outlaws, leaving me slightly bewildered and lost.

Nor does Chatwin dwell on most of his tales. A few accounts, such as the self proclaimed King of Patagonia and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, earned multiple chapters, but most stories were no more that a brief sketch, confined to no more than a page. I know this was a conscious stylistic choice of Chatwin, but the snippets left me feeling unsatisfied and wondering what their point was.

While I wasn't overly impressed with Chatwin's style, the main reason I continued the read In Patagonia was because in between the snippets, there was some fascinating stories. In 1859, a French lawyer called Orélie-Antoine de Tounens declared himself king of Araucania and Patagonia, a kingdom that stretches from Latitude 42 South to Cape Horn and still maintains a court in exile in Paris. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fled to Patagonia to avoid arrest in the States, but reverted to a life of crime and pulled off several successful robberies before they supposedly died in a shoot-out in Bolivia. In Patagonia reveals "the Patagonian origin of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, Darwin's theory of evolution, Shakespeare's Caliban, Dante's Hell, Conan Doyle's Lost World, Swift's Brobdignagians, Poe's Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. Even the Patagonian origin of Man himself." These stories propelled me through the dull bits to the end of the book.

Furthermore, my original assessment, that I should read In Patagonia while in Patagonia, was correct and there were times when I found myself nodding and agreeing with Chatwin's descriptions and assessments. In other parts, the thirty years between Chatwin's trip and mine had wrought profound changes and Chatwin's account and mine didn't remotely match up, demonstrating the political upheaval of South America in the latter part of the twentieth century.

There is also something thrilling about reading the story of town you're currently in or have just left. During my bus journey home, I changed busses in Puerto Natalas and spend the hour between my arrival and departure wandering around the town. I stopped at the town plaza as I walked back to the bus station. In the centre of the plaza was a raised dais with a train engine sitting atop it. Back on the bus, I read Chatwin's account of his trip to the town, which included the origins of the train:

"Puerto Natalas was a Red town ever since the meat-works opened up. The English built the meat-works during the First World War, four miles along the bay, where deep water ran inshore. They build a railway to bring the men to work; and when the place ran down, the citizens painted the engine and put it in the plaza - an ambiguous memorial."

Nicholas Shakespeare, who wrote the introduction to my copy of In Patagonia, described Chatwin saying, "Bruce Chatwin was always attracted to border countries: to places on the rim of the world, sandwiched ambiguously between cultures, neither one thing nor another." I am very much the same way and despite the negative aspects of In Patagonia, Chatwin did capture the wild, untamed abandon that is my Patagonia.

This is a re-read for me. I actually gave my copy to my partner years and years ago when we were in that relationship stage where you try to prove your meant-to-be-ness to each other by sharing books and music. I figured that since we both loved travel writing and we both had a dream of visiting Argentina, then Bruce Chatwin was a safe bet. (He's been a favorite writer of mine since falling in love with his work through the film version of Utz.)

I couldn't have been more off-base. He read it all right, but he really didn't like it. I think that I wouldn't be exaggerating to say that it actively irritated him. Since then he's tried a couple more times to read Chatwin, each one a failure. That remains the Dividing Line of Travel Writers for us-- I like eccentric people who talk about characters and odd history. B. wants to read about the beauty of the landscape and the things that a person can do while visiting. We have an awful lot of Meant-To-Be-Ness in other ways, but not travel writing, apparently.

Anyhow. I loved it. As I loved it the first time. I like the character of Chatwin as he meanders across the scene. I enjoy the way that he meditates on the people and on the history that affects their and his lives. I find that the loose way that he ties everything together works very well for me. I love and share his love of walking, and what that teaches you about where you are.

We have not yet made it to Argentina as a couple, but when we go, I'll be clutching this book under my arm. Recommended.

My passion for travel and discovery made this man and his writings a great addition to my library. In Patagonia is a great introduction to Chatwin's style and stories of exploration, and the delivery is pleasant. He goes beyond the tourist venues to become immersed in local culture, and then shares his experiences in such a way as to make me grateful he did.

What makes his writings more than simply a travelogue is the ability to make culture and perspective not only accessible, but fun!

For those that want to go everywhere and do everything, Bruce Chatwin is a great example: he did. He did, and his writings are a beautiful tribute to that passion to go off the beaten track.

Of all the travel books I've read over the years, this is the one I always come back to. It's an extraordinary work: a brilliant mix of journey, revelation, history, people of another land, another time. I marvel at Chatwin's gift of language, his insights into the ways and means of how the people in this ancient land of South America live, and have lived for centuries. There's a kind of authenticity to the storytelling techniques that Chatwin employs: it makes everything personal, almost private. And as a reader, you're drawn into his world, his engagement with the locals, with their roots and the richness of their history. The book is, quite simply, a masterpiece.

-Tom Maremaa, Author of the Forthcoming Metal Heads: A Novel from Kunati Books in Spring 2009

I am enjoying every single one of the short, sometimes very short, ninety seven stories of Bruce's In Patagonia. I do not miss at all the lack of a threading narrative giving unnecessary details of how he got from one town to the next. Perhaps in this era of short attention span and infinite linking our minds have morphed into absorbers of high density language only, and In Patagonia is all wheat and no chaff.

I must admit that Bruce's credibility was enhanced by the mention of some names like Teófilo Breide: I went to school with another member of that arab family with expansive land possessions near Epuyén. But beyond the actual names, Bruce's description of places, character, circumstances and attitudes is so accurate, so masterly perceived and conveyed that his prose invariably conjures up the scene in my mind, and I re-read to savour every sentence, at times a single word, as if sipping expensive wine.

If you have never been to Patagonia, reading this book is next to knowing Patagonia well. I am fortunate enough to enjoy both privileges.

Bruce Chatwin in 1974 was an unknown British journalist with no books to his name. Seeking the life of a nomad he flew to the southern part of South America and severed ties with his newspaper and former life with a single-sentence telegram: "Have gone to Patagonia." For the next 6 months he walked and hitchhiked around this remote region keeping a diary which became the basis for the book. According to the The Cambridge Companion to Travel Writing (2002) it is one of three most important travel books of its era: "[its] laconic and elliptical style, in its ninety-seven short sections averaging little more than a couple of page each, seemed to finally bring modernist aesthetics to a fundamentally nineteenth-century genre..[it was] a landmark in contemporary travel writing." The narrative does follow a geographic route, but the included map does not show it, the reader has to piece together where on the map Chatwin is next. There is almost no narrative about actual travel, each of the mini chapters starts in a new place with Chatwin already arrived. The people he meets and stays with have no background or reason why he is there. Throughout is interweaved chapters on Patagonian history, often highly esoteric and in some cases true original research by Chatwin he solves some puzzle or mystery of history: Chapter 49 is as good an etymology on the word "patagonia" as will ever be found.

Subsequent revelations showed some of it to be fiction; some of the people Chatwin wrote about later came forward and denied things happened, or who were characterized incorrectly. Chatwin never denied this but explained that his work did not so much change reality as augment it, sort of like how political cartoons can bring out a hidden truth.

Chatwin, who died age 48 of AIDS (he was bi-sexual and one of the super-star AIDS victims in the 1980s), went on to write other well known books and is recognized as a skilled stylist. His travel writing is very literary and the book is credited with reviving interest in the genre as a legitimate form of literature. It is full of great poetic imagery, I just picked a page at random and found this quote: "She was waiting for me, a white face behind a dusty window. She smiled, her painted mouth unfurling as a red flag caught in a sudden breeze. Her hair was dyed dark-auburn. Her legs were a mesopotamia of varicose veins. She still had the tatter of an extraordinary beauty. She had been making pastry and the grey dough clung to her hands. Her blood-red nails were cracked and chipped."

Bruce Chatwin wrote this superlative travel narrative over 30 years ago. For travelers of the "path less taken," Patagonia carries a special allure - it is one of the few areas that can rightly wear the accolade: "the ends of the earth." Due to the tough climate, particularly the harsh winds of the "roaring `40's," it has always been thinly populated, and those that do, well, they seem to have some different qualities about them, making the chance encounters potentially that much more rewarding.

Chatwin is in a category that is a very small minority among even inveterate travelers: not only does he get his inoculations; far more importantly, he does the research before arriving, so that he has a much better understanding about the nature and historical background of the places he will be seeing. He writes very well; interlacing historical vignettes with his own experiences. The author tells tales of the earlier inhabitants of the area, the Araucanian Indians, who "...painted their bodies red and flayed their enemies alive and sucked at the hearts of the dead." Then Chatwin can effortlessly segue into Charles Darwin's stories in The Voyage of the Beagle: Charles Darwin's Journal of Researches, and on to Butch Cassidy, who disappeared in the wilds of Patagonia, no doubt as he intended. Chatwin's erudition is impressive; he seems to take particular pleasure in describing the unlikely and chance intersections of historical personages in this land, but also shares an equal enthusiasm for tales of those who managed only a passing mention in history, like some of the Welsh who established large sheep farms there.

In terms of descriptive powers, consider: "The unnatural colours gave me a headache, but I cheered up on seeing a green tree- a Lombardy poplar, the punctuation mark of man." Or in describing the work of Bernal Diaz The Conquest of New Spain, Chatwin says that: "His lines are sometimes quoted to support the assertion that history aspires to the symmetry of myth." In terms of observations, consider his comment on Charles Darwin: "Instead he lapsed into that common failing of naturalists: to marvel at the intricate perfection of other creatures, and recoil from the squalor of man."

The only shortcoming that I can think of is the lack of a map that traces Chatwin's travels. Otherwise, it is charming, erudite, dense, richly informative. Chatwin would make a wonderful dinner guest, and I'm sure he has. He died, all too young, of AIDS, in 1989. 5-stars certainly, in memoriam, for travel narrative as it should be.

Chatwin captures the essence of Patagonia page after page, and I really enjoyed how he described the bleakness of the land but also how he found and described interesting people along the way. His adjectives were wonderful. He's right up there with best travel writers of all time, including some of the early explorers into lands unknown to Europeans. A classic to be read every couple of years, and also one to have in your packsack when you venturing into Chile and Argentina. Paul Theroux and Graham Greene liked his writing - that's a message in itself. Very enjoyable afternoon read...

In Chatwin's uncollected writings, posthumously titled "Anatomy of Restlessness", he recounts how he went to Patagonia on the suggestion of a ninety three year old friend of his. He went and returned six months later with the makings of a book. "While stringing its sentences together, I thought that telling stories was the only conceivable occupation for a superflous person such as myself".

"In Patagonia" is part travelogue, part history, and part anecdotal tour. This book has a discursive nature about it that stands on its own terms; it is composed of vignettes, loosely related, yet glued together with Chatwin's compelling narrations. He bounces around, describing the evocative landscapes of the Patagonian wilds; the legends of Butch Cassidy and his sidekick are teased out; there is his take on Darwin's theory as it applies to the unique fauna; he tells us of a self-proclaimed King of Patagonia and all his french connections; and he detours through discussions of half a dozen literary lights, none of which are even remotely connected with Patagonia. But . . .

It is Chatwin's imagination that is the guide, even if you're left wondering what happened to the trail. It is a non-linear journey and thus, a book full of twists and turns. He lived out his nomadic proclivities as he walked and hitchhiked around this vast region. The book that emerged from this ramble shows Chatwin's tremendous metaphoric powers; the magnetism of these narratives is undeniable. This is truly one fascinating read.

Most highly recommended.

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