Fans pick 100 books like Wilderness Essays

As Roderick Nash is the scholarly historian of the term “wilderness” in the American mind, Gary Snyder is the sagacious philosopher of the term for contemporary America. I admire Snyder’s poetic style as much as his evocation of the meaning of “place”; i.e., how one can develop both a physical and a spiritual awareness of the wild around us and then transfer that awareness to a sense of one’s place in the larger country and then the planet itself.

From chapters such as “The Place, The Region, and the Commons” and “Survival and Sacrament,” I have gleaned what I can only term Snyder’s mystical appreciation of wilderness and its importance for the future of the human race. Snyder is truly the “High Priest” of how to “practice” the wild in one’s own life.

In John McPhee’s classic defense of environmental sanity and wilderness protection, the archdruid is David Brower, in his day among the planet’s most fervent environmentalists and defenders of nature.

Charles Fraser, a resort developer, labeled Brower a “druid”: i.e., “ a religious figure who sacrifices people and worships trees,” and I know of no other book that so starkly contrasts the urge to develop everything—even the Grand Canyon!—with the counter urge to preserve as much as possible of the wild before it is all gone.

I deeply appreciate McPhee’s format: a series of dialogues in which Brower and his three opponents extol their arguments fully and then engage in rigorous debate about their wildly contrasting values.

Sigurd Olson’s book is the most beautifully written and profound evocation of the utter beauty of the Quetico-Superior wilderness that I have ever read. Olson finds wonder and astonishment everywhere: trees, lakes, rivers, wildlife, and birds; the sound of rain; “laughing loons,” the signature sound of the North Country; falling leaves and bobcat trails.

I have read this entire book twice, and each time, I have learned more about appreciating the beauty of the wild. Each chapter is a unique lesson in seeing, hearing, and—most importantly—learning how to appreciate the wild and immerse oneself within it while leaving it intact. 

Roderick Nash’s brilliantly argued and thoroughly researched book was the bedrock of a course I designed on American Environmental Literature while teaching humanities at a community college. As a published scholar, I deeply appreciate the logic of Nash’s arguments and the historical sweep of his narrative.

Nash chronicles the prevailing opinions of early “settlers” as they encountered and then began fulfilling the biblical injunction to “tame” the “new Eden” they had discovered: their reactions to the Native people, whom they readily labeled “savages” (i.e., not European civilized); the amazing and dangerous wildlife, especially in the American West; and the huge battles beginning in the 1960s to preserve what was then still untamed on the North American continent. 

This book was life-changing for me. 

David Haskell is a biologist who visits a one-square-meter patch of forest throughout the year and then writes about what he finds there. His writing is gorgeous and evocative—I felt like I was visiting the place with him and observing the non-human life alongside him. At the end of the book, Haskell encourages the reader to try this experiment of observation themselves with whatever natural place is nearby (yards and city parks count!). I did this for a few months myself and discovered my little urban backyard contains a fascinating natural world well worth my time.

The Forest Unseen taught me that ordinary nature is spectacular, and it’s happening all around us. All we need to do is pay attention (though kneeling or lying on the ground also helps). This is a book to be savored.

I loved this road memoir by one of our most gentle and graceful writers, the poet Richard Shelton, who mentored hundreds of incarcerated writers in Arizona prisons.

He writes of a return to the “delightful maze” of the town of Bisbee, where he first worked as a teacher in 1956, a place where the old copper miner's shacks cling to the hillsides of the Mule Mountains as precariously as the villas on a Mediterranean island, and where the people have shrugged off life's hard punches as insouciantly as a prizefighter.

Resplendent with nature writing, you can practically smell the creosote on the sentences. I think this is one of the most tonally accurate volumes ever written about this region.

I don’t know which of the journeys in this slim volume I cherish more: the outer, which entails an arduous trek through a remote corner of the Himalaya, or the inner which involves the author’s fraught quest for a deeply Buddhist kind of inner peace.

I have carried this book on similarly long walks in the wilds of Laos and Nepal—even on the very trails that Matthiessen trod. It is one of the great companions of my life.

This fine book was another discovery of mine as I studied the literature on aspects of the history of natural history for my own book in this genre. Although written by two academics, this book is easy to read by a generally educated public. It covers what is to me, the engrossing topic of the early botanical collectors and illustrators, both men and women. The authors recount the lives of eleven subjects from Linnaeus through Banks, Douglas, Spruce, and Hooker, and how they, together, founded the science of botany by roaming the world in search of new species. There are 32 well-chosen illustrations, in colour and monochrome.

Here is an excellent introduction to the “birders,” those amateurs, professional collectors, scientists, and artists—men and women—who have investigated ornithology in North America. The author, a Canadian, covers 22 fellow enthusiasts from Wilson and Audubon through Peterson, Bateman, and Sibley. She relates how each of her subjects studied and built upon the work of their predecessors to construct what we know today. 

Her book is well-constructed, easy to follow, and delightful to read. There are a few monochrome illustrations, portraits, and maps. I discovered this fine book during my research for my most recent book, and much admired the writing style and structural plan.

This book minces no words about the difficulties of hiking the Appalachian Trail. Bryson does a brilliant job laying out the reality that despite extensive planning and, in the case of his hiking partner, Steven Katz, differing motives, things can go wrong.

Bryson does an amazing job keeping the story light with side-splitting humor. The blend of humor and adventure play roles as some of the primary inspirations behind my own writing.