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The Snow Leopard
In 1973, Peter Matthiessen and field biologist George Schaller traveled high into the remote mountains of Nepal to study the Himalayan blue sheep and possibly glimpse the rare and beautiful snow leopard. Matthiessen, a student of Zen Buddhism, was also on a spiritual quest to find the Lama of Shey at the ancient shrine on Crystal Mountain. As the climb proceeds, Matthiessen charts his inner path as well as his outer one, with a deepening Buddhist understanding of reality, suffering, impermanence, and beauty. This Penguin Classics edition features an introduction by acclaimed travel writer and novelist Pico Iyer.
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
336 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 1978
About the author
Peter Matthiessen
127 books834 followersPeter Matthiessen is the author of more than thirty books and the only writer to win the National Book Award for both non-fiction (The Snow Leopard, in two categories, in 1979 and 1980) and fiction (Shadow Country, in 2008). A co-founder of The Paris Review and a world-renowned naturalist, explorer and activist, he died in April 2014.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,460 reviews
April 13, 2024
This is one of the Finest books it has ever been my privilege to read. And I was doubly lucky: I listened to its fascinating saga of self-discovery - and of finding ultimate meaning - in the to-die-for audio book read by Matthiessen himself.
His cancer, fortunately, had abated its fury long enough for the recording to be produced. His voice cracks, his breathing is often laboured, but like any writer he exults in reliving the epochal turning point of his life through his own words.
He died shortly afterward. But he was already a literary superstar.
To Flower Children, become middle aged in their inevitable daily grind, he gave new hope in this book. Hope as the Tibetans of whom he treats here have in abundance that after endless Kalpas of Rebirth to a Life of Sorrow, complete enlightenment will at last be theirs!
Matthiessen's endlessly droning voice reassures us that One Day we will all be completely happy....
***
The Snow Leopard is a modern rarity - an albino carnivore which lives on the snow-clad eminences of the Himalayan Range. Sightings are rare. That's the spin Matthissen's grim amigo gives him.
But to see one is the lifelong goal (much as enlightenment is to his on-again off-again friend Matthiessen) of the author's ugly-tempered travelling companion.
The whole rich saga, pervaded by the near tedious melancholy of the two comrades as the going gets tougher and tougher, is fabulous.
The Buddhist visionary ethos fills these pages with towering hope. I honestly cannot remember a more beautiful literary experience.
And I have accordingly given it Five Stars, with many shantihs offered up to the author, now:
Gone, Gone,
Gone BEYOND!
Gate, Gate,
Parasam Paragate,
Bodhi Svaha!
His cancer, fortunately, had abated its fury long enough for the recording to be produced. His voice cracks, his breathing is often laboured, but like any writer he exults in reliving the epochal turning point of his life through his own words.
He died shortly afterward. But he was already a literary superstar.
To Flower Children, become middle aged in their inevitable daily grind, he gave new hope in this book. Hope as the Tibetans of whom he treats here have in abundance that after endless Kalpas of Rebirth to a Life of Sorrow, complete enlightenment will at last be theirs!
Matthiessen's endlessly droning voice reassures us that One Day we will all be completely happy....
***
The Snow Leopard is a modern rarity - an albino carnivore which lives on the snow-clad eminences of the Himalayan Range. Sightings are rare. That's the spin Matthissen's grim amigo gives him.
But to see one is the lifelong goal (much as enlightenment is to his on-again off-again friend Matthiessen) of the author's ugly-tempered travelling companion.
The whole rich saga, pervaded by the near tedious melancholy of the two comrades as the going gets tougher and tougher, is fabulous.
The Buddhist visionary ethos fills these pages with towering hope. I honestly cannot remember a more beautiful literary experience.
And I have accordingly given it Five Stars, with many shantihs offered up to the author, now:
Gone, Gone,
Gone BEYOND!
Gate, Gate,
Parasam Paragate,
Bodhi Svaha!
July 23, 2022
I have taken months since reading this book to finally write this (long) review:
Here's some selections from the book to begin, so you can see Peter Matthiessen's spirit, his Buddhist nature, and his love of language, without my intervention or commentary:
“The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no 'meaning,' they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.”
“Today most scientists would agree with the ancient Hindus that nothing exists or is destroyed, things merely change shape or form. . . the cosmic radiation that is thought to come from the explosion of creation strikes the earth with equal intensity from all directions, which suggests either that the earth is at the center of the universe, as in our innocence we once supposed, or that the known universe has no center.”
“The sun is roaring, it fills to bursting each crystal of snow. I flush with feeling, moved beyond my comprehension, and once again, the warm tears freeze upon my face. These rocks and mountains, all this matter, the snow itself, the air--the earth is ringing. All is moving, full of power, full of light.”
“The Lama of the Crystal Monastery appears to be a very happy man, and yet I wonder how he feels about his isolation in the silences of Tsakang, which he has not left in eight years now and, because of his legs, may never leave again. Since Jang-bu seems uncomfortable with the Lama or with himself or perhaps with us, I tell him not to inquire on this point if it seems to him impertinent, but after a moment Jang-bu does so. And this holy man of great directness and simplicity, big white teeth shining, laughs out loud in an infectious way at Jang-bu’s question. Indicating his twisted legs without a trace of self-pity or bitterness, as if they belonged to all of us, he casts his arms wide to the sky and the snow mountains, the high sun and dancing sheep, and cries, 'Of course I am happy here! It’s wonderful! Especially when I have no choice!'”
“Left alone, I am overtaken by the northern void-no wind, no cloud, no track, no bird, only the crystal crescents between peaks, the ringing monuments of rock that, freed from the talons of ice and snow, thrust an implacable being into the blue. In the early light, the rock shadows on the snow are sharp; in the tension between light and dark is the power of the universe. This stillness to which all returns, this is reality, and soul and sanity have no more meaning than a gust of snow; such transience and insignificance are exalting, terrifying, all at once. . . Snow mountains, more than sea or sky, serve as a mirror to one’s own true being, utterly still, utterly clear, a void, an Emptiness without life or sound that carries in Itself all life, all sound.”
“Figures dark beneath their loads pass down the far bank of the river, rendered immortal by the streak of sunset upon their shoulders"--Peter Matthiessen, all quotations from The Snow Leopard
I started this book a few times in my twenties. It won the National Book Award in 1978, when I was first teaching, and I was not yet ready to read it. Or maybe, if I had gone “on the road” as Kerouac got a generation to do, one way or the other, I might have taken it with me then and actually read it. I tried on a few other occasions to get into it, and I couldn’t do it, for one reason or the other, but for some reason I always knew at some point it would be important for me to experience. Something like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, it was a book for a time, highly influential, but this book is in my opinion a much better and richer book. But even then, having slow-read it over the month of my trip, it has still taken me months to get to writing about it. I warn you, this could go on for a while. I’m mostly writing it for myself, but you are welcome to come along for my (reading) journey.
The Snow Leopard is one of the best and important books I have ever read, and I finally read it not in some hippie solo way or at an Ashram or something, but on a one-month road trip (in a mini-van, no less, ha!) with three kids and my wife, making a big western circle of the U.S., leaving Chicago and going through Montana to Seattle, down the Oregon coastline to Monterey Bay, across the desert (stopping at Vegas for a day, which was of course surreal in comparison with everything else), through the Rockies and across the Great Plains back home. An epic, once-in-a-lifetime trip, tent camping, hiking several national parks, driving through the west I know and love, sometimes reading the poetry of the region if I remembered to look it up as I went. A pilgrimage, of sorts, for me, anyway, partly spiritual as much as getting in touch with natural beauty and friends along the way. I’m not, as Matthiessen is, a Zen Buddhist, by the way, but in addition to Buddhism-inspired poetry like Gary Snyder’s, I also read a Buddhist-themed architectural book on the trip, The Timeless Way of Building by Christopher Alexander, that explores the relationships between selves and surroundings. Organic architecture, in harmony with place. Also perfect for the trip and in tandem with The Snow Leopard.
Matthiessen, equally adept at fiction and non-fiction, in The Snow Leopard writes the book of his life. He’s on a pilgrimage to the Himalayas a year after his wife is dead, leaving his eight-year-old son behind with family as he seeks at least two things: A glimpse of the rare and the presumedly soon-to-be-extinct Snow Leopard, and a visit with the Lama of Shay at the Crystal Mountain, where few westerners have dared venture. As I said, he’s a Zen Buddhist (something I did in the seventies casually study as one life alternative, as I eased slowly but inexorably out of my Dutch Reformed Christian upbringing), and this is a time in his life he wants/needs to make this quest, this journey.
And he makes it with a friend, crusty field biologist George Schaller, who is there to study Himalayan Blue Sheep. Matthiessen is crusty, too, actually; he doesn't project himself as a saint. They go with a number of sherpas and encounter a very few people along their way, though PM does actually meet the Lama of Shay.
But the book is mainly Matthiessen’s account of his inner and outer journey, past and present, as they all become one, a study of grief, beauty, impermanence, related in some of the most beautiful language to ever grace the page. You know Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods? Or Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, or even old John Bunyan’s Pilgram’s Progress? The travel narrative that is also a journey of the soul has a long tradition, and a rich one. It’s worth the time to travel with these explorers once in awhile.
But speaking of harmony, and seeking a creature as you are also essentially seeking yourself, which is a kind of contradiction to Buddhism about being content where you are: There were two key Snow Leopard-like creatures on our family trip’s list: Hump-backed whales and elk, though we hadn't sought them out in particular, initially. The hump-backed whales, orcas and other whales were closer to the shoreline than in decades around Monterey Bay in late August 2015, and we stood with various locals reverently and feverishly, able with our naked eye to see them spout, breach and feed, boats and kayaks hovering around them at a respectful distance. It felt like what the Indians call a Ceremony (cf, Leslie Marmon Silko's book of the same name) to have been there. As would have been the case in the seventies, a couple evenings there were guitars and much wine, as locals excitedly told us about how wonderful this occasion was even for them, having lived there all their lives.
http://sanfrancisco.cbslocal.com/2015...
In Colorado, too, in the Rocky Mountain State Park, a week or so later, we were privileged to be around for the once a year “bugling” or mating call of the Elks, which felt like completely magical to experience to us, a gift:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSpGd...
Kind of comical, too, right? That some mate, any mate, might find that noise inviting? But we found it pretty transformative, as we did find the whales, and we saw, too, many many other species of animals and birds we dutifully recorded along the way.
In the seeking, PM learns the Buddhist patience of expecting nothing as he seeks. The seeking, the journey, is key. We did see all these creatures, and were happy to find them. Did PM find his snow leopard? Did it matter to him, either way? Read it to find out.
Reviews then and now have been critical of Matthiessen for leaving his son home, his son’s mother dead less than a year ago, to make his own lonesome spiritual trek, and I’ll admit they have a point. In a way it seems selfish, to privilege your own spiritual journey--your grief, your self-discovery--over the needs of your son. But I could relate: On my trip I had also left my (complicated) 15-year-old son home, as there was little room in the van and he had other responsibilities at home, but we could have made it work, and I felt guilty for failing to do so. When I saw and felt the criticism of PM for his fatherly desertion, I felt this sense of responsibility for desertion as PM felt it. I should have found a way to take along my camping-passionate son. I should have just found a way to do it, but I left him with his mother, guilt replacing him every mile of the way.
But the point of this book is to neither romanticize nor demonize PM (or myself). I think we mostly do come to admire PM, at times, but that is decidedly not the point in his writing, overall. His goal is is to be honest, and clear. He is trying to empty his soul of all self-destructive desires and needs. But he has a son that needs him, you say, and you’d have a point. PM is not always an easy guy to get along with or like. He sometimes seems, regarding his hired sherpas, a tad ethnocentric, as even more so does his friend GS, if not downright racist on the rare occasion. But PM is not trying to whitewash his story. He is trying to be truthful about himself, and he is, about his marriage, for sure. I believe this is one reason some reviewers like the book less, that he is grumpy and cool and removed even by his own accounts, but this is one reason I admired his self reflection here. It feels honest; it feels real.
His observations of environmental devastation, even already in the seventies, even paling in comparison to the acceleration of the extinctions now, is nevertheless sadly poignant, of course. His thrilling poetic descriptions of the Himalayas make it all seem timeless, eternal, on the one hand, separate from selfish humans, and yet also fragile, in many ways, vulnerable to human devastation. On our trip we traveled through a massive west coast drought, through the haze of unspeakably scary fires. The drive from Spokane to Seattle, for instance, took place in smoky haze. Even in the car with windows closed a couple times we felt it difficult to breathe. It felt at moments like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road in places, apocalyptic.
A massive old growth tree fell in Redwoods National Forest not a hundred feet from our tent, a victim of the worst drought in anyone's memory. The exposed roots were sadly dusty. Park workers told of the loss of many such trees. What the hell were we doing there, while the landscape and the people there were suffering?! What kind of self-indulgence had traveling become as the planet was dying before our very eyes? Was this just a naïve (and selfish) “vacation” on our part, to think we could just enjoy nature and somehow pretend for a time that we as a race were not in the process of contributing to this devastation? Maybe. Maybe we should have taken the trip money and contributed it to environmental organizations?
But yes, so many good things happened, including a deepening commitment to environmental awareness and activism, for all of us. Our study of tide pools in Oregon was amazing, for instance. Watching shooting stars in Arches National Park. Hiking the Narrows in Bryce Canyon the day before four experienced hikers drowned in that very place deepened our appreciation and respect for the precarity of humans' relationship to nature. These are the privileges of the middle-class, to be sure, to spend lots of money as PM and I do to experience nature on spiritual/environmental journies. Is it merely sixties-inspired individualism? An echo of Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums? Or, in experiencing nature travel in this way, is it possible we bring more to loving the earth? I hope it is the latter and not just an escapist frolic when this happens for any of us who do it. The Buddhism of PM does seem more inner than socially focused, and we too at times seemed to be escaping our lives, as travel can be, but on the whole, and speaking for myself, I felt the occasion as traveling into myself, and at the same time linking with family and friends along the way, and the greater world. We made a commitment to increasing our advocacy for the environment as a family on this trip. In many ways it became clear that we were bearing witness to climate change, to human beings' role in the devastation of the planet, as PM ultimately was also doing.
I loved Matthiessen’s parallel and integrated inner and outer searches in this pristine natural setting, looking for these rare and special and still not quite extinct animals in their habitat, as he seeks himself and reflects on his life with his wife and family. I hope PM returned to renew his relationship t0 his son, as I did with my son. At any rate, I found this book very moving and inspiring. Sometimes reading books like this can be just important, as you know. Some books as you read them can be almost autobiographical, as in telling you your own life. But I can’t imagine this book would be the same to everyone at all stages of their lives. And PM's Buddhism might annoy/bore some readers at times, as it did a couple friends I know. I loved every page of it, though, I really did.
P.S. There were two Snow Leopards born in the summer of 2015 at Chicago’s Brookfield Zoo. Several times now I have seen them, but I had waited to see them initially until I was done with this book. I traveled the country to see the Snow Leopard at home! Is that like the Wizard Oz: There’s no place like home?
Here they are!!!
http://abc7chicago.com/pets/snow-leop...
[Update August 2o17: The snow leopards are still doing fine here at the zoo! And update 2022: they are still there, and the species is still not extinct in the world, if not thriving.]
Here's some selections from the book to begin, so you can see Peter Matthiessen's spirit, his Buddhist nature, and his love of language, without my intervention or commentary:
“The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no 'meaning,' they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.”
“Today most scientists would agree with the ancient Hindus that nothing exists or is destroyed, things merely change shape or form. . . the cosmic radiation that is thought to come from the explosion of creation strikes the earth with equal intensity from all directions, which suggests either that the earth is at the center of the universe, as in our innocence we once supposed, or that the known universe has no center.”
“The sun is roaring, it fills to bursting each crystal of snow. I flush with feeling, moved beyond my comprehension, and once again, the warm tears freeze upon my face. These rocks and mountains, all this matter, the snow itself, the air--the earth is ringing. All is moving, full of power, full of light.”
“The Lama of the Crystal Monastery appears to be a very happy man, and yet I wonder how he feels about his isolation in the silences of Tsakang, which he has not left in eight years now and, because of his legs, may never leave again. Since Jang-bu seems uncomfortable with the Lama or with himself or perhaps with us, I tell him not to inquire on this point if it seems to him impertinent, but after a moment Jang-bu does so. And this holy man of great directness and simplicity, big white teeth shining, laughs out loud in an infectious way at Jang-bu’s question. Indicating his twisted legs without a trace of self-pity or bitterness, as if they belonged to all of us, he casts his arms wide to the sky and the snow mountains, the high sun and dancing sheep, and cries, 'Of course I am happy here! It’s wonderful! Especially when I have no choice!'”
“Left alone, I am overtaken by the northern void-no wind, no cloud, no track, no bird, only the crystal crescents between peaks, the ringing monuments of rock that, freed from the talons of ice and snow, thrust an implacable being into the blue. In the early light, the rock shadows on the snow are sharp; in the tension between light and dark is the power of the universe. This stillness to which all returns, this is reality, and soul and sanity have no more meaning than a gust of snow; such transience and insignificance are exalting, terrifying, all at once. . . Snow mountains, more than sea or sky, serve as a mirror to one’s own true being, utterly still, utterly clear, a void, an Emptiness without life or sound that carries in Itself all life, all sound.”
“Figures dark beneath their loads pass down the far bank of the river, rendered immortal by the streak of sunset upon their shoulders"--Peter Matthiessen, all quotations from The Snow Leopard
I started this book a few times in my twenties. It won the National Book Award in 1978, when I was first teaching, and I was not yet ready to read it. Or maybe, if I had gone “on the road” as Kerouac got a generation to do, one way or the other, I might have taken it with me then and actually read it. I tried on a few other occasions to get into it, and I couldn’t do it, for one reason or the other, but for some reason I always knew at some point it would be important for me to experience. Something like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, it was a book for a time, highly influential, but this book is in my opinion a much better and richer book. But even then, having slow-read it over the month of my trip, it has still taken me months to get to writing about it. I warn you, this could go on for a while. I’m mostly writing it for myself, but you are welcome to come along for my (reading) journey.
The Snow Leopard is one of the best and important books I have ever read, and I finally read it not in some hippie solo way or at an Ashram or something, but on a one-month road trip (in a mini-van, no less, ha!) with three kids and my wife, making a big western circle of the U.S., leaving Chicago and going through Montana to Seattle, down the Oregon coastline to Monterey Bay, across the desert (stopping at Vegas for a day, which was of course surreal in comparison with everything else), through the Rockies and across the Great Plains back home. An epic, once-in-a-lifetime trip, tent camping, hiking several national parks, driving through the west I know and love, sometimes reading the poetry of the region if I remembered to look it up as I went. A pilgrimage, of sorts, for me, anyway, partly spiritual as much as getting in touch with natural beauty and friends along the way. I’m not, as Matthiessen is, a Zen Buddhist, by the way, but in addition to Buddhism-inspired poetry like Gary Snyder’s, I also read a Buddhist-themed architectural book on the trip, The Timeless Way of Building by Christopher Alexander, that explores the relationships between selves and surroundings. Organic architecture, in harmony with place. Also perfect for the trip and in tandem with The Snow Leopard.
Matthiessen, equally adept at fiction and non-fiction, in The Snow Leopard writes the book of his life. He’s on a pilgrimage to the Himalayas a year after his wife is dead, leaving his eight-year-old son behind with family as he seeks at least two things: A glimpse of the rare and the presumedly soon-to-be-extinct Snow Leopard, and a visit with the Lama of Shay at the Crystal Mountain, where few westerners have dared venture. As I said, he’s a Zen Buddhist (something I did in the seventies casually study as one life alternative, as I eased slowly but inexorably out of my Dutch Reformed Christian upbringing), and this is a time in his life he wants/needs to make this quest, this journey.
And he makes it with a friend, crusty field biologist George Schaller, who is there to study Himalayan Blue Sheep. Matthiessen is crusty, too, actually; he doesn't project himself as a saint. They go with a number of sherpas and encounter a very few people along their way, though PM does actually meet the Lama of Shay.
But the book is mainly Matthiessen’s account of his inner and outer journey, past and present, as they all become one, a study of grief, beauty, impermanence, related in some of the most beautiful language to ever grace the page. You know Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods? Or Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, or even old John Bunyan’s Pilgram’s Progress? The travel narrative that is also a journey of the soul has a long tradition, and a rich one. It’s worth the time to travel with these explorers once in awhile.
But speaking of harmony, and seeking a creature as you are also essentially seeking yourself, which is a kind of contradiction to Buddhism about being content where you are: There were two key Snow Leopard-like creatures on our family trip’s list: Hump-backed whales and elk, though we hadn't sought them out in particular, initially. The hump-backed whales, orcas and other whales were closer to the shoreline than in decades around Monterey Bay in late August 2015, and we stood with various locals reverently and feverishly, able with our naked eye to see them spout, breach and feed, boats and kayaks hovering around them at a respectful distance. It felt like what the Indians call a Ceremony (cf, Leslie Marmon Silko's book of the same name) to have been there. As would have been the case in the seventies, a couple evenings there were guitars and much wine, as locals excitedly told us about how wonderful this occasion was even for them, having lived there all their lives.
http://sanfrancisco.cbslocal.com/2015...
In Colorado, too, in the Rocky Mountain State Park, a week or so later, we were privileged to be around for the once a year “bugling” or mating call of the Elks, which felt like completely magical to experience to us, a gift:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSpGd...
Kind of comical, too, right? That some mate, any mate, might find that noise inviting? But we found it pretty transformative, as we did find the whales, and we saw, too, many many other species of animals and birds we dutifully recorded along the way.
In the seeking, PM learns the Buddhist patience of expecting nothing as he seeks. The seeking, the journey, is key. We did see all these creatures, and were happy to find them. Did PM find his snow leopard? Did it matter to him, either way? Read it to find out.
Reviews then and now have been critical of Matthiessen for leaving his son home, his son’s mother dead less than a year ago, to make his own lonesome spiritual trek, and I’ll admit they have a point. In a way it seems selfish, to privilege your own spiritual journey--your grief, your self-discovery--over the needs of your son. But I could relate: On my trip I had also left my (complicated) 15-year-old son home, as there was little room in the van and he had other responsibilities at home, but we could have made it work, and I felt guilty for failing to do so. When I saw and felt the criticism of PM for his fatherly desertion, I felt this sense of responsibility for desertion as PM felt it. I should have found a way to take along my camping-passionate son. I should have just found a way to do it, but I left him with his mother, guilt replacing him every mile of the way.
But the point of this book is to neither romanticize nor demonize PM (or myself). I think we mostly do come to admire PM, at times, but that is decidedly not the point in his writing, overall. His goal is is to be honest, and clear. He is trying to empty his soul of all self-destructive desires and needs. But he has a son that needs him, you say, and you’d have a point. PM is not always an easy guy to get along with or like. He sometimes seems, regarding his hired sherpas, a tad ethnocentric, as even more so does his friend GS, if not downright racist on the rare occasion. But PM is not trying to whitewash his story. He is trying to be truthful about himself, and he is, about his marriage, for sure. I believe this is one reason some reviewers like the book less, that he is grumpy and cool and removed even by his own accounts, but this is one reason I admired his self reflection here. It feels honest; it feels real.
His observations of environmental devastation, even already in the seventies, even paling in comparison to the acceleration of the extinctions now, is nevertheless sadly poignant, of course. His thrilling poetic descriptions of the Himalayas make it all seem timeless, eternal, on the one hand, separate from selfish humans, and yet also fragile, in many ways, vulnerable to human devastation. On our trip we traveled through a massive west coast drought, through the haze of unspeakably scary fires. The drive from Spokane to Seattle, for instance, took place in smoky haze. Even in the car with windows closed a couple times we felt it difficult to breathe. It felt at moments like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road in places, apocalyptic.
A massive old growth tree fell in Redwoods National Forest not a hundred feet from our tent, a victim of the worst drought in anyone's memory. The exposed roots were sadly dusty. Park workers told of the loss of many such trees. What the hell were we doing there, while the landscape and the people there were suffering?! What kind of self-indulgence had traveling become as the planet was dying before our very eyes? Was this just a naïve (and selfish) “vacation” on our part, to think we could just enjoy nature and somehow pretend for a time that we as a race were not in the process of contributing to this devastation? Maybe. Maybe we should have taken the trip money and contributed it to environmental organizations?
But yes, so many good things happened, including a deepening commitment to environmental awareness and activism, for all of us. Our study of tide pools in Oregon was amazing, for instance. Watching shooting stars in Arches National Park. Hiking the Narrows in Bryce Canyon the day before four experienced hikers drowned in that very place deepened our appreciation and respect for the precarity of humans' relationship to nature. These are the privileges of the middle-class, to be sure, to spend lots of money as PM and I do to experience nature on spiritual/environmental journies. Is it merely sixties-inspired individualism? An echo of Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums? Or, in experiencing nature travel in this way, is it possible we bring more to loving the earth? I hope it is the latter and not just an escapist frolic when this happens for any of us who do it. The Buddhism of PM does seem more inner than socially focused, and we too at times seemed to be escaping our lives, as travel can be, but on the whole, and speaking for myself, I felt the occasion as traveling into myself, and at the same time linking with family and friends along the way, and the greater world. We made a commitment to increasing our advocacy for the environment as a family on this trip. In many ways it became clear that we were bearing witness to climate change, to human beings' role in the devastation of the planet, as PM ultimately was also doing.
I loved Matthiessen’s parallel and integrated inner and outer searches in this pristine natural setting, looking for these rare and special and still not quite extinct animals in their habitat, as he seeks himself and reflects on his life with his wife and family. I hope PM returned to renew his relationship t0 his son, as I did with my son. At any rate, I found this book very moving and inspiring. Sometimes reading books like this can be just important, as you know. Some books as you read them can be almost autobiographical, as in telling you your own life. But I can’t imagine this book would be the same to everyone at all stages of their lives. And PM's Buddhism might annoy/bore some readers at times, as it did a couple friends I know. I loved every page of it, though, I really did.
P.S. There were two Snow Leopards born in the summer of 2015 at Chicago’s Brookfield Zoo. Several times now I have seen them, but I had waited to see them initially until I was done with this book. I traveled the country to see the Snow Leopard at home! Is that like the Wizard Oz: There’s no place like home?
Here they are!!!
http://abc7chicago.com/pets/snow-leop...
[Update August 2o17: The snow leopards are still doing fine here at the zoo! And update 2022: they are still there, and the species is still not extinct in the world, if not thriving.]
November 27, 2015
“The sun is roaring, it fills to bursting each crystal of snow. I flush with feeling, moved beyond my comprehension, and once again, the warm tears freeze upon my face. These rocks and mountains, all this matter, the snow itself, the air- the earth is ringing. All is moving, full of power, full of light.”
― Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard
I'm a little embarrassed to say I hadn't paid attention to much of Matthiessen's work before he died. I had Shadow Country on my shelf and every intention of getting to it soon, but didn't realize he had this whole other nonfiction output. I read the Snow Leopard after I read his obit three weeks ago and discovered he was the only person (?) to win the National Book Award for BOTH fiction and nonfiction. OK, so, maybe it was time to throw off my veil of ignorance and start reading some Matthiessen. I figured 'The Snow Leopard' was a good place to start.
I loved it. Part travel writing, part nature writing, part spiritual journey, this book has it all. It is beautifully written, and seems to float the reader up and down the mountains. At its heart Matthiessen is traveling with his field biologist friend George Schaller (GS) into the remote mountains of Nepal to study the Blue Sheep and hopefully see the elusive snow leopard (and hell, maybe a Yeti). Matthiessen was also on a spiritual journey after the loss of his wife to find the Lama of Shey and to find a path through the difficulties associated with the impermanence and suffering of life. His journey is a melting into the now, a search for the present, and an acceptance of finding and not finding the thing(s) you think you seek.
― Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard
I'm a little embarrassed to say I hadn't paid attention to much of Matthiessen's work before he died. I had Shadow Country on my shelf and every intention of getting to it soon, but didn't realize he had this whole other nonfiction output. I read the Snow Leopard after I read his obit three weeks ago and discovered he was the only person (?) to win the National Book Award for BOTH fiction and nonfiction. OK, so, maybe it was time to throw off my veil of ignorance and start reading some Matthiessen. I figured 'The Snow Leopard' was a good place to start.
I loved it. Part travel writing, part nature writing, part spiritual journey, this book has it all. It is beautifully written, and seems to float the reader up and down the mountains. At its heart Matthiessen is traveling with his field biologist friend George Schaller (GS) into the remote mountains of Nepal to study the Blue Sheep and hopefully see the elusive snow leopard (and hell, maybe a Yeti). Matthiessen was also on a spiritual journey after the loss of his wife to find the Lama of Shey and to find a path through the difficulties associated with the impermanence and suffering of life. His journey is a melting into the now, a search for the present, and an acceptance of finding and not finding the thing(s) you think you seek.
May 29, 2018
This is a beautiful book about a personal and physical journey in Nepal by Peter Matthiessen. It is also a spiritual journey where the goal becomes completely interiorized by the author as it progresses. A wonderful book for meditation on higher values in these times of, well, no values.
May 9, 2012
Matthiessen's The Snow Leopard is his account of his two months in Nepal. He was invited along by field biologist George Schaller on his expedition to study Himalayan Blue Sheep--and perhaps catch a glimpse of the elusive snow leopard. (Said in the book to consist of only 120 remaining individuals. Thankfully, at least according to the Wiki, the current population is estimated to be in the thousands.) So on September 28 of 1973 "two white sahibs, four Sherpas, fourteen porters" assembled to make their way up the Himalayas. As the introduction notes, the book begins like many a "scientific log" with maps and ends with notes and index, and this book was found in the nature section of my neighborhood book store. And the nature and travel part of this narrative was superb. Matthiessen has a gift for bringing to the page vivid details of the landscape and people, painting it so vividly you hardly yearn for photographs. His writing at times approaches poetry and there are many beautiful passages.
Where it loses points for me? Well, it might have been shelved with books on science, but despite the title there's really little here about the snow leopard and not enough really about nature. On the back of the book it's described as a "spiritual journey" and I could have used much less of the "spiritual." Matthiessen at the time considered himself a "student" of Zen Buddhism and according to the introduction would later be "ordained as a Zen priest." I could identify with the irritation of Schaller, his scientist companion, at Matthiessen's mysticism--even as Matthiessen insists Buddhism has nothing to do with the occult. He's the kind of guy that takes seriously the Yeti and Carlos Castaneda. I know for many the spiritual aspect of the book is the point--for me it was intrusive and Matthiessen's tone often hectoring. I found his attitude towards the Sherpas and porters all the more annoying because some of them shared his faith--at one point he compares amulets with one of them--and yet he displays plenty of condescension towards them--describing them more than once as "childlike." Admittedly, I don't agree with his philosophy, though after reading Thich Nhat Hanh, Thoreau and Emerson and Joseph Campbell within the last few months, I also felt as if the way Matthiessen conveyed Buddhist philosophy was trite. It was like going from reading the New Testament, Saint Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Aquinas and C.S. Lewis to reading the ramblings of some narcissistic Christian television evangelist as he treks over the mountains. Add to that Matthiessen's rapturous description of his experimentation with mind-altering drugs in search of enlightenment (and his abandonment for months of his young son who had just lost his mother in search of a Buddhist lama on Crystal Mountain)--well, it was hard to tap down my disdain at times. Very, very hippie.
Where it loses points for me? Well, it might have been shelved with books on science, but despite the title there's really little here about the snow leopard and not enough really about nature. On the back of the book it's described as a "spiritual journey" and I could have used much less of the "spiritual." Matthiessen at the time considered himself a "student" of Zen Buddhism and according to the introduction would later be "ordained as a Zen priest." I could identify with the irritation of Schaller, his scientist companion, at Matthiessen's mysticism--even as Matthiessen insists Buddhism has nothing to do with the occult. He's the kind of guy that takes seriously the Yeti and Carlos Castaneda. I know for many the spiritual aspect of the book is the point--for me it was intrusive and Matthiessen's tone often hectoring. I found his attitude towards the Sherpas and porters all the more annoying because some of them shared his faith--at one point he compares amulets with one of them--and yet he displays plenty of condescension towards them--describing them more than once as "childlike." Admittedly, I don't agree with his philosophy, though after reading Thich Nhat Hanh, Thoreau and Emerson and Joseph Campbell within the last few months, I also felt as if the way Matthiessen conveyed Buddhist philosophy was trite. It was like going from reading the New Testament, Saint Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Aquinas and C.S. Lewis to reading the ramblings of some narcissistic Christian television evangelist as he treks over the mountains. Add to that Matthiessen's rapturous description of his experimentation with mind-altering drugs in search of enlightenment (and his abandonment for months of his young son who had just lost his mother in search of a Buddhist lama on Crystal Mountain)--well, it was hard to tap down my disdain at times. Very, very hippie.
Read
August 18, 2022Content warnings:
* unacknowledged CIA involvement
* historic drug taking
* current drug taking
* high altitudes
* death
* mourning
* mysticism
* Buddhism
* dysentery
* enclosed spaces
* open spaces
* explicit scenes of copulation
* Yeti
* improper faecal deposition (with thanks to comment #3)
the above list is not exhaustive, but hopefully gives fair warning of the kinds of content likely to be encountered within the pages of this memoir.
This is a Holy grail story, but as you remember from the story of Parzifal, you don't just have to know what question to ask, you also have to know that you are meant to ask a question.
Author Peter Matthiessen, following on from the death of his wife Deborah Love (D in the text throughout) from cancer after a stormy relationship, seizes the opportunity to join George Schaller (GS throughout the book) on an expedition through the Himalayas to observe the breeding season of the bharal - the Himalayan blue sheep, to determine if they are sheep or goats.
Matthiessen was introduced to zen Buddhism by his wife, during the process of her death he had several experiences that he understood as being near Enlightenment experiences and in pursuit of these he went with Schaller imagining that the mountain environment and difficulties of the journey might push him into a permanent state of Enlightenment. From another point of view, he is attempting to cope with his grief.
The account follows a diary format, and in places he mentions writing a diary, but presumably the text we read is at least somewhat polished and refined - I would be surprised if many people write endnotes to their diary entries particularly when snuggling into their sleeping bag after a long day walking at high attitude.
He comments on the degradation of the environment that he sees - trees felled for firewood causing soil erosion for instance and I wondered if he had read the 1972 " Limits to Growth" or CIA reports based upon it, or if his vision of the Nepali countryside was coloured by his mourning face - but of course it needn't be either or, it could be both. His is a refreshingly bleak vision this is not a land ripe for adventurous tourists, but one moving ever closer to environmental catastrophe.
Up in the mountains there are beautiful lyrical passages (perhaps I need to add purple passages to my list of content warnings) describing what he saw. I wondered if these were affected by the thin air or his drugs regime or his desire to experience the profound despite his Buddhist teacher warned him to expect nothing.
What I am coming round to saying is that part of the charm of the book are the vulnerabilities of the author a man who abandoned a fairly young son to go half way round the world to keep another man company while he tries to watch goat-sheep having sex - which they are not keen to do.
There is a ghastly amateurishness to the expedition, money given to sherpas for them to buy boots is not spent on boots, they can't hire porters for the entire duration of the trip - I might hope that today someone might attempt the simpler solution of training someone who already lived in the area to observe the bharal rather than trying to organise a dozen and a half Nepalis plus the occasional animal to transport two non-Nepalis plus food, firewood and kit for all involved to a remote plateau. Matthiessen is so focused on being observant that he fails to notice on the return, GS remains to watch the bharal mating (or not) for longer, that one of the two sherpas going with him has dysentery.
But there is a disarming directness and honesty to Matthiessen's account, he tells us that his relationship with his wife was bad, until he really realises that she is going to die, he tells us about his restless travels and drug taking, he tells us that his boots are not broken in before the journey, he tells us of his longing for inner peace just as in the next paragraph he will talk about how angry he is, indeed how angry he was even before his wife died.
He does not tell us about his time in the CIA, which I suspect allowed him to live a life of travel and drug taking. There is something special in how his earnest Buddhism tangles together with his mysticism, his longings, his mountain experiences, the snow leopard - more elusive than enlightenment, how he fixates on one of the sherpas regarding him as enlightened as as the potential teacher who appears when the student is ready.
But was the student ready?
Ready or not it makes for a delicate book of vicarious travel.
* unacknowledged CIA involvement
* historic drug taking
* current drug taking
* high altitudes
* death
* mourning
* mysticism
* Buddhism
* dysentery
* enclosed spaces
* open spaces
* explicit scenes of copulation
* Yeti
* improper faecal deposition (with thanks to comment #3)
the above list is not exhaustive, but hopefully gives fair warning of the kinds of content likely to be encountered within the pages of this memoir.
This is a Holy grail story, but as you remember from the story of Parzifal, you don't just have to know what question to ask, you also have to know that you are meant to ask a question.
Author Peter Matthiessen, following on from the death of his wife Deborah Love (D in the text throughout) from cancer after a stormy relationship, seizes the opportunity to join George Schaller (GS throughout the book) on an expedition through the Himalayas to observe the breeding season of the bharal - the Himalayan blue sheep, to determine if they are sheep or goats.
Matthiessen was introduced to zen Buddhism by his wife, during the process of her death he had several experiences that he understood as being near Enlightenment experiences and in pursuit of these he went with Schaller imagining that the mountain environment and difficulties of the journey might push him into a permanent state of Enlightenment. From another point of view, he is attempting to cope with his grief.
The account follows a diary format, and in places he mentions writing a diary, but presumably the text we read is at least somewhat polished and refined - I would be surprised if many people write endnotes to their diary entries particularly when snuggling into their sleeping bag after a long day walking at high attitude.
He comments on the degradation of the environment that he sees - trees felled for firewood causing soil erosion for instance and I wondered if he had read the 1972 " Limits to Growth" or CIA reports based upon it, or if his vision of the Nepali countryside was coloured by his mourning face - but of course it needn't be either or, it could be both. His is a refreshingly bleak vision this is not a land ripe for adventurous tourists, but one moving ever closer to environmental catastrophe.
Up in the mountains there are beautiful lyrical passages (perhaps I need to add purple passages to my list of content warnings) describing what he saw. I wondered if these were affected by the thin air or his drugs regime or his desire to experience the profound despite his Buddhist teacher warned him to expect nothing.
What I am coming round to saying is that part of the charm of the book are the vulnerabilities of the author a man who abandoned a fairly young son to go half way round the world to keep another man company while he tries to watch goat-sheep having sex - which they are not keen to do.
There is a ghastly amateurishness to the expedition, money given to sherpas for them to buy boots is not spent on boots, they can't hire porters for the entire duration of the trip - I might hope that today someone might attempt the simpler solution of training someone who already lived in the area to observe the bharal rather than trying to organise a dozen and a half Nepalis plus the occasional animal to transport two non-Nepalis plus food, firewood and kit for all involved to a remote plateau. Matthiessen is so focused on being observant that he fails to notice on the return, GS remains to watch the bharal mating (or not) for longer, that one of the two sherpas going with him has dysentery.
But there is a disarming directness and honesty to Matthiessen's account, he tells us that his relationship with his wife was bad, until he really realises that she is going to die, he tells us about his restless travels and drug taking, he tells us that his boots are not broken in before the journey, he tells us of his longing for inner peace just as in the next paragraph he will talk about how angry he is, indeed how angry he was even before his wife died.
He does not tell us about his time in the CIA, which I suspect allowed him to live a life of travel and drug taking. There is something special in how his earnest Buddhism tangles together with his mysticism, his longings, his mountain experiences, the snow leopard - more elusive than enlightenment, how he fixates on one of the sherpas regarding him as enlightened as as the potential teacher who appears when the student is ready.
But was the student ready?
Ready or not it makes for a delicate book of vicarious travel.
August 10, 2008
I really took my time with this book. I didn't want to be disturbed by the sounds of subway trains, interrupted by phone calls or daily trivialities. This wasn't a read I just 'fit in' but truly savored. And oh, my heart hurts a little now that it is over. It is a slow book, and thus may not appeal to those looking for action or conclusion even. It is a book that celebrates the spark of life that propels us towards transcending our heavy human existence in pursuit of something...more. Here, the journey begins with the goal of being able to see the ever elusive snow leopard in a very remote part of the Himalayas. The descriptions of birds and animals and plants so unfamiliar to my citified self had me running to Wikipedia quite often. But more than just a travel journal, or a meditation on nature, it is a primer on the essence of Buddhism, and the contemplation of just being... It is quite beautiful as such and if I can take away the glint of perfection he describes in those moments of just taking in what is there as it is when it is...I feel lighter already.
May 16, 2020
This is one of the most intelligent, beautifully written books I’ve read. I enjoyed every moment of Matthiessen’s physical, emotional, and spiritual journey through Nepal and Tibet. His descriptions of the landscape, the villages, his relationships with the people he meets and travels with, the wildlife he sees, his quest for spiritual enlightenment, and his deep sorrow at his wife’s death the previous year, all are written in the most inspiring and honest language.
I came to this book through Without Ever Reaching the Summit: A Journey which purports to follow in Matthiessen’s footsteps. My review for it quotes the author saying how little has changed in the 40+ years since the original journey but I realise now how untrue that statement is. An internet search finds a whole host of trekking companies offering guided walks through this region, following the trail of ‘The Snow Leopard’ in many cases. Where Matthiessen and George Schaller camped in often squalid conditions are now found hotels and tea houses catering for travellers. I even found videos on YouTube of mountain bikers travelling the route. It’s not surprising as there are few parts of the world that haven’t changed since the early 1970s. Whether these changes are for the better in every respect is another matter.
This is a book that will stay with me for a long time. I’m so pleased I read Cognetti’s account of his own journey because otherwise I wouldn’t have read this book. It’s a joy to read and I’m sure I’ll revisit it in the future.
I came to this book through Without Ever Reaching the Summit: A Journey which purports to follow in Matthiessen’s footsteps. My review for it quotes the author saying how little has changed in the 40+ years since the original journey but I realise now how untrue that statement is. An internet search finds a whole host of trekking companies offering guided walks through this region, following the trail of ‘The Snow Leopard’ in many cases. Where Matthiessen and George Schaller camped in often squalid conditions are now found hotels and tea houses catering for travellers. I even found videos on YouTube of mountain bikers travelling the route. It’s not surprising as there are few parts of the world that haven’t changed since the early 1970s. Whether these changes are for the better in every respect is another matter.
This is a book that will stay with me for a long time. I’m so pleased I read Cognetti’s account of his own journey because otherwise I wouldn’t have read this book. It’s a joy to read and I’m sure I’ll revisit it in the future.
January 3, 2015
Ok, I admit after the first chapter I considered not carrying on reading. At this point around a third of the content was religious philosophy - which is not for me. However the third of the book that was the hiking expedition and the third that was about the flora and fauna was great, and I am glad I persisted.
Despite a few more forays into the spiritual journey, the expedition and scientific research parts of the book are much more heavily featured in the following chapters.
The book is Matthiessen's account of his two months in Nepal, in 1973. He was invited along by field biologist George Schaller on his expedition to study Himalayan Blue Sheep and to perhaps catch a glimpse of the elusive snow leopard. The destination is the Crystal Mountain in the remote Inner Dolpo region of Nepal, which was formerly a part of Tibet. It was an area difficult to obtain permission for, and that permission was often not enough to stop the local police turning travellers back.
They commence the trek in at Pokhara, "Two white sahibs, four sherpas, fourteen porters", heading west to Dhorptan, then north. It takes a little over a month to reach Shey, a very small village consisting of a locked Monastery and a handful of houses, empty for the most part. The expedition is timed to allow Schaller's research of the Blue Sheep or Bharal(Pseudois nayaur), and be present at the rut. This valley at the Crystal Mountain is particularly suitable as the Lama at the Monastery has prevented any hunting in the area for the many years. The sheep are therefore much tamer that those regularly hunted.
The two sahibs basically do their own thing, which for Matthiessen is climbing each day to observe a flock (or two flocks which have combined temporarily), and their behavior. There are interludes of wolf, snow leopard, various birdlife, yeti and the interactions with the Tibetan / Nepalese passing through, and with Schaller and the sherpa, all of which make fascinating reading.
The journey out has them heading further west, to Jumla, near the Indian border, from where they can fly back to Kathmandu.
Despite a few more forays into the spiritual journey, the expedition and scientific research parts of the book are much more heavily featured in the following chapters.
The book is Matthiessen's account of his two months in Nepal, in 1973. He was invited along by field biologist George Schaller on his expedition to study Himalayan Blue Sheep and to perhaps catch a glimpse of the elusive snow leopard. The destination is the Crystal Mountain in the remote Inner Dolpo region of Nepal, which was formerly a part of Tibet. It was an area difficult to obtain permission for, and that permission was often not enough to stop the local police turning travellers back.
They commence the trek in at Pokhara, "Two white sahibs, four sherpas, fourteen porters", heading west to Dhorptan, then north. It takes a little over a month to reach Shey, a very small village consisting of a locked Monastery and a handful of houses, empty for the most part. The expedition is timed to allow Schaller's research of the Blue Sheep or Bharal(Pseudois nayaur), and be present at the rut. This valley at the Crystal Mountain is particularly suitable as the Lama at the Monastery has prevented any hunting in the area for the many years. The sheep are therefore much tamer that those regularly hunted.
The two sahibs basically do their own thing, which for Matthiessen is climbing each day to observe a flock (or two flocks which have combined temporarily), and their behavior. There are interludes of wolf, snow leopard, various birdlife, yeti and the interactions with the Tibetan / Nepalese passing through, and with Schaller and the sherpa, all of which make fascinating reading.
The journey out has them heading further west, to Jumla, near the Indian border, from where they can fly back to Kathmandu.
January 18, 2018
Damn. This book started out so well.
However, after only a few pages it seems to have turned into a version of Log from the Sea of Cortez (which also was a massive disappointment for me), complete with philosophical and religious musings on the author's own life, his experimenting with different drugs, and his understanding of Buddhism - in none of which I have any interest at all.
The parts where Matthiessen describes the natural environment of his trek through Nepal are fascinating. Unfortunately, these are too few and too far between for my enjoyment.
I read 85 pages, then skimmed/skipped to the end.
I get that there may be some beauty in Matthiessen's writing, his musings, and his dealing with grief after the loss of his wife, but all that esoteric babble just isn't for me, especially not when I expected the book to focus more on the expedition and the wildlife.
However, after only a few pages it seems to have turned into a version of Log from the Sea of Cortez (which also was a massive disappointment for me), complete with philosophical and religious musings on the author's own life, his experimenting with different drugs, and his understanding of Buddhism - in none of which I have any interest at all.
The parts where Matthiessen describes the natural environment of his trek through Nepal are fascinating. Unfortunately, these are too few and too far between for my enjoyment.
I read 85 pages, then skimmed/skipped to the end.
I get that there may be some beauty in Matthiessen's writing, his musings, and his dealing with grief after the loss of his wife, but all that esoteric babble just isn't for me, especially not when I expected the book to focus more on the expedition and the wildlife.
January 20, 2024
🐆 This is a meditative book. You walk as a person in a dream seeking a dream. The dream you seek is the snow leopard. You’ve heard it’s real. Others have photographed it. You know it exists. But you have not found it for yourself. So you are high in the mountains of Asia. You are with Peter. You talk a little, contemplate the high peaks, look for pug marks and the big cat’s track. It’s elusive. Will you ever come face to face or even see it from a distance? This book is about the journey, Peter’s journey, your journey. You must take your time. What is the sound of one leopard walking in the snows high above the earth?
March 2, 2010
A masterpiece of travel and nature writing that gloriously transcends both genres. This is one of the best books I've ever read in the English language. Yes, that's right. I'm including a quote at the end of this review so you can see what I'm talking about. When you get to that quote, try reading it aloud. The beauty of those words spoken will break your heart.
At age 46, in 1973, Peter Matthiessen walked, with biologist George Schaller, from Kathmandu to the Crystal Mountain in Tibet and beyond. Matthiessen was a novice at this kind of extreme expedition, as who among us wouldn't be, yet turned in 10- and 12- hour days walking up and down icy, fragile, whip-thin mountain trails. Food was meagre. Boots caused blisters. Winds blew cold. Grief over personal matters was impossible to shake.
At the end of each grueling day, Matthiessen gathered the emotional and physical resources to record the day's events. The incredible vividness and immediacy of his account is a result of that nightly discipline, observed against great odds.
It was late fall, with winter a whisper away. Would they make it before the snow season turned the world impassable? Would they see the snow leopard? The element of suspense at the heart of this story exerts a mighty pull.
I'm still in grief that the book is over. The afterimage of it is with me and will be for a long time, I hope. The power of it is such that, a couple of weeks ago, walking before the rest of the world was awake, in a city park after a snowfall, I saw a pure cobalt sky and brilliant, glittering snow with Peter Matthiessen eyes.
Here's a quote from page 73 of the Penguin edition:
"From deep in the earth, the roar of the river rises. The rhododendron leaves along the precipice are burnished silver, but night still fills the steep ravines where southbound migrants descend at day to feed and rest. The golden birds fall away from the morning sun like blowing sparks that drop away and are extinguished in the dark."
January 21, 2024
The snow leopard, Panthera uncla, is a rare and elusive animal. The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) lists it as a “threatened” species; it is estimated that fewer than 10,000 snow leopards survive in the wild, and their numbers have been steadily reduced by poaching and habitat loss. And in Peter Matthiessen’s 1978 book The Snow Leopard, two biologists’ search for this magnificent and seldom-seen big cat merges with a larger, inspiring spiritual quest.
For Matthiessen, a Yale-educated naturalist, travel and wilderness writer, novelist, and environmental activist, a core theme seems to be the spiritual emptiness engendered by the industrial West’s focus on technological innovation and material acquisition. In both his fiction and his nonfiction – and he is the only writer ever to win the National Book Award in both categories – he has emphasized the perspectives of people who live close to the Earth and pursue a way of life that harmonizes with natural processes.
This trend applies to novels like Far Tortuga (1975), a work that chronicles the travails facing a group of Grand Cayman residents who want to hunt green turtles as their ancestors did – and it also applies to non-fiction works like In the Spirit of Crazy Horse (1983), a trenchant and controversial critique of the FBI’s 1973 campaign against the American Indian Movement (AIM) and the subsequent arrest and conviction of AIM leader Leonard Peltier. To say that Matthiessen always leaves the reader with something to think about would be an understatement.
Ideally, a work of travel literature should chronicle a spiritual voyage as well as a physical journey. The Snow Leopard succeeds brilliantly on both counts. Matthiessen's account of a trip into the Inner Dolpo area of Nepal's mountains, near the Tibetan border, is rich with description of the Himalayan landscape, and captures well the vibrant and diverse cultures of that region. Matthiessen's training as a naturalist serves him well; he initially made the journey with biologist George Schaller, who wanted to chronicle the mating practices of a Himalayan species of blue sheep.
Both Matthiessen and Schaller also hoped to catch sight of the snow leopard, a particularly elusive and seldom-seen predator that preys upon the blue sheep that Schaller was studying. But because of Matthiessen's devotion to Zen Buddhism, his trip into this cold, snowy, mountainous heartland of his faith becomes very much a quest of the soul, a search for a state of contentment, free of desire.
The journey is arduous, with its own particular dangers; at one point, a group of porters who did not take the appropriate precautions are afflicted with snow blindness, “a very disagreeable burning of the corneas which comes on with little warning and has no cure other than time: the sensation is that of sand thrown in the eyes” (p. 101). Even the scientists’ attempts to see the snow leopard do not exempt them from the temporal difficulties that can face travellers in a politically tense world, as a group of herders tell Matthiessen and Schaller at one point “that two or three snow leopards live along the river cliffs. They also say that there is a police check post at Saldang, which makes it inadvisable for us to go there” (p. 206). Later, contemplating a passage into the Tarap region along the Bheri River, the scientists reflect that “we have no permit for the Tarap region, nor any wish to spend a winter in the Tarap jail” (p. 207). Not all of the hazards of the journey, as it turns out, relate to snow and wind and cold.
The Nepalese landscape of the voyage is a spiritually rich and mystical place, where what can be measured by science exists side by side with mystical things that defy scientific knowledge. Late in the journey, Matthiessen and two of his guides discuss the yeti, the semi-human anthropoid creature that is said to inhabit the depths of the Himalayas:
Dawa giggles in embarrassment at talk of yeti, and the older sherpa shifts upon his heels to look at him. Tukten says quietly, “I have heard the yeti,” and cries out suddenly, “Kak-kak-kak KAI-ee!” – a wild, laughing yelp, quite unlike anything I have ever heard, which echoes eerily off the walls of the cold canyon.
Stirring the embers, Tukten is silent for a while. Dawa stares at him, more startled than myself. According to Tukten, the yeti is an animal, but “more man-creature than monkey-creature”….[T]he yeti never attacks men, but to see one is bad luck. (p. 307)
Matthiessen senses that “There is power in the air” as the three discuss the yeti, with one man saying, “I think the yeti is a Buddhist” (p. 308) but refusing to explain further. It is one of many places in Matthiessen’s The Snow Leopard where Western rationalist boundaries between the scientific and the mystical simply break down – all of which Matthiessen embraces with an open, searching sensibility.
Against the perils and pains of the journey, Matthiessen’s Zen Buddhist faith provides him comfort, as when he reflects on the time when he and his wife, the writer Deborah Love, faced the reality of Love’s imminent death from cancer:
One intuits truth in the Zen teachings, even those that are scarcely understood; and now intuition had become knowing, not through merit but – it seemed – through grace. The state of grace that began that morning…prevailed throughout the winter of D’s dying, an inner calm in which I knew just how and where to act, wasting no energy in indecision or regrets: and seemingly, this certainty gave no offense, perhaps because no ego was involved, the one who acted in this manner was not “I”….As if awakened from a bad dream of the past, I found myself forgiven, not just by D but by myself, and this forgiveness strikes me still as the greatest blessing of my life. (p. 107)
I first read The Snow Leopard about 30 winters ago, when I was a graduate student at the University of Maryland. Matthiessen was coming to the U.Md. campus for a reading, and I still have my autographed copy of the book. I would never have dreamed, at the time, that one day I would visit Nepal, walk in downtown Kathmandu, fly around Mount Everest, experience the quiet spirituality and grace of the Nepali people. Throughout my time in Nepal, I wondered if I was in a place where Matthiessen and Schaller had been.
It is emblematic of the spirit of this book that Matthiessen talks of never having looked at a snow leopard with his own eyes on the trip, but feeling no sense of loss, because in a larger sense he has "seen" it. (By contrast, a few years ago I looked at a snow leopard in its enclosure at the Pittsburgh Zoo, but I don't think I've ever "seen" a snow leopard the way Matthiessen did.) The Snow Leopard is a singularly powerful and evocative book.
For Matthiessen, a Yale-educated naturalist, travel and wilderness writer, novelist, and environmental activist, a core theme seems to be the spiritual emptiness engendered by the industrial West’s focus on technological innovation and material acquisition. In both his fiction and his nonfiction – and he is the only writer ever to win the National Book Award in both categories – he has emphasized the perspectives of people who live close to the Earth and pursue a way of life that harmonizes with natural processes.
This trend applies to novels like Far Tortuga (1975), a work that chronicles the travails facing a group of Grand Cayman residents who want to hunt green turtles as their ancestors did – and it also applies to non-fiction works like In the Spirit of Crazy Horse (1983), a trenchant and controversial critique of the FBI’s 1973 campaign against the American Indian Movement (AIM) and the subsequent arrest and conviction of AIM leader Leonard Peltier. To say that Matthiessen always leaves the reader with something to think about would be an understatement.
Ideally, a work of travel literature should chronicle a spiritual voyage as well as a physical journey. The Snow Leopard succeeds brilliantly on both counts. Matthiessen's account of a trip into the Inner Dolpo area of Nepal's mountains, near the Tibetan border, is rich with description of the Himalayan landscape, and captures well the vibrant and diverse cultures of that region. Matthiessen's training as a naturalist serves him well; he initially made the journey with biologist George Schaller, who wanted to chronicle the mating practices of a Himalayan species of blue sheep.
Both Matthiessen and Schaller also hoped to catch sight of the snow leopard, a particularly elusive and seldom-seen predator that preys upon the blue sheep that Schaller was studying. But because of Matthiessen's devotion to Zen Buddhism, his trip into this cold, snowy, mountainous heartland of his faith becomes very much a quest of the soul, a search for a state of contentment, free of desire.
The journey is arduous, with its own particular dangers; at one point, a group of porters who did not take the appropriate precautions are afflicted with snow blindness, “a very disagreeable burning of the corneas which comes on with little warning and has no cure other than time: the sensation is that of sand thrown in the eyes” (p. 101). Even the scientists’ attempts to see the snow leopard do not exempt them from the temporal difficulties that can face travellers in a politically tense world, as a group of herders tell Matthiessen and Schaller at one point “that two or three snow leopards live along the river cliffs. They also say that there is a police check post at Saldang, which makes it inadvisable for us to go there” (p. 206). Later, contemplating a passage into the Tarap region along the Bheri River, the scientists reflect that “we have no permit for the Tarap region, nor any wish to spend a winter in the Tarap jail” (p. 207). Not all of the hazards of the journey, as it turns out, relate to snow and wind and cold.
The Nepalese landscape of the voyage is a spiritually rich and mystical place, where what can be measured by science exists side by side with mystical things that defy scientific knowledge. Late in the journey, Matthiessen and two of his guides discuss the yeti, the semi-human anthropoid creature that is said to inhabit the depths of the Himalayas:
Dawa giggles in embarrassment at talk of yeti, and the older sherpa shifts upon his heels to look at him. Tukten says quietly, “I have heard the yeti,” and cries out suddenly, “Kak-kak-kak KAI-ee!” – a wild, laughing yelp, quite unlike anything I have ever heard, which echoes eerily off the walls of the cold canyon.
Stirring the embers, Tukten is silent for a while. Dawa stares at him, more startled than myself. According to Tukten, the yeti is an animal, but “more man-creature than monkey-creature”….[T]he yeti never attacks men, but to see one is bad luck. (p. 307)
Matthiessen senses that “There is power in the air” as the three discuss the yeti, with one man saying, “I think the yeti is a Buddhist” (p. 308) but refusing to explain further. It is one of many places in Matthiessen’s The Snow Leopard where Western rationalist boundaries between the scientific and the mystical simply break down – all of which Matthiessen embraces with an open, searching sensibility.
Against the perils and pains of the journey, Matthiessen’s Zen Buddhist faith provides him comfort, as when he reflects on the time when he and his wife, the writer Deborah Love, faced the reality of Love’s imminent death from cancer:
One intuits truth in the Zen teachings, even those that are scarcely understood; and now intuition had become knowing, not through merit but – it seemed – through grace. The state of grace that began that morning…prevailed throughout the winter of D’s dying, an inner calm in which I knew just how and where to act, wasting no energy in indecision or regrets: and seemingly, this certainty gave no offense, perhaps because no ego was involved, the one who acted in this manner was not “I”….As if awakened from a bad dream of the past, I found myself forgiven, not just by D but by myself, and this forgiveness strikes me still as the greatest blessing of my life. (p. 107)
I first read The Snow Leopard about 30 winters ago, when I was a graduate student at the University of Maryland. Matthiessen was coming to the U.Md. campus for a reading, and I still have my autographed copy of the book. I would never have dreamed, at the time, that one day I would visit Nepal, walk in downtown Kathmandu, fly around Mount Everest, experience the quiet spirituality and grace of the Nepali people. Throughout my time in Nepal, I wondered if I was in a place where Matthiessen and Schaller had been.
It is emblematic of the spirit of this book that Matthiessen talks of never having looked at a snow leopard with his own eyes on the trip, but feeling no sense of loss, because in a larger sense he has "seen" it. (By contrast, a few years ago I looked at a snow leopard in its enclosure at the Pittsburgh Zoo, but I don't think I've ever "seen" a snow leopard the way Matthiessen did.) The Snow Leopard is a singularly powerful and evocative book.
August 16, 2013
I don't want it to seem like I didn't enjoy this book. I did. You do get a feel for how liberating, calming, centering, that it would be to walk out of the modern world to the cold and quiet mountains and let it all go…all the complications and illusions of life. He is a student of zen Buddhism and is trying to write a zen Buddhist book. I think if this were a different book I would like it better…but these people, this place…his attempt to be 'zen' all the time, it just feels detached and that we are missing lots of wonderful, dirty, complicated, vivid stuff. He isn't on a meditation retreat. He is walking through people's lives in living breathing communities and he barely seems to notice.
All journeys change us and teach us new things about other people and about ourselves. This book is written as if he knew it all before, the name of every bird, everything about the unique Buddhist traditions there, and also it seems that every animal, prayer stone, person and even every mountain was there just for him. Possibly this is quite an honest portrayal of our inner lives but it feels a little self absorbed.
I actually feel like his interest in Tukten is showing how he recognizes this deep down. Perhaps Tukten would have shown him the real people, the real place that he was walking past in his 'bubble'... if Matthiessen had just stuck his head through once and asked.
Or maybe I'm missing the point. He didn't see the snow leopard because he is the snow leopard.
All journeys change us and teach us new things about other people and about ourselves. This book is written as if he knew it all before, the name of every bird, everything about the unique Buddhist traditions there, and also it seems that every animal, prayer stone, person and even every mountain was there just for him. Possibly this is quite an honest portrayal of our inner lives but it feels a little self absorbed.
I actually feel like his interest in Tukten is showing how he recognizes this deep down. Perhaps Tukten would have shown him the real people, the real place that he was walking past in his 'bubble'... if Matthiessen had just stuck his head through once and asked.
Or maybe I'm missing the point. He didn't see the snow leopard because he is the snow leopard.
September 3, 2023
In The Snow Leopard, author Peter Matthiessen writes of his two month trek with naturalist and zoologist George Schaller as they search for blue sheep (bharal) and possibly, hopefully, a snow leopard too. This was in the fall of 1973, in the Dolpo Region of the Tibetan Plateau in the Nepalese Himalayas. Matthiessen was 46. His wife had recently died of cancer, leaving him responsible for two children. The youngest didn’t understand his departure and wanted him home soon, the sooner the better! Matthiessen and Schaller set out to study the mating habits of blue sheep in comparison to common American sheep. Snow leopards are predators of blue sheep. Matthiessen was seeking also to come to terms with himself, and it is in this respect that the book focuses on psychological, spiritual and religious beliefs—Tibetan Buddhism in particular. Monasteries are visited. Through Matthiessen’s experiences we rub shoulders with llamas, sherpas, bearers and the Nepalese people. We observe firsthand their traditions and ways, patterns of thinking and behaving.
The book focuses on ethnography; different indigenous cultures from around the world are compared. For example, cultural similarities of Eskimo, Native American and the peoples of Nepal and Tibet and Japan are discussed. The additional information is fascinating.
There is another great attraction to this book. The prose will speak to those attuned to nature and to those who enjoy trekking in wild places anywhere, the world over. As I read this, fond memories of trekking in northern Sweden came back to me with a rush. The landscapes and the descriptions of flora and fauna will strike a chord for many. Many of the birds spoken of are commonly found in Europe. This makes Matthiessen’s experiences feel familiar and close. At the same time, exciting episodes of blizzards and extremely harsh conditions has one viewing one’s own experiences from a new perspective.
Now, I am no Buddhist. I’ve only dabbled with it through reading. The focus on figuring out how to stay calm when the world around you is collapsing or verging on total bedlam drew me in fully. We observe those attuned to Eastern philosophy and ways of thinking. I think the book has led me in the right direction. it is interesting to note that both Matthiessen and Schaller also had difficulty mastering the ability to attain an inner calm. Clearly a pervading sense of fatalism is closer to Eastern than Western thinking.
We observe Matthiessen and how he relates to Schaller. We observe also Matthiessen’s relationship with Tukten, a man he comes to respect and rely on thoroughly. He was originally employed to bear provisions. A bond of kinship develops between the two. This is interesting to note, given that Tukten was frowned upon, viewed by some as an unreliable drunk. I admire Tukten for his ability to stay calm. He became a role model for not only Matthiessen but also for me. Each reader must judge for himself.
I will say this—when I started the book, I wondered if I would continue. The start is too theoretical, too impersonal. I did not like the start. Don’t give up too soon!
I listened to this read by Gunnar Johnson in Swedish, the translation having been done by Maj Frisch. Both the translation and the narration are in my view exemplary. I had no trouble listening. The narrator’s calm tone fits the book’s message well. Four stars to Gunnar Johnson. I will keep an eye out for this narrator in the future.
I like this book a lot. It provides interesting facts, has excellent nature writing and guides one toward attaining am inner stability and calm—not through instructive advice but instead through the observation of those who are calm. The book's role models are not drawn as saints. This appeals to me too.
The book focuses on ethnography; different indigenous cultures from around the world are compared. For example, cultural similarities of Eskimo, Native American and the peoples of Nepal and Tibet and Japan are discussed. The additional information is fascinating.
There is another great attraction to this book. The prose will speak to those attuned to nature and to those who enjoy trekking in wild places anywhere, the world over. As I read this, fond memories of trekking in northern Sweden came back to me with a rush. The landscapes and the descriptions of flora and fauna will strike a chord for many. Many of the birds spoken of are commonly found in Europe. This makes Matthiessen’s experiences feel familiar and close. At the same time, exciting episodes of blizzards and extremely harsh conditions has one viewing one’s own experiences from a new perspective.
Now, I am no Buddhist. I’ve only dabbled with it through reading. The focus on figuring out how to stay calm when the world around you is collapsing or verging on total bedlam drew me in fully. We observe those attuned to Eastern philosophy and ways of thinking. I think the book has led me in the right direction. it is interesting to note that both Matthiessen and Schaller also had difficulty mastering the ability to attain an inner calm. Clearly a pervading sense of fatalism is closer to Eastern than Western thinking.
We observe Matthiessen and how he relates to Schaller. We observe also Matthiessen’s relationship with Tukten, a man he comes to respect and rely on thoroughly. He was originally employed to bear provisions. A bond of kinship develops between the two. This is interesting to note, given that Tukten was frowned upon, viewed by some as an unreliable drunk. I admire Tukten for his ability to stay calm. He became a role model for not only Matthiessen but also for me. Each reader must judge for himself.
I will say this—when I started the book, I wondered if I would continue. The start is too theoretical, too impersonal. I did not like the start. Don’t give up too soon!
I listened to this read by Gunnar Johnson in Swedish, the translation having been done by Maj Frisch. Both the translation and the narration are in my view exemplary. I had no trouble listening. The narrator’s calm tone fits the book’s message well. Four stars to Gunnar Johnson. I will keep an eye out for this narrator in the future.
I like this book a lot. It provides interesting facts, has excellent nature writing and guides one toward attaining am inner stability and calm—not through instructive advice but instead through the observation of those who are calm. The book's role models are not drawn as saints. This appeals to me too.
November 30, 2015
The Hook - Peter Matthiessen passed away April 5, 2014 at the age of 86. I had read some of his fiction, loving the way his adventuresome novel Far Tartuga (1975) made me feel. I decided it was time to give this memoir, The Snow Leopard (1978) recounting his climb of Mount Everest in search of Blue Sheep and a quest to spot the elusive snow leopard a try.
The Line – On Acceptance
In its wholehearted acceptance of what is, this is just what Soen Roshi might have said: “I feel as if he had struck me in the chest. I thank him, bow, go softly down the mountain: under my parka, the folder prayer flag glows. Butter tea and wind pictures, the Crystal Mountain, and blue sheep dancing on the snow—it’s quite enough!
Have you seen the snow leopard?
No! Isn’t that wonderful?”
The Sinker – Having read many recent books capturing a climb of the famous Mount Everest, the pacing of The Snow Leopard initially left me cold. As I examined my feelings I realized that these other adventuresome reads were more geared to our need for instant gratification and a quick, thrilling read. Matthiessen’s book is from another time. Though not the first to climb Everest, Matthiesssen does it when it’s remains somewhat virgin territory. No oxygen, no fashion gear, no fee to anyone to make certain you make it. A two month climb under hard conditions in which he takes the time to mingle with the natives, connect with a Buddhist spirituality and smell the roses, in this case, Everest’s fauna and animals. The Snow Leopard is nostalgic and laced with subtle humor. It is an account of an era gone by, one that unfolds a realistic view of the challenges of mountaineering.
The Line – On Acceptance
In its wholehearted acceptance of what is, this is just what Soen Roshi might have said: “I feel as if he had struck me in the chest. I thank him, bow, go softly down the mountain: under my parka, the folder prayer flag glows. Butter tea and wind pictures, the Crystal Mountain, and blue sheep dancing on the snow—it’s quite enough!
Have you seen the snow leopard?
No! Isn’t that wonderful?”
The Sinker – Having read many recent books capturing a climb of the famous Mount Everest, the pacing of The Snow Leopard initially left me cold. As I examined my feelings I realized that these other adventuresome reads were more geared to our need for instant gratification and a quick, thrilling read. Matthiessen’s book is from another time. Though not the first to climb Everest, Matthiesssen does it when it’s remains somewhat virgin territory. No oxygen, no fashion gear, no fee to anyone to make certain you make it. A two month climb under hard conditions in which he takes the time to mingle with the natives, connect with a Buddhist spirituality and smell the roses, in this case, Everest’s fauna and animals. The Snow Leopard is nostalgic and laced with subtle humor. It is an account of an era gone by, one that unfolds a realistic view of the challenges of mountaineering.
March 5, 2022
Man throws himself into adventure, to escape the horror of losing his beloved wife and into a new state of consciousness. Matthiessen is no novice, he’s widely traveled and published in naturalism, anthropology, history and straight-up literature. He was in his 40s when he wrote this account of his travels with the highly reputed George Schaller. They flew into Kathmandu, then west, away from Everest, then north nearly to Tibet. This “book” is essentially his journal from 28 Sep to 01 Dec in 1973. These two men schlepped not only journals but books and various equipment up and down some of the most forbidding terrain in the world. I was surprised to learn that this towering mountainous snowscape is at the same latitude of the Florida Keys. Imagine snow in that hot, humid location! In fact, their journey started in hot, humid, mosquito-infected humanity of Nepal between the Hindi of India and southern China, areas of great historical conflict. Both men can’t wait to escape to the pure, cold air at higher altitudes. Schaller has a grant to study the mating habits of the blue bharal sheep (a rare, ancient breed as close to goat as sheep) and that is the primary purpose of the journal. They travel from point to point by hiring local porters and sherpas. These constantly changing characters are often unreliable and only one man accompanies our author throughout the whole trip. This person has a reputation for drunkenness and strikes fear and respect in the others, but Peter finds in him a kindred spirit, though their communication is largely non-verbal for their 3 months together.
The trip is harrowing, and often dark, where firewood and food is limited. They have to rely on getting to the tiny outposts for sustenance, in time, and the monasteries high in the mountains where the miniscule culture exists. These people are primitive, have lived with the terrain for centuries and literally dirt poor. They spent days in dark, frozen crevasses where the sun overhead was visible for only an hour at most (or not at all on cloudy rainy days, the first part of the journey was monsoon). Navigating mountain passes sometimes only 2-3 feet wide carrying gear, next to sheer drops of certain death, in howling wind. Matthiessen is a Buddhist, and understands its history in minute detail, carefully articulated (this could get tedious, he writes like a historian in these parts). But mostly his feelings, and his struggle to achieve a higher state and detachment from want. In the Zen state he attempts to live without the contaminations of the past or future aspiration. And, from time to time, in between the subsistence required in his small leaky tent, and lung shredding physical endurance, he does find moments of clarity and joy. Ecstatic tears sometimes fall, as glimpses of the ONE of time and place are briefly revealed. Other times he thinks on his past, the final moments of his wife’s life, as she encouraged him to enjoy the intransigence of life. He never sees the elusive snow leopard, not surprising as it is so stealthy it can hide anywhere, but they are all around, as evidence by the tracks, scrapes and scat. Matthiessen knows his lichens, plants, rocks and especially his birds, which he catalogues in studious detail. The Nepalese travel for money, are often unreliable in a way that would be fatal in these wilds where no phone can reach, and an injury or lack of heat is always possible. They are tough, though, often traveling with little clothing, barefoot or in sneakers across the snow. They know the sun warms, even in very cold temperatures, and manage through intelligence and knowledge.
I enjoyed this book, I’ve absolutely loved Matthiessen’s novels. He’s an interesting fellow. This book (the exact copy) I’ve carried with me since about 1985 when a lab technician named Van gave it to me when I was in graduate school. Van was a know it all, but cheerful, and used his coffee pot to lure students into conversation. I was interested in Buddhism at the time, having read the Dharma Bums by Kerouac. Perhaps that is why he gave it to me. I just found that old Van passed in 2019 thanks to the glorious internet, and wrote a few words on his obit. He was a southern Indiana boy, with a special curiosity, and I count his casual counsel as one who made me who I am, with doors to great writers like Matthiessen.
The trip is harrowing, and often dark, where firewood and food is limited. They have to rely on getting to the tiny outposts for sustenance, in time, and the monasteries high in the mountains where the miniscule culture exists. These people are primitive, have lived with the terrain for centuries and literally dirt poor. They spent days in dark, frozen crevasses where the sun overhead was visible for only an hour at most (or not at all on cloudy rainy days, the first part of the journey was monsoon). Navigating mountain passes sometimes only 2-3 feet wide carrying gear, next to sheer drops of certain death, in howling wind. Matthiessen is a Buddhist, and understands its history in minute detail, carefully articulated (this could get tedious, he writes like a historian in these parts). But mostly his feelings, and his struggle to achieve a higher state and detachment from want. In the Zen state he attempts to live without the contaminations of the past or future aspiration. And, from time to time, in between the subsistence required in his small leaky tent, and lung shredding physical endurance, he does find moments of clarity and joy. Ecstatic tears sometimes fall, as glimpses of the ONE of time and place are briefly revealed. Other times he thinks on his past, the final moments of his wife’s life, as she encouraged him to enjoy the intransigence of life. He never sees the elusive snow leopard, not surprising as it is so stealthy it can hide anywhere, but they are all around, as evidence by the tracks, scrapes and scat. Matthiessen knows his lichens, plants, rocks and especially his birds, which he catalogues in studious detail. The Nepalese travel for money, are often unreliable in a way that would be fatal in these wilds where no phone can reach, and an injury or lack of heat is always possible. They are tough, though, often traveling with little clothing, barefoot or in sneakers across the snow. They know the sun warms, even in very cold temperatures, and manage through intelligence and knowledge.
I enjoyed this book, I’ve absolutely loved Matthiessen’s novels. He’s an interesting fellow. This book (the exact copy) I’ve carried with me since about 1985 when a lab technician named Van gave it to me when I was in graduate school. Van was a know it all, but cheerful, and used his coffee pot to lure students into conversation. I was interested in Buddhism at the time, having read the Dharma Bums by Kerouac. Perhaps that is why he gave it to me. I just found that old Van passed in 2019 thanks to the glorious internet, and wrote a few words on his obit. He was a southern Indiana boy, with a special curiosity, and I count his casual counsel as one who made me who I am, with doors to great writers like Matthiessen.
October 5, 2011
I started reading this book, expecting to enjoy it. I love travelogues, natural history and animal discoveries, studying animal behavior... and I put this book down. Matthiessen's tone drove me bonkers. I may try it again later. He is not a lens through which to observe a part of the world...it's all about him, and, quite frankly, I found him boring.
September 4, 2019
(4.5) For two months of 1973, from late September to late November, Matthiessen joined zoologist George Schaller on a journey from the Nepalese Himalayas to the Tibetan Plateau to study Himalayan blue sheep. Both also harbored a hope of spotting the elusive snow leopard.
Matthiessen had recently lost his partner, Deborah Love, to cancer, and left their children behind – at residential schools or with family friends – to go on this spirit-healing quest. Though he occasionally feels guilty, especially about the eight-year-old, his thoughts are usually on the practicalities of the mountain trek. They have sherpas to carry their gear, and they stop in at monasteries but also meet ordinary people. More memorable than the human encounters, though, are those with the natural world. Matthiessen watches foxes hunting and griffons soaring overhead; he marvels at alpine birds and flora.
The writing is stunning. No wonder this won a 1979 National Book Award (in the short-lived “Contemporary Thought” category, which has since been replaced by a general nonfiction award). It’s a nature and travel writing classic. However, it took me nearly EIGHTEEN MONTHS to read, in all kinds of fits and starts, because I could rarely read more than part of one daily entry at a time. I struggle with travel narratives in general – perhaps I think it’s unfair to read them faster than the author lived through them? – but there’s also an aphoristic density to the book that requires unhurried, meditative engagement.
The mountains in their monolithic permanence remind the author that he will die. The question of whether he will ever see a snow leopard comes to matter less and less as he uses his Buddhist training to remind himself of tenets of acceptance (“not fatalism but a deep trust in life”) and transience: “In worrying about the future, I despoil the present”; what is this “forever getting-ready-for-life instead of living it each day”? I’m fascinated by Buddhism, but anyone who ponders life’s deep questions should get something out of this.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
Matthiessen had recently lost his partner, Deborah Love, to cancer, and left their children behind – at residential schools or with family friends – to go on this spirit-healing quest. Though he occasionally feels guilty, especially about the eight-year-old, his thoughts are usually on the practicalities of the mountain trek. They have sherpas to carry their gear, and they stop in at monasteries but also meet ordinary people. More memorable than the human encounters, though, are those with the natural world. Matthiessen watches foxes hunting and griffons soaring overhead; he marvels at alpine birds and flora.
The writing is stunning. No wonder this won a 1979 National Book Award (in the short-lived “Contemporary Thought” category, which has since been replaced by a general nonfiction award). It’s a nature and travel writing classic. However, it took me nearly EIGHTEEN MONTHS to read, in all kinds of fits and starts, because I could rarely read more than part of one daily entry at a time. I struggle with travel narratives in general – perhaps I think it’s unfair to read them faster than the author lived through them? – but there’s also an aphoristic density to the book that requires unhurried, meditative engagement.
The mountains in their monolithic permanence remind the author that he will die. The question of whether he will ever see a snow leopard comes to matter less and less as he uses his Buddhist training to remind himself of tenets of acceptance (“not fatalism but a deep trust in life”) and transience: “In worrying about the future, I despoil the present”; what is this “forever getting-ready-for-life instead of living it each day”? I’m fascinated by Buddhism, but anyone who ponders life’s deep questions should get something out of this.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
April 24, 2014
Sometimes it's not till I finish a book that I realize how much I am in love with it. That's the case with this lovely travelogue, which smartly does not pretend to be anything that it is not. It's not given any frills or decoration, other than beautiful and inimitable descriptions of nature. It is a humble record of a man's journey through the Himalayas and his concurrent spiritual journey. To ask after the object of the journey is missing the point—and I hope this doesn't sound cheesy, as it does not come across cheesily at all in the book—the journey is the point.
"I feel great gratitude for being here, for being, rather, for there is no need to hie oneself to the snow mountains in order to feel free. I am not here to seek the "crazy wisdom"; if I am, I shall never find it. I am here to be here, like these rocks and sky and snow, like this hail that is falling down out of the sun." -p.108
"This wayfaring in shifting sun, in snow and cloud worlds, so close to the weather, makes me happy; the morbid feeling of this dawn has passed away. I would like to reach the Crystal Monastery, I would like to see a snow leopard, but if I do not, that is all right, too. In this moment, there are birds—red-billed choughs, those queer small crows of the high places, and a small buteo, black against the heavens, and southbound finches bounding down the wind, in their wake a sprinkling of song. A lark, a swift, a lammergeier, and more griffons: the vultures pass at eye level, on creaking wings." -p.89
"I feel great gratitude for being here, for being, rather, for there is no need to hie oneself to the snow mountains in order to feel free. I am not here to seek the "crazy wisdom"; if I am, I shall never find it. I am here to be here, like these rocks and sky and snow, like this hail that is falling down out of the sun." -p.108
"This wayfaring in shifting sun, in snow and cloud worlds, so close to the weather, makes me happy; the morbid feeling of this dawn has passed away. I would like to reach the Crystal Monastery, I would like to see a snow leopard, but if I do not, that is all right, too. In this moment, there are birds—red-billed choughs, those queer small crows of the high places, and a small buteo, black against the heavens, and southbound finches bounding down the wind, in their wake a sprinkling of song. A lark, a swift, a lammergeier, and more griffons: the vultures pass at eye level, on creaking wings." -p.89
February 22, 2017
“Amazingly, we take for granted that instinct for survival, fear of death, must separate us from the happiness of pure and uninterrupted experience in which body, mind, and nature and the same.” (42)
Matthiessen’s book is part travelogue, part naturalist observations, and part coming to terms with loss. About a year after the death of his wife, Matthiessen travels along with a friend in search of a snow leopard, really in the search of big blue sheep. It’s much hiking and camping, and eating.
Early in the book, I found myself wondering why or to be more exact what type of father would leave a young son just a year after the son lost his mother. Matthiessen himself seems to be aware of this reaction, and he does not try to beg excuses. Instead, he quotes his son’s letter, a sobering missive.
And yet, this is not a self-indulgent pity party book.
It’s a book about coming to terms with one’s self, with loss, with life. Or what “Walt Whitman celebrated the most ancient secret, that no God could be found more divine than yourself” (63)
The point is that Matthiessen is able to make this a book about enlightenment, both his and the readers, so much so that one does agree with GS who wonders if it would perhaps be better if the snow leopard remained unseen.
At times, the reader does wonder. For instance, if PM had been a mother, would the book have garnered as much support and positive reviews. Is my reaction about his leaving his son because I don’t, I can’t, understand PM’s own grieving process? What is normal grieving anyway?
In many, it is the confessional tone, the prompting of these questions as well as the wonderful nature writing make the book worth a read.
Matthiessen’s book is part travelogue, part naturalist observations, and part coming to terms with loss. About a year after the death of his wife, Matthiessen travels along with a friend in search of a snow leopard, really in the search of big blue sheep. It’s much hiking and camping, and eating.
Early in the book, I found myself wondering why or to be more exact what type of father would leave a young son just a year after the son lost his mother. Matthiessen himself seems to be aware of this reaction, and he does not try to beg excuses. Instead, he quotes his son’s letter, a sobering missive.
And yet, this is not a self-indulgent pity party book.
It’s a book about coming to terms with one’s self, with loss, with life. Or what “Walt Whitman celebrated the most ancient secret, that no God could be found more divine than yourself” (63)
The point is that Matthiessen is able to make this a book about enlightenment, both his and the readers, so much so that one does agree with GS who wonders if it would perhaps be better if the snow leopard remained unseen.
At times, the reader does wonder. For instance, if PM had been a mother, would the book have garnered as much support and positive reviews. Is my reaction about his leaving his son because I don’t, I can’t, understand PM’s own grieving process? What is normal grieving anyway?
In many, it is the confessional tone, the prompting of these questions as well as the wonderful nature writing make the book worth a read.
September 20, 2022
“Behind and below, among swirls made by snow gleam and the ice-broken black brook, a surreal figure very like my own pursues me across the vast floor of the mountains. It crosses the shining boulders, coming on with slow, portentous step. The sight of this figure brings a small foreboding, as if it were the self of dreams who seeks me out with the coming of the day at the black labyrinthine river, in dead whiteness.”
Published in 1978, this book is the author’s memoir of his journey to the Himalayas to search for the elusive snow leopard. Accompanied by biologist George Schaller, porters, and Sherpas, he crossed mountains to reach the remote region of Dolpo, Nepal on the Tibetan plateau. Along the way he describes his spiritual quest based on the principles of Zen Buddhism in the wake of his wife’s death from cancer. It contains atmospheric nature and travel writing. It is filled with philosophical musings. It is written in the form of a daily diary from September 28 to December 1, 1973. Matthiessen’s detailed descriptions provide the reader with a sense of the stark beauty of the region, the harsh weather conditions, and the manner in which the people live. I particularly enjoyed their visit to the monastery at Crystal Mountain. It is a book where the journey is more important than the destination.
“In worrying about the future, I despoil the present.”
Published in 1978, this book is the author’s memoir of his journey to the Himalayas to search for the elusive snow leopard. Accompanied by biologist George Schaller, porters, and Sherpas, he crossed mountains to reach the remote region of Dolpo, Nepal on the Tibetan plateau. Along the way he describes his spiritual quest based on the principles of Zen Buddhism in the wake of his wife’s death from cancer. It contains atmospheric nature and travel writing. It is filled with philosophical musings. It is written in the form of a daily diary from September 28 to December 1, 1973. Matthiessen’s detailed descriptions provide the reader with a sense of the stark beauty of the region, the harsh weather conditions, and the manner in which the people live. I particularly enjoyed their visit to the monastery at Crystal Mountain. It is a book where the journey is more important than the destination.
“In worrying about the future, I despoil the present.”
July 13, 2023
This was a donation to my Little Free Library Shed. It was also a winner of the 1979 National Book Award. I was attracted to the book cover, and the idea of it, that made me want to explore reading it.
This book is a true accounting of a wildlife research trek into the Himalayas. In many ways it reads like a novel. It is rich with sensory detail – capturing the sights, tastes, smells, sounds and textures of the author’s journey, along with his observations and feelings of his experience.
It is almost as if we have our backpack along with him and biologist, George Schaller, as they climb in the remote Dolpo region of the Tibetan Plateau to observe the blue sheep and solve the evolutionary mystery of their origins. But their true reason for being on this adventure is to capture a glimpse of the elusive snow leopard.
His story is told through a series of journal entries from September 28-December 1, 1973. Although broken up into short segments, it doesn’t bode well to skim or read in snippets (although to be honest, I had a tendency to do this – skipping along – backing up – going forward – and back again, if I felt I missed an important detail.) It is a slow read. After all, even though I said it read like fiction, it is still not.
There are a lot of biological facts and observations and insights about the conservation of Nepal. A lot of their exploration that year helped to establish the National Park that preserves the snow leopard territory.
There is also an eco-spiritual aspect to the book. The author is grieving the loss of his wife during this trip. We can feel this loss, and we are a part of his meditative process. This sometimes colors his observations.
Still…
For anyone who is into nature, this would be an interesting read.
The end of the book provides notes and an index. 3.5 stars.
This book is a true accounting of a wildlife research trek into the Himalayas. In many ways it reads like a novel. It is rich with sensory detail – capturing the sights, tastes, smells, sounds and textures of the author’s journey, along with his observations and feelings of his experience.
It is almost as if we have our backpack along with him and biologist, George Schaller, as they climb in the remote Dolpo region of the Tibetan Plateau to observe the blue sheep and solve the evolutionary mystery of their origins. But their true reason for being on this adventure is to capture a glimpse of the elusive snow leopard.
His story is told through a series of journal entries from September 28-December 1, 1973. Although broken up into short segments, it doesn’t bode well to skim or read in snippets (although to be honest, I had a tendency to do this – skipping along – backing up – going forward – and back again, if I felt I missed an important detail.) It is a slow read. After all, even though I said it read like fiction, it is still not.
There are a lot of biological facts and observations and insights about the conservation of Nepal. A lot of their exploration that year helped to establish the National Park that preserves the snow leopard territory.
There is also an eco-spiritual aspect to the book. The author is grieving the loss of his wife during this trip. We can feel this loss, and we are a part of his meditative process. This sometimes colors his observations.
Still…
For anyone who is into nature, this would be an interesting read.
The end of the book provides notes and an index. 3.5 stars.
January 4, 2022
One could argue that this is really two books blended into one: A scientific expedition to record data on wildlife habits (which is why I signed on), plus a primer on / exploration of / personal take on Buddhism.
Or, you could divide it into three distinct sections this way: A short section that took place in India and Kathmandu, setting the stage and filled with, absolutely packed with people; a long hike through rural Nepal, encountering small villages along the way; and finally the experience in the high mountains, in which the human population was whittled down to his own climbing party (a German ecologist and several sherpas), plus a few monks here and there. For me, most of the treasures in this book came from the center section, where human interactions had not yet disappeared entirely and we learn the lifestyles of people who are truly off the grid, several days' hike from the closest road, self sufficient and, for the most part, apparently at ease in their relations to the world around them.
Up-front confession: My own interactions with Buddhism have been tangential and shallow, and I may be missing a lot. The sense I get (and to which this book contributes mightily) is that the emphasis this religion places on one's own acceptance, one's own enlightenment, and one's own self-knowledge doesn't really do diddly-squat to help your less-fortunate neighbor down the road. Mathiessen writes, quite movingly, of a child in India, dragging her twisted, crippled legs through the mud, and smiling up with the most beautiful face he's ever seen. While it's nice to be appreciated and memorialized in this way, perhaps studying medicine or public health instead of The Way would provide more tangible benefits to children like this. Similarly, the author's own children, shortly after the death of their mother, were left with another family for months while Mathiessen did, I suppose, what he considered more important than being there for them.
Perhaps the argument is that, until you are at peace with yourself, you cannot really do much for others. But I don't buy that, and if there's the second half of the argument, then it wasn't made in this book. So I'm afraid that his experiences under the sacred Bodhi tree are somewhat wasted on me.
What I do admire is his ability to transmit imagery across the decades and miles. His descriptions of a village called Rohagoan have stayed with me for years, as has a rainy campsite outside Tatopani. The fact that I can remember the names of these villages twenty-five years after reading the book is testament to his writing prowess.
The final verdict is that I'm glad I read this, even though I was not swayed by its central argument. (And I can hear his ghost now, telling me that if I think his goal was to sway others, than I have missed the point entirely. Yeah. I get it.)
Or, you could divide it into three distinct sections this way: A short section that took place in India and Kathmandu, setting the stage and filled with, absolutely packed with people; a long hike through rural Nepal, encountering small villages along the way; and finally the experience in the high mountains, in which the human population was whittled down to his own climbing party (a German ecologist and several sherpas), plus a few monks here and there. For me, most of the treasures in this book came from the center section, where human interactions had not yet disappeared entirely and we learn the lifestyles of people who are truly off the grid, several days' hike from the closest road, self sufficient and, for the most part, apparently at ease in their relations to the world around them.
Up-front confession: My own interactions with Buddhism have been tangential and shallow, and I may be missing a lot. The sense I get (and to which this book contributes mightily) is that the emphasis this religion places on one's own acceptance, one's own enlightenment, and one's own self-knowledge doesn't really do diddly-squat to help your less-fortunate neighbor down the road. Mathiessen writes, quite movingly, of a child in India, dragging her twisted, crippled legs through the mud, and smiling up with the most beautiful face he's ever seen. While it's nice to be appreciated and memorialized in this way, perhaps studying medicine or public health instead of The Way would provide more tangible benefits to children like this. Similarly, the author's own children, shortly after the death of their mother, were left with another family for months while Mathiessen did, I suppose, what he considered more important than being there for them.
Perhaps the argument is that, until you are at peace with yourself, you cannot really do much for others. But I don't buy that, and if there's the second half of the argument, then it wasn't made in this book. So I'm afraid that his experiences under the sacred Bodhi tree are somewhat wasted on me.
What I do admire is his ability to transmit imagery across the decades and miles. His descriptions of a village called Rohagoan have stayed with me for years, as has a rainy campsite outside Tatopani. The fact that I can remember the names of these villages twenty-five years after reading the book is testament to his writing prowess.
The final verdict is that I'm glad I read this, even though I was not swayed by its central argument. (And I can hear his ghost now, telling me that if I think his goal was to sway others, than I have missed the point entirely. Yeah. I get it.)
February 12, 2021
toto je moja pripomienka, že svet je omnoho väčší a rozmanitý, že existuje viac ako len ten náš známy západ, že rozdielnosť názorov, hodnôt, tradícii a vonkoncom rozdielnosť prostého prežívania je krásna a je v poriadku. som vďačná, že som mohla ísť na takéto dobrodružstvo spolu so spisovateľom Petrom, vedcom Georgom a ich nosičmi, nielen výletovanie a objavovanie Nepálu, ale dobrodružstvo ako cesta do ich a môjho vnútra, skutočne do hĺbky. a nakoniec, že môj O. bol na tejto ceste spolu so mnou.
autor viackrát napísal, že iba na prítomnosti záleží, no nech už dnes život v Nepále vyzerá akokoľvek, toto je našou spoločnou spomienkou na niečo úplne neobyčajné a veľmi vzácne.
Snežný leopard zostane ešte hodn�� chvíľu so mnou a ak sa časom prirodzene vytratí, s úctou a láskou si ho opäť pripomeniem.
autor viackrát napísal, že iba na prítomnosti záleží, no nech už dnes život v Nepále vyzerá akokoľvek, toto je našou spoločnou spomienkou na niečo úplne neobyčajné a veľmi vzácne.
Snežný leopard zostane ešte hodn�� chvíľu so mnou a ak sa časom prirodzene vytratí, s úctou a láskou si ho opäť pripomeniem.
March 4, 2009
Read this, which I've had for years, in 3 days. Brilliant, vivid account of Matthiessen's journey with a biologist and a team of porters and sherpas through the quiet, snow-covered and strange Himalayas. The biologist is seeking to observe the rutting of the region's unique blue sheep. Matthiessen is seeking an encounter with the more secret snow leopard, a not-so-vieled metaphor to the real substance of the journey, which is a quest for enlightenment. Interwoven are reflections on the history of (mostly Zen) Buddhism, his own acquaintance with zen practice and heartwrenching remembrances of his late wife and her death from cancer.
April 13, 2021
A beautifully written travel narrative.
September 30, 2019
DNF
Terrible
I wanted to gouge my eyes out
Oh boy. I gave up on this book. An alternative title to this book should be: “The Snow Leopard: As elusive in this book as in real life”.
For a book that was supposed to be a travelogue into the world of the snow leopard, there were endless pages of dense reflections on Buddhism. I know Peter Matthiessen is supposed to be a student of Buddhism, but if I wanted to read a book about Buddhism, I wouldn’t have picked up a book called “The Snow Leopard”.
Every 5 seconds we would drift off into some gabble about Buddhism that made no sense. Sometimes I feel that the concepts of Buddhism aren’t so hard to grasp, but scholarly scriptures make it harder. What I mean is, I often wondered if Matthiessen himself knew what he was talking about. The point where I gave up was when he was talking about doing LSD while “reveling in the lessons and scriptures of Buddhism”. I understand that during the 60-70, associating drugs to eastern philosophy was a thing, but putting that in a book isn’t going to make me believe that the person is serious about learning(or even knows what their saying).
The book follows Matthiessen and his partner “GS”, and I did not warm up to either men. Matthiessen made no sense with his paralogues and GS was just an awful person. Matthiessen tried to understand GS for the readers, but you can’t wrap a knife in pretty wallpaper and call it a day. GS was just rude and the excuse “he doesn’t know how to act around people” is no excuse. He didn’t know how to act around people but he could certainly pass judgement. Speaking of which, both men provided “insight” on the environment and people of Nepal, Tibet, and India, and you can tell how flawed this insight was. They could comment on how sad Indians looked and how there was poverty and how the environment wasn’t being cared for. They extended this insight to Pakistan and even said that the US army should make their soldiers plant trees in order to increase the 3% forest coverage in Pakistan since they didn’t seem to be doing anything else. Again, they were passing judgement and inaccurate information. The book was published in 1978, and probably written earlier. Asia, at the time, was going through a lot so I’m just going to summarize (very roughly). India just received its independence (around 31 years prior) and had to go through a bloody partition, displacement of people and culture, and wars. It had to bring its country out of the state colonization left it in, and you don’t go through something as harrowing as that without mass suffering. It’s sad, and unfortune, and devastating, and affects everyone to some extent. I know I shouldn’t get riled over something that was written in the 70s. It’s not like people were as aware of things as we are today, so we shouldn’t really judge. But seeing as these parts were the only bits that made any coherence, and then seeing how misinformed these perspectives were, naturally made me zoom in on them.
It was horrible and I quit. I just wanted a book on snow leopards. I went to the back of the book and saw that they put an index. Maybe the publishers also realized that people who picked this up might be wondering where the snow leopards were too.
What did you think? Leave a comment!
©thescientificdetective2019
Terrible
I wanted to gouge my eyes out
Oh boy. I gave up on this book. An alternative title to this book should be: “The Snow Leopard: As elusive in this book as in real life”.
For a book that was supposed to be a travelogue into the world of the snow leopard, there were endless pages of dense reflections on Buddhism. I know Peter Matthiessen is supposed to be a student of Buddhism, but if I wanted to read a book about Buddhism, I wouldn’t have picked up a book called “The Snow Leopard”.
Every 5 seconds we would drift off into some gabble about Buddhism that made no sense. Sometimes I feel that the concepts of Buddhism aren’t so hard to grasp, but scholarly scriptures make it harder. What I mean is, I often wondered if Matthiessen himself knew what he was talking about. The point where I gave up was when he was talking about doing LSD while “reveling in the lessons and scriptures of Buddhism”. I understand that during the 60-70, associating drugs to eastern philosophy was a thing, but putting that in a book isn’t going to make me believe that the person is serious about learning
The book follows Matthiessen and his partner “GS”, and I did not warm up to either men. Matthiessen made no sense with his paralogues and GS was just an awful person. Matthiessen tried to understand GS for the readers, but you can’t wrap a knife in pretty wallpaper and call it a day. GS was just rude and the excuse “he doesn’t know how to act around people” is no excuse. He didn’t know how to act around people but he could certainly pass judgement. Speaking of which, both men provided “insight” on the environment and people of Nepal, Tibet, and India, and you can tell how flawed this insight was. They could comment on how sad Indians looked and how there was poverty and how the environment wasn’t being cared for. They extended this insight to Pakistan and even said that the US army should make their soldiers plant trees in order to increase the 3% forest coverage in Pakistan since they didn’t seem to be doing anything else. Again, they were passing judgement and inaccurate information. The book was published in 1978, and probably written earlier. Asia, at the time, was going through a lot so I’m just going to summarize (very roughly). India just received its independence (around 31 years prior) and had to go through a bloody partition, displacement of people and culture, and wars. It had to bring its country out of the state colonization left it in, and you don’t go through something as harrowing as that without mass suffering. It’s sad, and unfortune, and devastating, and affects everyone to some extent. I know I shouldn’t get riled over something that was written in the 70s. It’s not like people were as aware of things as we are today, so we shouldn’t really judge. But seeing as these parts were the only bits that made any coherence, and then seeing how misinformed these perspectives were, naturally made me zoom in on them.
It was horrible and I quit. I just wanted a book on snow leopards. I went to the back of the book and saw that they put an index. Maybe the publishers also realized that people who picked this up might be wondering where the snow leopards were too.
What did you think? Leave a comment!
©thescientificdetective2019
April 24, 2022
Finally done with this. It was the first time for me to read a book by Peter Matthiessen and I'm afraid I didn't like it too much. First of all, this book was chosen by my book club for our visit to Nepal. However, most of the book is really about Tibetan culture. I imagine Nepalese culture to be slightly if not more different than Tibetan. Secondly, the author underwent a difficult journey. His wife just died of cancer and he left behind his young eight-year-old son for a dangerous adventure climbing the Himalayas. He didn't speak Tibetan, which made communication with the sherpas difficult. He wanted to find peace and the meaning of life among the Tibetan Buddhists but instead he keeps bickering bitterly about the sherpas. I didn't find him very respectful and didn't understand the choices he made. Lastly, the book didn't hold my attention well. I found myself always reaching out for other books, but also feeling obligated to finish this for the book club journey.
"And then, almost everywhere, clear and subtle illumination that lent magnificence to life and peace to death was overwhelmed in the hard glare of technology. Yet that light is always present, like the stars of noon. Man must perceive it if he is to transcend his fear of meaninglessness, for no amount of "progress" can take its lace. We have outsmarted ourselves, like greedy monkeys, and now we are full of dread."
"And then, almost everywhere, clear and subtle illumination that lent magnificence to life and peace to death was overwhelmed in the hard glare of technology. Yet that light is always present, like the stars of noon. Man must perceive it if he is to transcend his fear of meaninglessness, for no amount of "progress" can take its lace. We have outsmarted ourselves, like greedy monkeys, and now we are full of dread."
June 22, 2015
"Crezco en estas montañas como el musgo. Estoy hechizado. Los cegadores picos nevados y el aire sonoro, el ruido de la Tierra y los cielos en silencio, las aves sepultureras, los animales míticos, los estandartes, los grandes cuernos y las antiguas piedras labradas, los tártaros toscamente tallados, con sus trenzas y sus botas de fabricación casera, el hielo plateado en el Río Negro, el Kang, la Montaña de Cristal. También estoy enamorado de los milagros corrientes: el murmullo de mis amigos al llegar la noche, los fuegos de enebro humeante en hornos de barro, los alimentos toscos e insípidos, las privaciones y la sencillez, la satisfacción de no hacer más que una cosa en cada momento: cuando cojo la taza azul de estaño, eso es todo lo que hago. No hemos tenido noticias de lo que pasa en el mundo desde finales de septiembre, seguiremos sin tenerlas hasta diciembre y, poco a poco, la mente se me ha ido aclarando y el viento y el sol me pasan por la cabeza como si fuese una campana. Aunque aquí hablamos poco, nunca estoy solo; he vuelto a mí mismo"
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