Hunting Dinosaurs: An Essay Review of “In Patagonia”, By Bruce Chatwin.

By: Will Stiefel

 

Patagonia has always drawn interest when it comes to its history, isolation, and general mystery. Located at the farthest point accessible by foot in South America, Patagonia is shared by both Chile and Argentina. Though the region lies in both countries, it may as well be its own entity; stretching through vast, untamed landscape considered to many as the most impressive on earth.

Travelling this extremely remote, mysterious region, Bruce Chatwin examines what it is that drives humans to roam. Simultaneously, he details his accounts of Patagonia riddled with history, humanity, and geography. The novel may not read like a typical adventure story, but its assorted anecdote, history, and experience give the reader a deeper look into what draws people to Patagonia and all other far reaches of earth.

To those who have never traveled there, Patagonia might as well be a different planet. Century old legends described the region as the home of modern giants; there are even thought to be extinct dinosaurs still roaming its grass plains and dramatically carved ridges. However, with numerous expeditions funded to prove these rumors, they have almost all been proved false.

This is where we find Bruce Chatwin in his defining text, In Patagonia, setting out into the remote stretches of the territory to decipher the history behind an old piece of dinosaur skin. Originally hailing from Great Britain, young Chatwin admired a piece of skin his grandmother claimed to be from a brontosaurus. Her cousin, Charles Milward, had reportedly found it “preserved by the cold, dryness and salt, in a cave on Lost Hope Sound in Chilean Patagonia” (Chatwin 2). Differing opinions on the validity of the skins origin and acquisition sparked Chatwin’s curiosity with Patagonia. With the threat of the cold war reaching England, and a newfound interest in geography, Chatwin eventually found himself setting foot into the faraway region. Overtime, Chatwin learned that the skin was not that of the brontosaurus, but rather from a mylodon or giant sloth. This, however, does not stop him from presenting an account of his travels through Patagonia that help answer many questions those uninformed have had about the region.

The population diversity of Patagonia, and how it came to be, intrigues Chatwin. To begin exploring Patagonia’s people, he must start with those who originated in the region—primarily, the Araucanian Indians. These Indians once considered “fierce and brave…scared the Spaniards out of their wits” (Chatwin14). However, reading through

Chatwin’s encounters with these Indians, one begins to realize that they suffered a fate very similar to those of the North American tribes. Now, many are migrant workers, usually alcoholics, and most with strong tempers. Chatwin experiences these qualities on a few different occasions, which leads the reader to make some assumptions about the native’s current condition. With the colonization of a European power almost always comes the displacement and ignorance of those native to the land. Those native to Patagonia suffered no different a fate.

On a similar basis, Chatwin spends much of his time describing the role of the South American gaucho. These cattle herding, nomadic people originally roamed the otherwise empty grasslands of the Patagonian desert similar to cowboys of the North American frontier. They were also alike in their pride for horsemanship. Chatwin observes that, “once you get a drunk gaucho in the saddle, he won’t fall off and his horse will get him home” (Chatwin 37). Sentences and observations like this made Chatwin’s writing both interesting and entertaining. He places gauchos in a seemingly gallant, epic light. In comparison to the grandiose stories of old western cowboys, the gauchos do not fall short. For many guachos, In Patagonia is a very respected and loved account of their existence. Their role in preserving the nationalistic sense of the region, especially in the face of European invasion, makes them a very significant Patagonian archetype. Several episodes of the novel find Chatwin joining a gaucho for traditional matétea or an asado of fire roasted mutton (24). The region seems desperate to hold onto its identity in the face of the people’s turbulent history.

Reading through the novel, one cannot help but feel a sense of exile residing somewhere within the soul of Patagonia. Almost everyone Chatwin meets comes from some faraway country, hardly any within South America. Many Welsh and Russian immigrants—used to cold, dark, wet conditions—make their way to Patagonia. Forced to run from the law, the legendary Butch Cassidy and his Sundance Kid even choose Patagonia to start a new life. The common thread being that they all seek what once was. The times change everywhere. Populations grow, frontiers diminish, and people are displaced. Yet, Patagonia remains Patagonia, seemingly frozen in time. Chatwin presents a place unconquerable by civilization, where people can migrate only to live off the land. There, in the unforgiving conditions, exiles can make a new start with success depending on nature not infringing society.

The ideas presented within In Patagonia are not what I expected from this highly acclaimed piece of travel writing. My idea of Patagonia, as one unfamiliar with it, was of pure adventure and isolation. Although Chatwin does experience some of this, his interaction with what population there is to find in Patagonia proves the most useful to answer any questions about this mysterious place.  I had only heard about Patagonia through a documentary that followed a mountain climber to the region. Its remoteness seemed unimaginable, yet the film alone did not give me much of a feel for the history of the region or why it had remained so mysterious. Within a mere 200 pages, Chatwin presented me with a narrative that incorporated every aspect of travel to comprehensively describe Patagonia. His vignettes, compiled into 97 chapters, help him demonstrate his research method of encountering many different people, places, and situations when travelling. These chapters, whether short or long, all equally contribute to present a well-rounded sense of Patagonian identity.

The reviews of Chatwin’s book—especially one done years ago by The New York Times—consistently draw on Chatwin’s exploration of why humans feel the need to roam, wander, and explore. Humans hardly remain content with one place for too long and, like animals, seem physically programmed to crave travel. This is what helps define Chatwin’s novel as the epitome of travel writing. He examines not only the geography, culture, and history of Patagonia, but also the philosophical draw of it. Those drawn to Patagonia, along with those drawn to the moon, prove to be prime examples of why humans crave travel. These desolate, unpopulated, wild places give wanderers a sense of “primeval calmness…which is perhaps the same as the Peace of God” (Chatwin 15). Chatwin’s exploration of this instinctual pleasure opens readers’ eyes to what draws us to drift throughout the world, and sheds light on what makes Patagonia the ideal location to do so. As Hilton Kramer points out in his review of the novel, In Patagonia does not provide an escape from the modern world but a deeper sense of it.

 

Sources

Chatwin, Bruce. In Patagonia. New York: Summit, 1977. Print.

Making Italy Home : An Essay Review of Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes.

By: Mia Brady

What is it about a place that makes it home? I explored this question when studying  abroad in Italy. To say that living in Florence changed my life does not begin to explain the impact it had on me for the better.  Florence became my home. After my phenomenal experience  studying  abroad in Italy, I was drawn to reading a travel memoir taken place in Italy. I initially shied away from reading Under the Tuscan Sun: At Home in Italy by American poet, professor and writer Frances Mayes. After having seen the film about a   middle-aged woman moving to Italy on a whim, I deemed the book to be a cliché travel piece. But after a trusted opinion that the film version is not up to pair with the book version, I reevaluated my assumptions on Under the Tuscan Sun.

Upon conducting outside research, I soon realized that the film and book were not comparable. General consensus seemed to be that the book lacked a steady flow of storyline, despite the fact that it was on the NY Times Best Seller List for two years. Various reviewers on  Goodreads, a trusted  book  review  and  rating  website  I’ve  used  for  years,  downgraded  the  travel  piece  for excessive description. User “Leftbanker” gave the book one out of five stars in his  review, claiming “I would estimate that a good half of this book is made up of adjectives. Every noun is propped up by a description, as if nothing is able to stand on its own.” His cynical take on excessive description did not turn me away from the book. I am a lover of detail, and unlike many readers, appreciate what detail can bring to a book. Also unlike many of these reviewers,  I was reading Under the Tuscan Sun, in part, to compare the author’s experience to my own.

Upon reading further recommendations on Goodreads, I came across a  five star review from user, “Tara” that sealed the deal for me. She wrote, It’s not all sweeping vistas and Renaissance churches in this telling; Mayes transforms the details of daily life, and she considers  big questions,  too… the colors and textures and tastes daily encountered are all given their moments. The next moment, Mayes ruminates on  the  vagaries  of  renovating  a  house  in  a  foreign  country  (this  is  what  the  book  is ostensibly  about),  the  reasons  a  person  leaves  their  own  homeland  to  find  a  home elsewhere, and the ways a person is changed by what they find in that elsewhere.

I  was  stricken  by  this  Goodreads  user’s  review.  While  the  “sweeping  vistas  and  Renaissance churches” were exceptional components of my experience living in Italy, it was my own moments of “colors and textures and tastes” that made it the life-changing experience that it was. When I picked up the book for the first time, I found that Goodreads reviewer Tara’s stellar observation about Mayes’ search for a home was proven true. The author writes,

Restoring,  then improving,  the house; transforming  an overgrown  jungle into its proper function as a farm for olives and grapes; exploring the layers and layers of Tuscany and Umbria; cooking in a foreign kitchen and discovering the many links between the food and the culture—these intense joys frame the deeper pleasure of learning to live another kind of life. (2)

 Details of farm living, cooking, food and culture, as well as the overall joy of living a much different lifestyle than most Americans, appealed to me in an exceptional way. Unlike some reviewers, the detail is what kept me going. I found that is is through these descriptions that Mayes’ truly makes Italy her home. She focuses on the minute details of her day-to-day life, furthermore, proving that she is enthralled with Italy not as a result of the famous sites, like the Florentine Duomo, but rather because of “moments” spent in her quiet olive garden or walking along the crumbling stone wall along her street.

When look back on older reviews of Under the Tuscan Sun, I came across the New York Time’s review of the book from November 1996, written by Alida Becker and entitled “A Domestic Sensualist”.

…but what Ms. Mayes mostly provides are the kind of satisfyingly personal crotchets and enthusiasms you might exchange with an old friend over a cup of coffee at the kitchen table… Casual and conversational, her chapters are filled with craftsmen and cooks, with exploratory jaunts into the countryside — but what they all boil down to is an intense celebration of what she calls ”the voluptuousness of Italian life” (Becker).

I was happy to see that the NYTimes Book Review author had positive feedback on Mayes’ book, and understood her detail. As Becker notes, Mayes addresses her readers as old friends, providing them  with  thick  descriptions  of  her  day-to-day  life.  It  is  this  detail,  about  tasks,  activities  and experiences, which makes Mayes’ book so memorable.

At the start of the book, Mayes provides a detailed description of the setting of Bramasole, the house she and her romantic partner end up buying.

… a dignified house near a Roman road, an Etruscan (Etruscan!) wall looming at the top of the hillside, a Medici fortress in sight, a view towards Monte Amiata, a passageway and still uncounted apricot, almond, apple, and pear trees. Several figs seem to thrive near the well. Besides the front steps there’s a large hazelnut. Then, proximity to one of the most superb towns I’ve ever seen. Wouldn’t we be crazy not to buy this lovely house called Bramasole? (26)

While many may consider  this detail excessive,  I find it necessary.  How are we to understand Mayes’ draw to this remote location if it is not for her description? Through this description, I found myself learning more about Mayes as a person; that she was drawn to recognize and appreciate the fruit trees and the looming road.

I not only enjoyed Mayes’ detail regarding location, but I also resonated with it. When spending my semester in Italy, I often wrote my grandmothers, who are both very fond of sending letters. I found myself recollecting the tiniest details for them. While they loved hearing about all of the famous sites I was seeing, it was the hidden treasures that they enjoyed the most; the little gelato shop on the corner, the woman across the street who waved to us each every night, the expensive ristorante on the corner, always filled with tourists. Having  spoken to my grandmothers after I returned from Italy, it was these details that led them to see how much I truly enjoyed  and  felt  at  home  in  Florence.  Just  as  I  shared  my  minute  observations  with  my grandmothers, Mayes shares her minute observations with the reader.

A major  component  of Mayes’  book  is her discussion  of rebuilding  her home.  When  reading reviews,  I noticed  most  complaints  were  about  her seemingly  excessive,  intricate  detail  of her crumbling home. After reading the book, I realize that the detail is not excessive, but rather it lets the  reader  into  Mayes’  journey  through  discovery.  She  discovers  her  own  feelings  about  Italy through  the restoration  of this house,  and by truly turning  it into her home.  It is through  the observation  of  Mayes’  putting  her  heart  and  soul  into  this  restoration  that  the  reader  fully understands how she grows into her love for this country.

As each room is finished, my job is to paint the battascopa, a six-inch-high gray strip along the bases of the walls, a kind of pseudo-moulding  that is traditional in old houses of this area. Usually it’s a brick color but we prefer the lighter touch. The word means broom-hit. The darker paint doesn’t show the marks of the mops and brooms that must constantly pass over these floors. Almost upside down, I measure six inches in several places, tape the floor and wall, then quickly paint and pull off the tape. (100)

The reader feels as if they are in the house with Mayes, with her with each stroke of paint, with each striping of the tape. The feeling of accomplishment with each step is what makes this an autobiographical piece. We learn that Mayes is a go-getter, and that she thrives from her sense of accomplishment.  Yet the memoir  is also a biography  of Bramasole;  we see the home develop through Mayes’ dedication. As Mayes’ describes of her dedication to her home, “In the mornings, we  both  [Mayes  and  Ed,  her  significant  other]  have  surges  of  new  energy  that  come  from somewhere.  We  plug  right  back  in.  We’re  consumed.  I’m  amazed:  the  relentlessness  we’ve developed” (101).

The world relentlessness really struck me when used in this context. Mayes and Ed are relentless in their restoration, but they are also relentless in their discovery of Italy through different facets of life; one  of  which  is  clearly  building  their  home.  I  found  that  relentlessness  was  a  quality  that  I implemented on a regular basis through my time spent in Italy. In order to make the city of Florence my home, it was essential that I was relentless in my discovery; always exploring and always willing to learn. Looking back on those three months, it was the time I spent learning and growing that led me to consider Florence my home. Mayes’ relentless in growth and development resonates with my own growth and development while living in Italy.

Food is an integral component of Mayes’ book. Certain chapters are filled with recipe after recipe, shedding light on the time, effort and passion that Mayes put into the preparation of her food. To me, Mayes including details on the cooking process and recipes in her Italian experience  makes perfect sense; it pays tribute to this book as not only a autobiographical piece, as it portrays Mayes’ love of cooking, but as a book that has a clear sense of cultural understanding.  She adapts the overall passion that she has for food, and adds it to the cultural significance that Italians place on food, combining the two to further develop Italy as her home. When listing recipes, Mayes adds uniqueness. Certain recipes stood out to me as having a particular display of cultural understanding. A recipe for Pea and Shallot Bruschetta is a prime example. Mayes writes in the description of the recipe:

New peas pop right out of the crisp pods. I thought shelling was a meditative act until I saw a woman in town sitting outside her doorway with her cat sleeping at her ankles. She was shelling an immense pile of peas and already had filled a large dishpan. She looked up and said something rapidly in Italian and I smiled (126)

Mayes’ recipes are more than “how-to” guides on how to make food, but rather, a glimpse at how food plays a role in the day-to-day  lives of everyday  Italians. Mayes provides  the reader with a glimpse of the Italian woman sitting on the steps, shelling peas. When reading this recipe, I thought less about how good the food seemed to be, and more about the cultural implications and Mayes’ reasons for including it. While the recipe may lead to spectacularly tasting food, it is the short tale of this woman that really resonated with me.

From phenomenal restaurants, to playing around in my own kitchen,  to shopping  around  at farmers’  markets  and  grocery stores,  Italian  food  stole  my  heart,  as  it  undoubtedly  stole Mayes’. There are meals I ate in Italy that I will never forget, but there are also people that I spoke to that I will never forget. The butcher at Gusto Panino, a little sandwich shop in Piazza Santo Spirito in Florence who always praised me on my ability to pair ingredients together, for example. I will always remember him and   his   passion   for   the   art   of   sandwich   making,   as   a representation of the cultural importance of food in Florence. Mayes’  Under the Tuscan  Sun articulates  her understanding  of food  as  an  essential  cultural  component  in  Italy.  She demonstrates Italy as her home through her passion and experimentation with Italian food.

Frances Mayes’ made Italy her home in a way that many reviewers on Goodreads did not fully understand or appreciate. This American woman put her heart and soul into renovating a house she turned into a home, and built her understanding of Italian culture through her appreciation and passion  for  food,  discovery  and  growth.  Under  the Tuscan  Sun  is a beautiful  depiction  of  self- discovery  and cultural-discovery,  detailed  through immense description  of place and experience. The reader gains an irreplaceable understanding of how Mayes made Italy her home. Having made Italy my home in my own way, I deeply appreciate Mayes’ memoir, and find it to be beautiful travel piece.

S o u r c e s

Becker, Alida. “A Domestic Sensualist.” The New York Times [New York] 17 Nov. 1996: Rpt. in The New York Times on the Web.

ht t p : / / www. g o o d rea d s. c o m

“ Leftbanker” review:  http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/7021322

“Tara” review:  h t t p : / / w w w . g o o d r e a d s . c o m / r e v i e w / s h o w / 9 2 2 1 4 1 1 8

Mayes, Frances. Under the Tuscan Sun: At Home in Italy. San Francisco: Chronicle Books,

1996.  $22.95

A Collection Understood: An Essay Review of The Best American Travel Writing 2009

By: Phoebe Hyde

Introduction

 The Best American Travel Writing 2009 series, edited by Simon Winchester compiles 25 pieces of the best travel writing from 2009, and includes an introduction by the editor (Simon Winchester) as well as brief synopses of each author included in this series (“Contributors’ Notes”). Winchester’s British background made him once partial towards British travel literature, but he has since been able to overcome his admitted ethnocentricity. Winchester even goes as far as to state in his introduction that “American travel writing of a certain kind is better and more stimulating than anywhere else in the world” (xxii).

My lifelong desire to travel made it difficult for me to choose just one travel writing book based on only one place. My first attempt at reading travel writing, I thought, needed to be a well-rounded and all-encompassing experience—one that introduced me to a variety of places, journeys, sights and smells. Not that I don’t yearn to learn a detailed background of each place I visit, but I was motivated to learn about a multiple places in order to discover a diverse set of future travel destinations. Thus, I quickly declared The Best American Travel Writing 2009 my best option.

 Review & Reflection

 This being my first experience at reading professional travel writing, I found myself in constant amazement at the ability that these authors have to pull the reader in and describe what their eyes have seen in such an explicit manner. As explicitly detailed as these pieces can be, however, my first two readings did not have me hooked. Andre Aciman’s “Intimacy” and Karrie Jacobs’ “Terminal Beauty”both seemed a bit bland to me. Intimacydetailed a man’s revisit, with his two sons and his wife, to the street he lived on as a child in Rome. He discusses his inability to overcome his ill-feelings towards his neighborhood and how “parts of us just die to the past so that returning brings nothing back” (49). To me, a story based on a “memory of hating [one’s] street” is depressing (49). I also found the writing to be a bit insensitive and could not relate to his descriptions or his words. I was not impressed by the way he talked about being ashamed of the place he lived, on Via Clelia, and the people who lived there (46). It was pessimistic writing that simply rubbed me the wrong way.

Meanwhile, “Terminal Beauty”offered a very unique and brief discussion of traveling through an airplane terminal. While many travel writing pieces discuss a certain exotic and memorable destination, Jacobs chose to write about a place where people typically, and without much reflection, pass right through on their way to a particular destination. While the discussion of an airplane terminal is uncommon, and compelling points were discussed—like how today in our fast-moving world “glamour has been replaced by efficiency”—the visual appeal of this travel piece was absent (262). When reading travel writing, I expect a plethora of description to allow for a picture to be created in my mind, which then makes it easier to follow along with the text in a way that inspires me to get to that given place. In this piece, however, envisioning the “long…hall with a sloping white corrugated-steel roof supported by metal latticework” just wasn’t enjoyable (262). It’s not pretty. Overall, the verbiage, due to the chosen topic, was just too technical for this piece to have travel writing appeal applicable to my tastes. Clearly, other people who are not as fond of color and detail as I am may have thoroughly enjoyed the distinctiveness of the topic and the author’s noteworthy interpretation of change spurred by technological advancement, making this piece suitable for the series; but it just was not for me. I found confirmation in my feelings of both of the aforementioned pieces when I was not able to find any positive reviews of either essay in my research.

I proceeded to look up reviews of this 2009 series as a whole to determine the direction I would take my next readings. I found a couple of great guiding reviews on Goodreads and LibraryThing that gave a brief synopsis of a few of the titles contained in the book. Being personally driven to water, and often referred to as a “deep water girl” by my father, the stories discussing water and the ocean drew me in, naturally. A review on Goodreads about “A Tale of Two Crossings” quoted, it is a piece “which inspires others to visit the place they’re reading about.” This being my motivation for reading travel writing (to discover future travel destinations), I quickly flipped to page 266 and started reading Mark Schatzker’s “A Tale of Two Crossings.” This piece detailed the author’s experience traveling across both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans by ship and how traveling by sea is an outdated but noteworthy method of transportation. Having originally read another Goodreads review, which explained the piece as one that described “the surprising differences between cruising the Pacific and the Atlantic,” I’ll admit that I was expecting the piece to more intricately discuss the author’s interaction with the ocean. Instead, the story focused on the Schatzker’s experience inside the ship. There was a lot of time spent describing the logistics and the inside views—inclusive of the casino, pubs, restaurants and indoor pools. Being turned off for I moment, I snapped into a realization that my expectations of the story, and his expectations of his trip, were maybe the same. This became evident when he noted, “despite being on the ocean, I found myself craving it” (271). This quote shed light on Schatker’s attitude towards his experience, further detailing how although he undoubtedly valued each trip across each ocean, it had its drawbacks—that of not experiencing the roaring ocean enough for what it was, and instead having to spend a majority of the trip indoors. Both myself as a reader, and Schatzker as the explorer and author, both wanted more intimate interaction with the water. This realization made me value the piece for its honesty, on top of the plethora of included description, for it did not sugarcoat the reality just to create a better story. This quality is to be much appreciated in an author—especially one of travel writing.

I then delved into Bronwen Dickey’s “The Last Wild River”, which quickly distinguished itself as the most colorfully detailed piece I’d read yet. The topics discussed in the piece were rich, ranging from appreciating nature and local characters to the discussion of an overpowering technological and man-made world as this woman sought to mirror an experience her father had with the Chattooga river back in the day (something seemingly harder to do than she anticipated). Not that Dickey’s intention was to sell her experience, in fact, it was probably to do that opposite in order to preserve the natural state of the area in accordance with the beliefs of the local residents with whom she interacted, but this piece truly resonated with me and sold me on the value of simple living and seeking out those opportunities to interact with untouched nature. Further, although frequent references to Deliverance, a novel made into a film written by Dickey’s father, poet and novelist (James Dickey) and one I have never seen, were dispersed throughout the piece, the piece was still easy to follow and understand. Even with my absent background knowledge on this piece’s author, the author’s famous father, and the popular film, the explicit description and flow of the piece allowed the piece to stand on its own, solely based on the high value of the writing. This piece was a demonstration of Bronwen Dickey’s exceptional talent for descriptive writing, for as a reader who did not understand any of the supplemental references I was still able to fully enjoy the read without feeling hindered. This, I learned, was a concept that plays into the overall theme of the pieces included in the 2009 series.

Theme

The Best American Travel Writing 2009 series is uniquely edited for the benefit of an inexperienced audience, and I mean that in the best way possible. The target audience of this series is those people who may have not yet had the ability or desire to travel the world. It appears that Winchester chose pieces that will make sense to most people, as well as pieces that will inspire the readers to visit the place they are reading about. He spends an extended amount of time in his introduction explaining how American citizens lack a desire to travel, how a limited number of American citizens even have a passport, and how “73 percent of American children can’t find France on a map” (xxi). He explains how his motivation towards choosing such vividly descriptive pieces was so that young Americans, including his fifteen-year-old friend from New York who could not locate Israel on a map, would be encouraged and eager to travel and learn the world (xxv). While vivid descriptions link each piece in this series together, that could likely be said about most travel writing literature. These pieces are connected in yet a more distinct way.

The readability of each piece, in a way that does not require extensive background knowledge of geography or cultural history (as mentioned about Bronwen Dickey’s “The Last Wild River”), links these works together. Each piece is so colorfully descriptive and eloquently written that one can still enjoy and understand each piece despite one’s inability to relate to the work because of his/her limited background knowledge.  This is unique about the 2009 series, and is a uniting theme that connects back to Winchester’s motivation to inspire American citizens to adopt the travel bug. In order to do this, it seems it would be most effective to include pieces in the series that would resonate with as many people as possible by being easily understood; and that is exactly what Winchester did. The terminology in the pieces is simplistic, the geographical references aren’t extensive (and if they are, they are explained), and each piece provides a well-rounded collection of information to backdrop each story being told, thus allowing for minimal confusion.

Further, in the Foreword, written by series editor Jason Wilson, a quote by renowned Paul Theroux is mentioned, stating, “The misperception is that the travel book is about a country. It’s really about the person who’s traveling.” The pieces selected for this series also directly parallel this quote. Each story is an individual’s account of a memorable experience that has in some way influenced him or her. Not only is this an aspect that distinguishes travel writing from guidebooks and the like, but this is certainly an aspect that connects each of the 25 pieces included in this series together. Stories ranging from Rome to Chattanooga, Tennessee clearly contain very distinct information and descriptions; however, each author of each piece is sharing something personal with the reader. These distinct aspects about the pieces included in Winchester’s The Best American Travel Writing 2009, truly help to distinguish this series as a notable and worthwhile piece of literature.

I have to admit I am thrilled with my choice of literature for my first effort at reading travel writing. I didn’t just get what I was hoping for out of reading this series; I got a little something extra as well. Yes, I discovered a variety of places that I, given the opportunity, would take a trip to without hesitation (like Cuba for example). Reading this series, however, also re-inspired me to maintain a journal and to write more consistently. I was once an avid journal writer—one who jots down loose thoughts and reflections on the events of the day, and who always recorded her stories throughout abroad travel—but that has become an old habit. I have always enjoyed writing, which undoubtedly contributed to my decision to declare a minor in Professional Writing, but I too often let other things dominate the way I spend my time. After reading this collection of travel writing pieces, however, I became inspired to write more frequently and more vividly. To write even when I think it may not have significance, and to write down my reflections on simple experiences. Some of the pieces in this series seem to have been derived by such a simple thought or impression, making me realize that any personal connection with an experience has the potential to make for a good story. This motivated me to ensure that I keep writing things down, because you never know what those once simple thoughts could turn into. I do feel as though I have the potential to write creatively like these writers do, and reading this piece of literature truly resonated with me and reminded me to stick with my inherent passions—namely, writing.

 

References

 

“The Best American Travel Writing 2009.” A Good Stopping Point. N.p., 12 Dec. 2009. Web. 8 Nov. 2012. <http://agoodstoppingpoint.wordpress.com/2009/12/12/the-best-american-travel-writing-2009/>.

“The Best American Travel Writing 2009.” GoodReads. N.p., 2011. Web. 8 Nov. 2012. <http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6687846-the-best-american-travel-writing-2009>.

“The Best American Travel Writing 2009.” LibraryThing. N.p., 12 July 2011. Web. 8 Nov. 2012. <http://www.librarything.com/work/8448233>.

How to Write a Review Essay. N.p., 2012. Web. 8 Nov. 2012. < http://www.essaytown.com/writing/write-review-essay >.

Winchester, Simon. The Best American Travel Writing. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009. Print