Fellow Sweet Sixteener Kathy MacMillan has tagged me to play #8TerribleTitles: Open your manuscript, scroll for a bit without looking and stop. Pull out whatever phrase your cursor is on. Do this 8 times and then share your list. Here is mine:
1. I Didn’t Think
2. A Slow Student’s Progress
3. House Splattered With Blood
4. Didn’t Bleed For Long
5. Vague and Ill-Defined Rules
6. Another Stupid Monster
7. I Want to Buy You a Drink
8. The Shelter From the Storm Bullshit
Let’s be real here: #3 is something I would actually write. And I wouldn’t even be sorry. Don’t be surprised if that’s my next novel.
I hereby tag: Melissa Gorzelanczyk, Marisa Reichardt, and Erin Schneider.
Torrey Pines State Reserve, San Diego, California. September 2014.
Half Dome at sunset, Yosemite National Park. June 2012.
The Secret Knowledge of Water by Craig Childs (Back Bay Books, 2000)
The first time I went to the Grand Canyon I disobeyed all the warning signs.
If you’ve ever hiked in the Grand Canyon, you know that not very far down whatever trail you choose, you will pass a sign telling you not to attempt to hike all the way to the bottom and back up in a single day. Don’t do it. You won’t make it. You will perish. Certain doom. The words are accompanied by delightful little illustrations of a swooning fool moments from dying of dehydration or exposure.
House of Rain by Craig Childs (Back Bay Books, 2006)
A few years ago my sister Alia and I took a road trip to visit some archaeological sites in the southwestern United States. I used to be a geologist and she’s an archaeologist (although her area of expertise is considerably more Roman and more volcanic), so driving around the desert looking at ruins sounded like a good time to us. We went to Mesa Verde to tour the cliff houses (with—I kid you not—the most ill-informed volunteer ranger in the entire National Park Service), to Hovenweep to wander around among the towers, to Chaco Canyon to cling desperately to the barren rock with our fingernails while a windstorm tried to blow us away. Look, it was a really powerful windstorm. We couldn’t even sit outside at our campsite because the wind kept blowing our beer bottles over, and that was beer we had backtracked twenty miles to buy at a lonely gas station on US 550.
But we braved the wind to see all the ruins we could see and did manage to visit most of the great houses of Chaco. I bought this book in the visitor center during one of our breaks from all that blowing. It’s been on my bookshelf ever since; I more or less forgot about it after I got home. Now that I’ve read it I wish I had done so when the places we visited were fresh in my mind.
The Lost City of Z by David Grann (Doubleday, 2009)
Before I talk about this book, I have to talk about the maggots.
I read nonfiction books about interesting things that strike my fancy because I like learning everything I can about our world, and I write about them here because I figure there’s a chance somebody else might want to learn those interesting things too. Knowledge is a good thing! There is no bliss in ignorance; there is only ignorance.
I really, really, really could have done without learning in gruesome detail how maggots can infest living flesh and the fine details of how the afflicted person has to pick them one by one out of their own rotting wounds to survive.
I didn’t need to know that.
On that note: the Amazon.
Dead Mountain: The Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident by Donnie Eichar (Chronicle Books, 2013)
In February 1959, nine hikers died in the Ural Mountains. Seven men and two women, all except one were university students, and all were young, fit, experienced and well-prepared mountaineers. There is a bit of a mystery surrounding their deaths, the sort of thing that shows up from time to time in creepypasta forums or conspiracy theories, but the mystery isn’t about what happened to them. The what is simple: injuries and cold killed them. It took a while for the search teams to find them, but all nine bodies were eventually recovered and identified, the causes of death determined. Death by exposure and hypothermia in the Ural Mountains in winter is commonplace, not mysterious, but the story has endured.
Even the landscape carries a reminder now: The pass was later renamed after Igor Dyatlov, the young engineering student who led the trek. The original name of the location is, in fact, Dead Mountain, in the language of the indigenous Mansi people, but it’s only called that because it’s a barren peak with nothing growing on it.