Bigger Than Happenstance

When did a book last choose you?

On the day "Into The Wild" mysteriously appeared in my mailbox last week, I had just returned from the library with three books. All were non-fiction because my recent reading diet had disturbed my ratio a bit in favor of fiction. My wife had an odd theory about why Jon Krakauer's gripping 1996 account of the final two years in the life of Chris McCandless had turned up. But the excellent 2007 film adaptation of "Into The Wild" has lingered with me, non-fiction was next in the queue, and Krakauer's "Under The Banner Of Heaven" (2003) remains in my top fifty non-fiction of all time, i.e. this mailbox gift chose me. I consumed "Into The Wild" in one sitting.

I'll guess what the practical among you might be thinking. Coincidence, kismet, convenience. I'll stick with my theory: this book chose me. Early on, Krakauer disavows claims to objectivity as a biographer because he recognizes in his subject a younger version of himself. I remembered feeling exactly that way watching the reckless behavior of McCandless in the film. And during my 2015 experience with the wild and rugged majesty of Alaska - in a locale not far from the one described in the book - many of the young locals I met were Pat, circa 1969. It was weird and invigorating. These 21st century hippies have a freshness and vitality to them that was hard to resist, even for some of the staid members of our Road Scholars entourage. Like McCandless was, they are fiercely alive. Their energy and idealism ideally suits the austerity and primal environment they've chosen as their home. I left Alaska inspired by their commitment and wistful to return. Then "Into The Wild" chose me.