Books like The Last Train to Zona Verde

This book hit me as both tragic and strangely hopeful.

Chris McCandless walked into the Alaskan wilderness with little more than a backpack and a stubborn streak, and people have argued ever since: was he brave, reckless, or just plain stupid? But his compulsion isn’t as rare as we might think. In my book, Cole feels the same tug—escape the sterile shoebox apartment and the $8 lattes. This can’t be all there is.

What drew me in wasn’t the verdict but his hunger for something real—stripping away every layer of artifice most of us cling to. Krakauer tells it with empathy and curiosity, letting you wrestle with the questions instead of handing you neatly typed answers. I recommend it because it forces you to stare down your own compromises: freedom versus responsibility, idealism versus pragmatism.

Admire Chris or dismiss him, you won’t forget him. And the story lingers like a… show more.

I love that this book does such a great job of capturing the many incongruities and quirks of life in South Africa, a country with such a complex, troubled history that it is still struggling to reconcile.

It’s a country of immense diversity (racially, politically, and culturally), which leads to some absurd situations. Some funny, some tragic. And it’s set against an incredibly unique and beautiful natural backdrop, and it’s at the bottom of the world, literally representing the global south/periphery. So there’s a ton of dramatic tension inherent.

I also relate with Noah’s story just in terms of the cross-cultural element; growing up with parents from different places and never quite fitting in. And yet he tackles these very serious, very bleak situations and experiences, at both the micro and macro levels, with humor.

I loved this book because it shows that the setting/particulars of the “journey” don’t actually matter.

It’s all about the author’s voice, perspective, and, in this case, their sense of humor. If these aspects are unique and engaging, it doesn’t matter where they went, or if you have any interest in seeing/doing those things for yourself.

I’ve always felt like I can resonate more with people that are willing to admit their fallibility, and even draw attention to/make light of it. To just how ignorant or clumsy or hapless or cowardly they are. I think that always makes for a better, more human story, a better connection with the reader.

On top of all this, I have a soft spot for the Appalachian Trail, since it crosses through Pennsylvania, only a few miles from where I grew up.

Strayed’s personal transformation through nature and challenge is what I loved in this memoir.

Wild starts off in crisis. The gritty detail throughout doesn’t shy away from the depths of human experience like grief, addiction, and loss (of unconditional love). The narrator has an incredible plan to get herself out of the mess of her current life. Could she do it?

I love a story of someone who is lost, in despair, and goes on a mission to change herself through a connection with nature. Wild delivers. Strayed’s writing brilliantly weaves together her journey in nature with her backstory of how she came to crisis.

This memoir made me fall in love with California’s topography all over again.

I remember a scene early in the book describing the ongoing competition for grapes that went on between the author’s long-suffering dog, Roger, and a pet tortoise called (naturally) Achilles.

How could you not laugh? Gerard Durrell writes loving and generous descriptions of all the animals in his life (including, as the title implies, his mother and three older siblings) during his family’s five-year sojourn in Corfu in the 1930s.

I was taken with the lack of pretense in his account—presumably characteristic of the ten-year-old boy he was at the time—and yet his delightful vignettes display a self-awareness full of humor. The entire book is both charming and hilarious.

I always enjoy Bill Bryson’s stories, wherever he travels. He’s like my favorite funny uncle, and I never tire of hearing from him.

After a couple of decades as a Yank in the UK, he was going to move back home. First, he takes us on one last meandering trip all around the nation, to pay homage, to enjoy good memories, and to get amusingly grumpy about inconveniences. His sense of humor is self-effacing, silly, bungling, and very entertaining.  

I love his keen nose for the absurd differences between the two cultures, his collections of comedy place names, and the British slang phrases he never understood. I grew up in the USA but spent all my adult life in the UK, and this had me laughing out loud, frequently. 

I found myself riveted for the entire book.

I think the genre will always resonate with me; a young adult facing the prospect of monotonous regular life and deciding to go off into the wild. But I love more that the book subverts this. This sort of rite-of-passage trope is easily romanticized, but in practice, it can prove to be much more chastening and sobering than expected.

You’ve got to be careful what you wish for. True adventure might not be for everyone. Experiencing the dark underbelly of life at the borderlands of the civilized/developed world, where it’s every man for himself; where human nature’s worst impulses are left unchecked.

It also explores the futility of our core American values of expansion and domination of the world; how bleak and wasteful and brutal that process is in practice.

I love this essay for the same reason I love so much of DFW’s nonfiction. His voice is completely unique; unashamedly neurotic and over-analytical, to the extent that the stated objective of the trip (the piece is about his week on a cruise ship, which advertises guaranteed total relaxation, pampering, and convenience) is completely – and often comically – undermined.

It resonates with me because I’ve always had trouble with the whole “Just live in the moment!” shtick, so it was very inspiring/validating to discover someone who had made their being an outsider/misfit a strength. To see someone just be unashamedly themselves. So that’s what I took away.

Don’t keep your neuroticism and self-consciousness and eccentricity to yourself to try and seem “normal,” but actually lean into those things. Question things that nobody else seems to be questioning.

In this recent book from South Africa, a group of mostly African academics and lawyers, including some young researchers, examine the financial stresses that COVID put on the sovereign debt burden of countries in the Southern Africa Development Community (SADC), including studies of Mozambique, Namibia, South Africa, Zambia, and Zimbabwe.

The authors view the debt constraints on SADC governments from an economic, financial, and human rights perspective, domestically and in interacting with international institutions, including limits on available debt relief.

The book also contains proposals to evade such crises in the future, including in a chapter by your correspondent.

The book is available in French and Portuguese as well as English, and you can download a copy for free. What could be better? 

Environmental Infrastructure in African History offers a new approach for analyzing and narrating environmental change. Environmental change conventionally is understood as, moving from a state of more nature to a state of less nature and more culture. In this model, non-Western and pre-modern societies live off natural resources, whereas more modern societies rely on artifacts, or nature that is transformed and domesticated through science and technology into culture. Emmanuel Kreike argues that both non-Western and pre-modern societies inhabit a dynamic middle ground between nature and culture. He asserts that humans - in collaboration with plants, animals, and other animate and inanimate forces - create environmental infrastructure that constantly is remade and re-imagined in the face of ongoing processes of change.