Books like The Monkey Wrench Gang — picked by fans

Although Edward Abbey warns you right off the bat not to visit the places in this book—they don’t exist anymore, not the way they were when he was there—twenty pages in, I wanted to go.

I wanted to risk my car’s axles crossing boulder-strewn washes. I wanted to rip my jeans, shoving through canyon-bottom scrub. I wanted to rise early and sit, steaming coffee in hand, to watch the sun break through the pinyon pine.  I wanted to hang out and shoot the shit with Edward Abbey.

Whenever I pick up this book, I feel a genuine longing for the American Southwest in the ’60s. And a longing like that, even one that can never be satisfied, is a pleasure all unto itself.

I love this book because it changes the way I see the world every single time.

Powers writes with a patience that feels almost radical. I found myself slowing my breathing as I read, realizing how little I notice in the rush of daily life. I love how he blurs the line between human and nature, reminding me that we’re never outside the system—we are the system.

The Overstory humbles me, and because humility, to me, is where clarity begins.

Even before A Civil Action became a Hollywood film, the book’s characters pulled me into the true story of a whole town and the question of how so many families there were poisoned.

I loved the book because it told a real underdog story in a totally gripping way, through a main character I didn’t expect to like. I’ve given this book to friends.

This book grabbed me with the horrific opening scene and made me think about how this planet is moving into a climate-threatening situation.

I loved the way Robinson made me feel what it was like to live in a heat-ravaged world. I liked the main character, the head of the Ministry for the Future, because she was believable. She was smart, compassionate, and politically savvy, the kind of person you could trust in this position.

I like that the climate threat is the canvas upon which the characters need to react. For me, it is very relevant to our current situation.

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.

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.

This is an angry book.

Rereading it made me angry all over again. Much about U.S. race relations has improved since Baldwin's essay was published in 1963. But rereading it now, after six decades when I myself have sometimes been active in anti-racist efforts, I was stunned by how penetrating and accurate his critique remains, and how enduring the depredations he described back then have proven to be.

And yet! And yet, the writing is suffused with empathy and, disarmingly, even with love. Discrimination and inequality made Baldwin a militant, but he never turned mean and never embraced violence. He is a model of how to stay humane.

Water, water everywhere—but not in the American West. I first read Reisner’s book soon after its publication in 1986, when it presented a haunting, frightening future for the western United States that is being realized today. The book reveals the inadequacy of the management of water in the western states that began as soon as there was settlement, and it takes an especially hard look at the treaties surrounding the Colorado River, which has all but disappeared in the past few years, causing panic at the Hoover Dam and in Las Vegas, Arizona, and Mexico. Reisner amply demonstrates why major cities should not be built in semi-arid and arid climes—and still, the western states’ populations continue to explode. 

I was on an extended trip to Eastern Europe, back when Eastern Europe was not such a dandy place to visit, and I found myself with nothing to read. In a used bookstore in Prague, I found a tattered paperback, translated into English, of this next pick. It was falling apart, the pages stained by coffee and God knows what else. I bought it anyway.

And over the next few weeks, I was, for the third time, blown away by words on a page, by an author’s imagination. It’s been said that Don Quixote, written around 1600, was the first novel ever written. It may also be the greatest novel ever written. Adventure. Humor. Pathos. Crazy amounts of imagination. The Whole Damn Human Condition.

Make sure to find a first-class translation!

This is perhaps the best book on two separate yet related topics: cultural anthropology and ethnobotany. Davis, well-known for The Serpent and the Rainbow, his book (and subsequent movie) about his quest for a Haitian zombie poison, here takes on twin adventure stories: his own research in Columbia and nearby countries in the 1970s, and that of his Harvard mentor and titan of ethnobotany, Richard Evans Schultes, some 30 years earlier. Both are compelling and compulsively readable simply as adventure stories, but Davis also uses them to demonstrate, in a way few other books ever have, the profound and essential connection between human beings and the living world around them.