Four years after her mother's death from cancer, after the collapse of her marriage, the disconnect with her siblings, and a troubling flirtation with heroin, Cheryl Strayed set out on a three-month walk along the Pacific Crest Trail. The PCT is the bigger, tougher western brother of the Appalachian Trail, spanning from Mexico, up through the Sierra Nevada Mountains, along the Cascades, and into Canada. Strayed, who had never backpacked wasn't crazy enough to hike the full length, but she did traverse California and Oregon with a way-too-heavy backpack nicknamed Monster and hiking boots that were a size too small. She lost six toenails on the journey, but emerged a better person. (Though it wouldn't be much of a memoir if she walked 1,100 miles and was just as bitter and confused as when she started, so this shouldn't be a surprise.)
This book has gotten a lot of buzz since it came out earlier this year; heck, it was an Oprah book, and if that's not buzz, I don't know what is. I normally go out of my way to avoid Oprah's picks, but the hiking, camping, and western U.S. setting was enough to overcome that. It didn't make me laugh and cry the way the effusive blurbs on the back led me to believe I might, but I did like it.
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