August 18, 2013
Like Maus, I read this book while considering how to incorporate it into my curriculum. When I visited my new classroom last week, I saw this text among the class sets of books at my disposal. I've heard about this book, of course, and good things, too, but I was never that interested in reading it for myself. I have read Krakauer's Into the Wild, the true story of Chris McCandless, a young man who, for reasons that can be inferred but only truly speculated, wandered into the Alaska wilderness, where he died alone. I'd seen the movie, starring Emile Hirsch (hot and underrated), and found myself feeling angry about the senselessness of the tragedy. In the text, Krakauer points out that, had McCandless had a map and been prepared for his solo excursion into the harsh wilderness, not only would he not have had to starve to death, but he would have known that a highway was within walking distance.
Into Thin Air, the true story of a disaster on Mount Everest that resulted in the deaths of several climbers in 1996 (Krakauer was there among them, and very nearly was a victim of tragedy himself), may excite the same kind of outrage in readers. It seems that it has; Krakauer had originally written the story for the magazine Outside (in fact, the assignment was the whole reason why he was on the expedition to climb the tallest mountain in the world in the first place), and he writes of the negative backlash that he received as a result of that. The other survivors had to deal with their share of criticism as well.
I didn't know much about climbing Mount Everest before I read this book. I had in my mind the lone climber, well-equipped and very experienced. I didn't know that climbing Mount Everest meant big business, and it seems to be the case today as much as it was in 1996. See, these experienced climbers from Western countries come to Nepal (Tibet being not easily accessible to foreigners...although I have actually been there myself, and have seen the Himalayan Mountains) and start up these big-money businesses. They employ other climbers as guides, as well as Sherpas, mountain-dwellers who are experienced in the mountains and are adapted to higher altitudes. Because you see, it isn't so much the climb that's tricky with Everest (at least, not for an experienced mountain climber), but the effects of the high altitudes. I've experienced some of this myself. I went to school in Flagstaff, Arizona, which is a mile above sea level. I never had a difficult time adjusting to the high altitudes after I'd been away, but I remember at the beginning of one semester, after Christmas, one of my roommates fell down the stairs in our apartment. She'd passed out, at random, while carrying a basket of laundry; being in LA for the holidays, she hadn't adjusted to the altitude yet, had blacked out one morning, and ended up with a busted ankle.
When visiting Tibet, my tour group from the university had been advised to take high-altitude medication, as Lhasa is at an altitude of some 12,000 feet or so. Myself and one other woman did not get the medication; I personally have a strong distrust of pharmaceutical companies, and haven't taken anything but ibuprophen (and some over-the-counter stuff when I threw my back out earlier this summer) in many years. I drank plenty of water, and while I felt a big sluggish, I wasn't any more so than the others on the trip, who did take the medicine. A couple of women fared worse; even on this stuff, one woman felt so lousy that she spent a day or two of our trip in the hotel room; another woman got nosebleeds. Hell, I'm a smoker (I really ought to quit...) and I felt okay. That's not to say that I underestimate the effects of high altitudes.
So, if perfectly healthy people can take medication and still get sick at 12,000-14,000 feet, imagine what it would be like for people at 26,000...or 29,000, since Everest is just over that at its summit. Krakauer did a good job of describing the harrowing effects of altitude. The man who was running his expedition, Rob Hall, had a plan for rapidly acclimating his clients, cycling between higher and higher camps and the lower Base Camp, getting them acclimated just enough to give them one shot at the high peak. Just one shot...and if it's blown, it's over, because just the one go takes everything out of the climber. Even with the aid of supplemental oxygen (a controversial issue itself, which isn't surprising, based on what I read), climbers become dangerously oxygen-deprived. As Krakauer points out, the challenge of Everest isn't making it to the top...which many people have done at this point, thanks to Sherpas and well-paid climbing guides, but getting back down alive.
Krakauer presents as many different sides of the story as possible. It was sometimes difficult to keep track of all of the people; I think for my students, I should give them a list of names, and we can keep notes on them as they read. But Krakauer spent a lot of time interviewing survivors, and he presented his own as well. There were many factors that led to the deaths of several people on the peaks after Krakauer and some people on his expedition and a group with another tour company reached the summit. I was jarred at how little celebration there was about reaching the apex of the entire planet. It really is an incredible feat. But Krakauer, at that point, was physically and emotionally drained, and knew that he needed all of his little amount of strength to make it safely back down in the oxygen-deprived environment. Rescue of victims that high by helicopter is not possible, and people who die as usually left to lie there, their bodies frozen and passed by the climbers who come after them.
I waver when it comes to the issue at hand: should regulations be put on climbing Mount Everest? On the one hand, I sympathize with the perspective of the Sherpa orphan, a young man living in a Western nation whose parents had died on Himalayan expeditions. He believes that his people are exploiting the mountain, and their own lives, for profit. I also feel that those who want to climb Everest should be allowed to do so (I was surprised, but really shouldn't have been, at the extravagant costs imposed by the Nepali and Chinese governments to obtain permits to begin climbing from their respective territories); if somebody's got the money, and they know the risks involved (after all, many people have died on Everest...as Krakauer points out, 1996 was unusual in the number of deaths, but not so much in the ratio of deaths to number of climbers), then it's their own business if they want to give it a shot. Krakauer writes about the issue of these experienced guides who are oftentimes coping with mediocre climbers, high-paying clients, and how pressure in those situations could lead to taking dangerous chances. But in the end, so many factors went into play here...is there really any point in playing the blame game?
I would be curious to know how Krakauer feels now, nearly two decades after the fact. At the time that the book was published, he felt a sense of guilt, not knowing if he could have done more. I don't think he could have. I shuddered to think of being in that situation, physically exhausted beyond comprehension, freezing, not able to breathe, and being helpless, knowing that people you know, and have come to care about, are in terrible danger. This is a very emotional story, moreso even than Into the Wild, because Krakauer was there, and he knew these people.
I am very excited to use this book with my students. I think it will present many opportunities for rhetorical analysis, and will spark some interesting discussions. I am working with an interesting demographic of students, so I don't really know what to expect. But this is a strong enough book to start off the year with. For now, I'm going to try to squeeze in a couple of books that I've been wanting to read for myself, because I have a feeling that much of my reading for the next few months will be either for my job, or for my classes this semester.
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What the hell do you think this is?
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