Picking a Lane
Part 17 in a conversation between Brad Yonaka, Matthew David Nelson, and Dave Paquiot about travel and literature
Below is a link to the previous post by Matthew David Nelson:
I like the way these conversations help clarify, for me at least, the variety of methods for relating a travel experience. There are numerous ways it can be done, as evidenced by the authors whose names we’ve dropped.
Take Bill Bryson, for example, since you mentioned him, in this quote from Down Under:
“Flying into Australia, I realized with a sigh that I had forgotten again who their prime minister is. I am forever doing this with the Australian PM – committing the name to memory, forgetting it (more or less instantly), then feeling terribly guilty. My thinking is that there ought to be one person outside Australia who knows.”
I think this passage explains why his work is so popular in the travel writing genre. It is entertaining and allows the author to show his fallibility. It is also relatable for anyone who really tries to learn about the place they are traveling to, but falls into the same traps as anyone trying to learn anything. By placing this passage at the very beginning of the story, he disarms himself and forges a sort of camaraderie with the reader. That’s my take, anyway.
I wrote about a concept called the ladder of abstraction in an article about the techniques of travel writing. It encourages a blend of writing that is heavy on tangible, sensory details (on the ground), as well as into the abstract and universal (high in the sky).
I would place Bryson at the tangible end of the ladder of abstraction. A writing style that is easily digested and captures a wide audience because the prose is familiar and conversational. It feels grounded in reality. As you mention, he sprinkles evidence throughout that he has done his research. Enough that the reader feels their time investment in the story has paid off by getting a quick education.
You’ve mentioned the writings of Henry Miller several times in this series. I was curious how abstract his style was, so I started reading The Colossus of Maroussi.
In what I’ve gotten to so far, I could say that it is quite engaging and hits in a very different place than, say, Theroux or Bryson. Long, stream of consciousness paragraphs lasting half a page, moving quickly between topics, and the author’s strong personality barging in at every moment to mess with everything. He is giving the reader information about Greece in a somewhat oblique, sometimes obtuse, manner. It challenges the reader, and for someone who just wants an easily digestible narrative about traveling in Greece, the book will be more than they bargained for.
What Miller does very well in the book is paint a portrait of Greek people, in a way that feels more like art than description. He betrays his bias toward them early on, so I guess that is the reader’s heads-up for everything that follows. Some of the characters he comes across seem larger-than-life, and his experiences with them are hard to take completely at face value. As a reader, I feel I must decide whether to believe it, which is not an issue I ever face with authors like Theroux or Thesiger.
In summary, he leans toward the abstract, but enough of his experiences and descriptions seem real to achieve a modicum of balance. One cannot read this book without coming away with a solid sense of Greek culture and the momentous events unfolding at the time in that moment of European history.
All of which leads to your question:
This brings me to the question for you of whether you see your writing geared towards people who come to a story more to learn about a specific place, or more towards learning about you as an individual and seeing through your eyes, regardless of where the story goes?
We’ve both addressed components of this question in previous segments, but I can speak specifically based on what I’ve discussed above.
I do want people to see through my eyes, because that is the only honest way I can portray a place. My view may be more informed than the reader’s (who may never have seen the place I am describing), but I hope the feeling comes across that I only know so much. Conversely, the reader may know much more than I do, in which case I don’t want to frustrate them by saying things that don’t at least generally align with their knowledge base. Ideally, I hope they feel as though they returned to that place.
However, overall, I want the place I’m describing, or the experience I’m having, to be the important bit, not me. I can enter the narrative to express my opinions or offer comparisons to other situations I’ve been in, but I don’t want to dwell on that for long. I see my role more as a reflection of my interactions and what is present around me. That is the lane I normally pick.
For an example of the opposite extreme, the following is something I would always strive to avoid, quoted from the same book mentioned above by Miller:
“The Englishman in Greece is a farce and an eyesore: he isn’t worth the dirt between a poor Greek’s toes. For centuries the Greeks have had the cruelest enemy a people could have – the Turks. […] And yet the English, who would have disappeared from the face of the earth had they been subjected to the same treatment, pretend to look down on the Greeks.”
He does appear to be speaking his mind in all seriousness. It is not in my craft to provide such specific, targeted biases. I, the author, would be getting in the way of the story and steering the reader toward one conclusion or another. It might feel like honesty to me, but at the same time, it doesn’t treat the subject matter honestly.
To be clear, I am not criticizing Miller for writing like this. The Colossus of Maroussi is his story, colored his way. That’s what makes it engaging.
To expand the conversation Matthew David Nelson and I are having, we have invited Dave Paquiot of Marginal Pilgrims to weigh in on the same subjects we have been circling. As such, I would like to direct Matthew’s latest, and slightly reframed, question to you, Dave:
Where do you feel most comfortable anchoring your presence as an author of a story? Is it more important for you to accurately describe something as an observer, or do you want to be a large part of what is being told? Having read some of your work on Substack, I suspect your answer has some nuance, because you write on a wide variety of subjects.
This is the 17th installment of a discussion regarding how writers past and present have informed our respective journeys and travel lives. Included are bona fide travel writers, exploring new places with fresh eyes as we aspire to do, as well as writers native to a particular destination who help add color and deep meaning to a place we want to visit. We will also look at novelists who use the geography and people of a particular place and time to weave a tale that could only be told there and nowhere else.
All are encouraged to contribute their views and favorite authors in the comments. We are always on the lookout for literature that will inspire future travel, writing, or both.
Thank you for joining us! Follow along to read the next installment by our new contributor, Dave Paquiot of Marginal Pilgrims.
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A rewarding wander through fascinating writers and their approaches.