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Discussing an eccentric 18th century peripatetic named John Thelwall in her new "Wanderlust: A History of Walking," Rebecca Solnit writes that he suggests "something of a pattern: autodidacts who took the trinity of radical politics, love of nature, and pedestrianism to extremes." While I'm pretty sure Solnit herself has a formal education, her astonishing range of reference and her indefatigable curiosity suggest the passion of an autodidact, and in every other respect she fits the pattern, too. Whether she takes this trinity to extremes is a matter of interpretation, but you could argue that even the attempt to write a history of walking -- arguably the defining human activity -- is itself extreme. Why not the history of talking, or breathing?
Of course, as Solnit points out, she has written a history of walking, not the history, which is all but infinite. Her history is, as she puts it, "an idiosyncratic path traced ... by one walker, with much doubling back and looking around." That's accurate, if a little modest; "Wanderlust" is a delightful, mind-expanding journey that strays from Søren Kierkegaard's Copenhagen and William Wordsworth's Lake District to the top of Everest and the New Mexico desert, from the first hominids to walk upright (whoever and wherever they were) to contemporary women who face the hazards of solitary walking. It's a journey led by a guide of tremendous erudition and just as much common sense, capable of slipping almost imperceptibly from the personal mode -- she describes several entirely non-metaphorical walks -- to the analytical and back again without appearing self-indulgent. (Full disclosure: I've had several friendly conversations with Solnit but don't know her well.)
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