Wild

Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, and learned that my mother was going to die.

I was wearing green. Green pants, green shirt, green bow in my hair. It was an outfit that my mother had sewn she d made clothes for me all of my life. Some of them were just what I dreamed of having, others less so. I wasn t crazy about the green pantsuit, but I wore it anyway, as a penance, as an offering, as a talisman.

All that day of the green pantsuit, as I accompanied my mother and stepfather, Eddie, from floor to floor of the Mayo Clinic while my mother went from one test to another, a prayer marched through my head, though prayer is not the right word to describe that march. I wasn t humble before God. I didn t even believe in God. My prayer was not: Please, God, take mercy on us.

I was not going to ask for mercy. I didn t need to. My mother was forty-five. She looked fine. For a good number of years she d mostly been a vegetarian. She d planted marigolds around her garden to keep bugs away instead of using pesticides. My siblings and I had been made to swallow raw cloves of garlic when we had colds. People like my mother did not get cancer. The tests at the Mayo Clinic would prove that, refut- ing what the doctors in Duluth had said. I was certain of this. Who were those doctors in Duluth anyway? What was Duluth? Duluth! Duluth was a freezing hick town where doctors who didn t know what the hell they were talking about told forty-five-year-old vegetarian-ish, garlic- eating, natural-remedy-using nonsmokers that they had late-stage lung cancer, that s what.

Fuck them.

That was my prayer: Fuckthemfuckthemfuckthem.

And yet, here was my mother at the Mayo Clinic getting worn out if she had to be on her feet for more than three minutes. You want a wheelchair? Eddie asked her when we came

don t turn out the way you want them to, and that you can and must live through them anyway Wild feels real in many ways that many books about finding oneself . . . do not. Slate

Incisive and telling. . . . [Strayed] has the ineffable gift every writer longs for of saying exactly what she means in lines that are both succinct and poetic. . . . an inborn talent for articulating angst and the gratefulness that comes when we overcome it. The Washington Post

Vivid, touching and ultimately inspiring account of a life unraveling and of the journey that put it back together. The Wall Street Journal

Strayed . . . catalogs her epic hike . . . with a raw emotional power that makes the book difficult to put down. . . . In walking, and finally, years later, in writing, Strayed finds her way again. And her path is as dazzlingly beautiful as it is tragic. Los Angeles Times

A fearless story, told in honest prose that is wildly lyrical as often as it is dirtily physical. Minneapolis Star Tribune

This isn t Cinderella in hiking boots, it s a woman coming out of heartbreak, darkness and bad decisions with a clear view of where she has been. . . . There are adventures and characters aplenty, from heartwarming to dangerous, but Strayed resists the temptation to overplay or sweeten such moments. Her pacing is impeccable as she captures her impressive journey. The Seattle Times

Strayed s journey was at least as transcendent as it was turbulent. She faced down hunger, thirst, injury, fatigue, boredom, loss, bad weather, and wild animals. Yet she also reached new levels of joy, accomplishment, courage, peace, and found extraordinary companionship. The Christian Science Monitor

Strayed writes a crisp scene; her sentences hum with energy. She can describe a trail-parched yearning for Snapple like no writer I know. . . . It becomes impossible not to root for her. The Plain Dealer

Brilliant. . . . Cheryl Strayed emerges from her grief-stricken journey as a practitioner of a rare and vital vocation. She has become an intrepid cartographer of the human heart. Houston Chronicle

A deeply honest memoir about mother and daughter, solitude and courage, and regaining footing one step at a time. Vogue

This is a big, brave, break-your-heart-and-put-it-back-together-again kind of book. Cheryl Strayed is a courageous, gritty, and deceptively elegant writer. She walked the PCT to find forgiveness, came back with generosity and now she shares her reward with us. I snorted with laughter, I wept uncontrollably; I don t even want to know the person who isn t going to love Wild. This is a beautifully made, utterly realized book. Pam Houston, author of Contents May Have Shifted and Cowboys are My Weakness