Standing on the summit of Mount Everest, oxygen-starved Jon Krakauer opens Into Thin Air with a tone of small pride and greater desperation. Krakauer writes in a tone of fear for his own survival at the top of the world, and trails off that he had no idea that that day in May 1996 would be tragic for so many lives involved. It’s a powerful scene that cuts right into the action and suspense of the controversial event that happened so many years ago on top of the most dangerous mountains on Earth.
The May 1996 Disaster and the year itself is one of the deadliest on record for the mountain. Krakauer happened to be on one of the teams that were affected that May, giving him an usual vantage point of journalism, as well as guilt from his possible involvement with adding to some of the deaths of those eight climbers.
The book’s chapters start with dark black and white art pieces of Everest as well as a date and height of the action. Following this opening chapter is a briefer chapter about the history of Mount Everest and how it got its name and measurements. This is one of Krakauer’s best writing tricks: nothing is a simple event but a full context of how this person or that person ended up in the cross-hairs of circumstances.
Things started going downhill for Into Thin Air soon after that, however. There was a certain tone of Krakauer’s that I couldn’t quite place. This tone cuts in and out as sometimes he is distinctly emotionally removed as his lists the prices of a quest up Everest and the reputation of the climbers. However, by mid-book this tone is back and fully realized when he quotes a peer climber who was interviewed after the disastrous trip to say, yes, having a journalist along for the trip might have influenced people to act in ways they wouldn’t if they weren’t being recorded. Perhaps he, a member of the press and possible publicity he represented, was the reason the guides did not turn their clients back at 2pm whether they reached the summit or not, exposing several clients to freezing temperatures for far longer than recommended, and trapping them onto of Everest during a powerful and deadly storm.
It was then that I realized that this unsettling tone is one of an apology. Krakauer writes as if the audience has already heard about the story and this is his confession for the events on the mountain. However, this tone is often broken up by journalistic professionalism shedding light on the commercialization of the mountain and the background of each of his climbing peers.
It is this mixed message tone that is Krakauer’s greatest flaw in Into Thin Air. As the story progresses from Base 1 to Base 2 he tries to describe the characters as a non-involved journalist, but then will descend into lightly judging the inexperienced climbers for being on the mountain in the first place, only to take back his comments into euphemisms as a sort of reverence to the deceased. He can’t make up his mind if this is a non-fiction journalistic account of the disaster, if it’s an apology for his part in it, or if it’s an essay exploring why people climb Everest in the first place despite dangers. The entire book is gripping but it’s also scattered.
While Krakauer does open each chapter with a passages about Everest from varies sources through the ages, beyond the second chapter he only sprinkles historical facts throughout the rest of the book. It feels inconsistent as to the context of climbing the mountain, especially after reading his other works and knowing how thorough he is when explaining tragic circumstances of a place and time.
He also takes great pains in trying to give honor to the deceased by peppering the novel with dozens of names. In fact, there is a 7-page list of climbers at the beginning of the book. Unfortunately there are simply too many characters to remember and by consequence, the emotion connection to each of them is weakened.
It is his summary of the fellow climbers however that has received the most amount of press for Into Thin Air. He describes at length the actions of guide Anatoli Boukreev who left behind much of the climbing party on top of the mountain that fateful day. Krakauer is highly scornful of this, and wonders at length how events would have been different if an extra guide would have stayed near the summit. While Krakauer later explains that Boukreev risked his own life by leaving the safety of base camp to search for survivers (and rescued a few of them). Boukreev later wrote his own account of the disaster, slamming Krakauer’s villainous depiction.
What’s interesting is that Krakauer is not as harsh on his own guide, Robert Hall and his decision to not turn back his clients at the 2pm deadline, but to carry on despite the risks. It’s also disturbing to read Krakauer’s picky choosing of whose deaths he feels personally responsible in causing. At times it appears that Krakauer the journalist blames himself for most of the deaths, then at times he appears the most responsible for Andrew Harris, whose death still plays for a bit of an mystery for Krakauer and others, but none is more tragic then the Krakauer mild view of the death of Yasuko Namaba. Krakauer explains that some inevitable death is more obvious then others, but through a series of events it is more and more obvious that the 90-pound woman could have been carried back to Base and saved. Krakauer has remorse but not nearly enough considering he was so close to her body at the time.
Into Thin Air is a suspenseful and is haunting for both the reader and the author. In a near twenty-page epilogue Krakauer continues to plays devil’s advocate for the responsibility of tragic events. Is it journalism’s fault? Is it commercialization? Is it zealous guides hoping for a better reputation? Krakauer can’t seem to decide.
Perhaps it is unrealistic for one to make firm assertions after witnessing horror first-hand. But to be indecisive between removed emotions versus heartfelt remorse is too irresponsible on Krakauer’s part of both a journalist, a survivor, and a novelist. It’s been over a decade since the first edition: it’s time for Krakauer to stop hiding behind his own mountain of ambivalence .
The May 1996 Disaster and the year itself is one of the deadliest on record for the mountain. Krakauer happened to be on one of the teams that were affected that May, giving him an usual vantage point of journalism, as well as guilt from his possible involvement with adding to some of the deaths of those eight climbers.
The book’s chapters start with dark black and white art pieces of Everest as well as a date and height of the action. Following this opening chapter is a briefer chapter about the history of Mount Everest and how it got its name and measurements. This is one of Krakauer’s best writing tricks: nothing is a simple event but a full context of how this person or that person ended up in the cross-hairs of circumstances.
Things started going downhill for Into Thin Air soon after that, however. There was a certain tone of Krakauer’s that I couldn’t quite place. This tone cuts in and out as sometimes he is distinctly emotionally removed as his lists the prices of a quest up Everest and the reputation of the climbers. However, by mid-book this tone is back and fully realized when he quotes a peer climber who was interviewed after the disastrous trip to say, yes, having a journalist along for the trip might have influenced people to act in ways they wouldn’t if they weren’t being recorded. Perhaps he, a member of the press and possible publicity he represented, was the reason the guides did not turn their clients back at 2pm whether they reached the summit or not, exposing several clients to freezing temperatures for far longer than recommended, and trapping them onto of Everest during a powerful and deadly storm.
It was then that I realized that this unsettling tone is one of an apology. Krakauer writes as if the audience has already heard about the story and this is his confession for the events on the mountain. However, this tone is often broken up by journalistic professionalism shedding light on the commercialization of the mountain and the background of each of his climbing peers.
It is this mixed message tone that is Krakauer’s greatest flaw in Into Thin Air. As the story progresses from Base 1 to Base 2 he tries to describe the characters as a non-involved journalist, but then will descend into lightly judging the inexperienced climbers for being on the mountain in the first place, only to take back his comments into euphemisms as a sort of reverence to the deceased. He can’t make up his mind if this is a non-fiction journalistic account of the disaster, if it’s an apology for his part in it, or if it’s an essay exploring why people climb Everest in the first place despite dangers. The entire book is gripping but it’s also scattered.
While Krakauer does open each chapter with a passages about Everest from varies sources through the ages, beyond the second chapter he only sprinkles historical facts throughout the rest of the book. It feels inconsistent as to the context of climbing the mountain, especially after reading his other works and knowing how thorough he is when explaining tragic circumstances of a place and time.
He also takes great pains in trying to give honor to the deceased by peppering the novel with dozens of names. In fact, there is a 7-page list of climbers at the beginning of the book. Unfortunately there are simply too many characters to remember and by consequence, the emotion connection to each of them is weakened.
It is his summary of the fellow climbers however that has received the most amount of press for Into Thin Air. He describes at length the actions of guide Anatoli Boukreev who left behind much of the climbing party on top of the mountain that fateful day. Krakauer is highly scornful of this, and wonders at length how events would have been different if an extra guide would have stayed near the summit. While Krakauer later explains that Boukreev risked his own life by leaving the safety of base camp to search for survivers (and rescued a few of them). Boukreev later wrote his own account of the disaster, slamming Krakauer’s villainous depiction.
What’s interesting is that Krakauer is not as harsh on his own guide, Robert Hall and his decision to not turn back his clients at the 2pm deadline, but to carry on despite the risks. It’s also disturbing to read Krakauer’s picky choosing of whose deaths he feels personally responsible in causing. At times it appears that Krakauer the journalist blames himself for most of the deaths, then at times he appears the most responsible for Andrew Harris, whose death still plays for a bit of an mystery for Krakauer and others, but none is more tragic then the Krakauer mild view of the death of Yasuko Namaba. Krakauer explains that some inevitable death is more obvious then others, but through a series of events it is more and more obvious that the 90-pound woman could have been carried back to Base and saved. Krakauer has remorse but not nearly enough considering he was so close to her body at the time.
Into Thin Air is a suspenseful and is haunting for both the reader and the author. In a near twenty-page epilogue Krakauer continues to plays devil’s advocate for the responsibility of tragic events. Is it journalism’s fault? Is it commercialization? Is it zealous guides hoping for a better reputation? Krakauer can’t seem to decide.
Perhaps it is unrealistic for one to make firm assertions after witnessing horror first-hand. But to be indecisive between removed emotions versus heartfelt remorse is too irresponsible on Krakauer’s part of both a journalist, a survivor, and a novelist. It’s been over a decade since the first edition: it’s time for Krakauer to stop hiding behind his own mountain of ambivalence .
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