Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide to Getting Lost isn’t just a book; it’s an invitation to wander, both physically and metaphorically. Like the Fleetwood Mac lyric, “All your life, you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind,” that might unexpectedly resonate as you delve into its pages, this collection of essays carries you into uncharted territories of thought and experience. While some might seek a tightly structured philosophical treatise, Solnit offers something richer: a cultural historian’s insightful and meandering exploration of what it truly means to be lost and, paradoxically, what it means to be found. If you’re searching for a companion piece to works like Frederic Gros’ A Philosophy of Walking, prepare to be pleasantly surprised, for Solnit’s guide takes you down a different, equally compelling path.
It’s true, A Field Guide to Getting Lost defies neat categorization. It’s less a step-by-step manual and more a series of reflections, akin to being willingly lost in a fascinating conversation that jumps from topic to topic with an almost dreamlike ease. This isn’t a flaw; it’s the very essence of the book’s charm. Solnit doesn’t guide you with rigid directions; instead, she immerses you in the experience of getting lost, allowing you to discover unexpected insights along the way. From poignant meditations on loss and grief to unexpected encounters with desert tortoises, her essays flow seamlessly, even when transitioning between seemingly disparate subjects. Transitions might not be her primary focus, but immersion – a deep dive into the heart of each idea – undoubtedly is.
Consider Solnit’s own definition of “lost,” a concept central to A Field Guide to Getting Lost:
Lost really has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing. There are objects and people that disappear from your sight or knowledge or possession; you lose a bracelet, a friend, the key. You still know where you are. Everything is familiar except that there is one item less, one missing element. Or you get lost, in which case the world has become larger than your knowledge of it. Either way, there is a loss of control. Imagine yourself streaming through time shedding gloves, umbrellas, wrenches, books, friends, homes, names. This is what the view looks like if you take a rear-facing seat on the train. Looking forward you constantly acquire moments of arrival, moments of realization, moments of discovery. The wind blows your hair back and you are greeted by what you have never seen before. The material falls away in onrushing experience. It peels off like skin from a molting snake. Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by, the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss.
This quote encapsulates the duality of being lost, moving beyond the negative connotations of disorientation to reveal its potential for discovery and growth. Solnit masterfully articulates how losing the familiar can open us up to the unfamiliar, expanding our understanding of the world and ourselves. This exploration of “lost” is not just about physical location; it delves into the emotional and existential territories of losing control, letting go, and finding richness in absence.
Solnit’s prose itself is a significant part of the journey through A Field Guide to Getting Lost. Her writing is nothing short of captivating, filled with scintillating turns of phrase and metaphors that resonate deeply. She possesses a rare ability to illuminate complex ideas with beautiful and sometimes startling insights. Take, for example, her reflection on butterflies and metamorphosis:
The people thrown into other cultures go through something of the anguish of the butterfly, whose body must disintegrate and reform more than once in its life cycle . . . the butterfly is so fit an emblem of the human soul that its name in Greek is psyche, the word for soul. We have not much language to appreciate this phase of decay, this withdrawal, this era of ending that must precede beginning. Nor of the violence of the metamorphosis, which is often spoken of as though it were as graceful as a flower blooming.
This passage beautifully connects the transformative experience of cultural displacement to the profound metamorphosis of a butterfly. Solnit highlights the often-overlooked “anguish” and “violence” inherent in change, reminding us that growth often requires a period of disintegration and discomfort. The metaphor of the butterfly as the psyche, the soul, underscores the deeply personal and transformative nature of getting lost and finding oneself anew.
For some, the themes of displacement and the ephemeral nature of place in A Field Guide to Getting Lost might resonate particularly deeply. Imagine a life lived across continents, constantly adapting to new homes and leaving pieces of yourself behind in each location. This experience, akin to that of a child of military personnel, fosters a unique perspective on “home” and belonging. Places become less about physical permanence and more about emotional imprints. Childhood homes might transform into airports, be buried under volcanic ash, or become restricted sites, existing more vividly in memory than in reality. This constant state of flux creates a sense of being perpetually “lost,” not in a negative sense, but as a fundamental aspect of one’s identity.
This feeling of being “born lost” and growing up in a state of transience can lead to a profound appreciation for the emotional weight of places. As Solnit eloquently states:
The places in which any significant event occurred become embedded with some . . . emotion, and so to recover the memory of the place is to recover the emotion, and sometimes to revisit the place uncovers the emotion. Every love has its landscape. Thus place, which is always spoken of as though it only counts when you’re present, possesses you in its absence, takes on another life as a sense of place, a summoning in the imagination with all the atmospheric effect and association of a powerful emotion. The places inside matter as much as the ones outside. It is as though in the way places stay with you and that you long for them they become deities – a lot of religions have local deities, presiding spirits, geniuses of the place. You could imagine that in those songs Kentucky or the Red River is a spirit to which the singer prays, that they mourn the dreamtime before banishment, when the singer lived among the gods who were not phantasms but geography, matter, earth itself.
This powerful passage reveals how places become deeply intertwined with our emotions and memories. Even in absence, places retain their power, existing as “deities” within our personal landscapes. Solnit’s words beautifully capture the enduring connection we have to the locations that have shaped our lives, transforming geography into something deeply personal and almost spiritual.
A Field Guide to Getting Lost is more than just a book; it’s an experience. It’s a journey into the heart of uncertainty, a celebration of the unknown, and a testament to the transformative power of losing oneself to find something more profound. If you’re ready to embrace the unknown and explore the rich terrain of being lost, Solnit’s guide is an essential companion. It’s a reminder that sometimes, it’s in losing our way that we truly discover ourselves.
