Abbey's a rebel, defending the West from the industrialists and profiteers. He makes no apologies for being passionate about his cause, and why should he. His passion may not be "fashionable," but Abbey is a true American original, and the kind of person we need more of. His writing is edgy, beautiful, makes you want to grab a raft and head down the Colorado. Nature is where he finds himself-- as harsh and uncompromising as it is, it's real.

I also love Abbey's sense of humor. I wonder if he ever met Hunter Thompson-- that would have been a great conversation. One of the funniest essays I've ever read is in this book: "The Legend of Josiah Gregg." Watching Abbey debunk a book about the life of this supposed great frontiersman had me on the floor. Probably the funniest part was Abbey's interpretation of his memoirs: the way thunderstorms appeared over his head bellowing at him in a purposeful way, the way his campfire got out of control and he fled from it across the plains. His assessment of the Great Plains as a "barren wasteland devoid of life." In Abbey's eyes, Gregg is the Inspector Clouseau of the frontier.

All in all, a great read. Spending time with Abbey is a pleasure.

In detailing one person's struggle against the seemingly invincible forces of power that the government represents, Abbey was attempting to illustrate that, indeed, one person's strugglecan make a difference. Given Abbey's extention of this line of thought and further development in The Monkeywrech Gang the intimate relationship between the two novels seems apparent. The ideas presented in Fire on the Mountain, thus, are central to understanding Abbey's subsequent works, both his fiction and non fiction, which are all bound by his belief that the essential tenent for human society must be respect for the environment and a duty to protect the natural diversity of life. As Abbey often said the land is owned by all and no one.

"Krutch" was just plain boring. "Sex" was somewhat redeeming.

I'm not sure what to say about "Sportsmen" - which as Abbey puts it, is simply excerpts from a printed leaflet. It sure was scary. The question is, with the questions raised about Abbey's honesty of description, and sincerity of purpose, how factual is this piece titled "Sportsmen"? I don't want to believe it, and Abbey spent the whole rest of the book crying wolf. I don't know.

I absolutely love some of Abbey's books. We all love "Desert Solitaire", and the charicatures of "The Monkey Wrench Gang", etc., are wonderful. But this patchwork of rehashed essays seems just like a cheap way to make some extra cash. In summary, a careful read of this bookwill likely expand your image of this writer, but leave you with questions about his veracity. I guess the next book for me will have to be "Confessions". Don't make this your first foray into Abbey's world. You're likely to miss the best.

Abbey was a truck riding good ole boy and was about as politically correct as a punch to the head. His backpack was not designed by Gucci and his boots were mostly army surplus but he spent a life time outdoors, not behind a desk finding fault. His writings, his actions and his public appearances brought more awareness of nature and its plight to the public than did the combined number of his critics by a factor of 1000.

Borne just before the depression, he did not see all wild game as Bambi or Thumper but, as a child, watched as his father hunted for the table. Abbey may not be for everyone, but, by the same token, neither is Mr. Rogers.

Edward Abbey's first-best book is, of course, "Desert Solitaire," that fictionalized non-fiction work that so eloquently celebrates the pristine Southwest wilderness and mourns its destruction at the hands of industry and politics.

"The Brave Cowboy" is known to many through its filmization with Kirk Douglas. Despite the inane title, "Lonely Are the Brave," it is an excellent movie. But the book is even more excellent.

If you see this work purely as social commentary -- the individual at odds with society -- you miss the point. That aspect of the book, while it is an impassioned message from one of this country's best nature writers, is almost too obvious to deserve mention. The message, and the beautifully detailed setting of Western plains and mountains, are the background.

The foreground is a character study of Jack Burns, a man in perpetual rebellion against authority and incapable of commitment to anything outside of himself. He is generous and caring, but he allows no one to penetrate his stubborn exterior. He refuses to be vulnerable to love or to any of the normal compromises that permit even the most hardened of us individualists to survive in the real world.

He is inevitably doomed by his own intransigence, and that is what makes the story more than just "sad": it is a genuine tragedy. And like all successful tragedies, it is uplifting. The book's triumph is that, even while we know the outcome, we envy Jack Burns.

This book is a youthful work. You won't find a Hemingway or a Fitzgerald in the writing style, or even a Jack London. It is a popular book, more like a best-seller than "literature." Nevertheless, the excellence of its story raises it above the main. It is simply a great, and greatly affecting, read.