Alone on the Wall

You know that pit-of-your-stomach feeling you get when you watch Alex free solo? It comes across in print, too, only it's harder to avert your eyes.

Not much point in writing a review: if you're a climber you're probably going to read this; if you're not, you're not. At least right now in December 2015. But I'm writing this anyway, for a later audience: someone in the (I hope!) far distant future, hearing of Alex's death, and wanting to understand. No, dear reader, I don't think this book will help you understand. What it might do, though, is offer a sense of satisfaction. Not in the “he died doing what he loved” sense—I find that an empty sentiment—but in the “he led a worthwhile life” one.

He does, I think, lead a fulfilling and worthwhile life. He's definitely an asset to the world: kind, smart, talented, humble, generous. He has accomplished more than most of us, and inspired millions in the process. I admire him; I just don't understand him, in the sense that I'll never understand Feynman or Einstein: genius is just too far a country.

What I find most bittersweet is that Alex hasn't yet met Murphy (“If anything can go wrong, it will”), at least in the sense that most of us have. So not only has Alex been incredibly lucky, this good luck has led him to pursue—and succeed at—riskier and riskier ventures. The end result so far has been beauty and joy. Murphy comes to everybody, though, and I fervently hope that Alex has a SRENE anchor when they meet.