Though I've trolled through many of his books, I hadn't until recently read his most famous work: The Monkey Wrench Gang. To give you some idea of what it is about, let's dissect one of the front cover:
Yes, that is the the work of Robert Crumb, the same artist who brought the world Fritz the Cat, Keep on Truckin', and the second wave of blackface. Of course, he also produced the famed "Mr. Natural," comic series, which if you've ever taken the time to read, makes for a great comparison to the book we now have on trial.
These covers are also similar in many ways, in that they don't tell the whole story. While you might assume The Monkey Wrench Gang is about four people creating havoc that hearkens back to the sort of fun T.E. Lawrence seemed to have had, and Mr. Natural seems to be about stomping, or perhaps more accurately kicking ass, your assumption would mislead you. In fact, they are both about sex, which for Abbey hearkens back to his previous work of fiction, Black Sun. For Crumb, it hearkens back to quite possibly anything and everything he has ever done.
That is of course, a rash generalization, but one that I wouldn't regret making. While the main drama of The Monkey Wrench Gang may be about a group of environmental defenders on various quests to, in turn, destroy those who have been destroying their wild living spaces, the side drama of varied relationships stemming from their little group tends to hold the same weight with a reader. In a lot of ways, this venerable constitution of radical environmentalists tends to lose sight of its objective.
The band of misfits meet, decide to take down the giants of construction that are ripping their wonderful lives apart, and then act. Adventure is everywhere, and so are the cops. Sure, it sounds a bit ridiculous, but it was 1975, so of course it'll sound ridiculous. What makes it still pertinent is the fact that ridiculousness still abounds thirty-three years later, as it always has, and the fact that crazy is a dying breed. It just makes you want to up-and-revolt, not in the picket sign sort of way but in the dumpster fire sort of way; not in the insult hurling sort of way but in the shoe hurling sort of way. Injury by association be damned, something has to be done. It was refreshing to hear about the good old days, whether or not they actually happened.
Unfortunately, two aspects of the novel tend to evolve as the story progresses. There is the backdrop of the constitution I described, but in the forefront, there are the four main characters and their various escapades. It's where the two intersect that problems occurred for me. While Hayduke, the lovably unorthodox hippie type member of the crew drives along the highways of the southwest throwing beer cans out into the desert, he has no qualms about preaching the good word of a pure natural world. Thankfully, the characters have the depth to actually ponder amongst themselves the audacity of what he does. Of course, this is no deterrent, and they're able to justify it by telling themselves they're destroying the roads, not nature. of course, our old friend probably wouldn't agree:
This type of predicament seems to pop up a good deal, and I was dissappointed not to have received an answer. But hey, who really does care? This book was strictly badass, and no discrepancy of morality was going to diminish that fact. Watching the group of bandits become increasingly audacious to the point of stupidity is something that I couldn't help but enjoy. It is incredibly easy to see how these four outdoor enthusiasts turned vandalists could become the poster children for the generation of preservationists, despite their moral shortcomings.
As with any Abbey novel, his sentiments are spelled out as clearly as possible, and as such, we learn he loves Jewish women, guns, and blowing things up, all of which he happens to know much about. This comes as no surprise, but it makes for some great tales. Thankfully, most men can relate to Abbey's tastes, and as such are bound to enjoy The Monkey Wrench Gang.
Yes, that is the the work of Robert Crumb, the same artist who brought the world Fritz the Cat, Keep on Truckin', and the second wave of blackface. Of course, he also produced the famed "Mr. Natural," comic series, which if you've ever taken the time to read, makes for a great comparison to the book we now have on trial.
These covers are also similar in many ways, in that they don't tell the whole story. While you might assume The Monkey Wrench Gang is about four people creating havoc that hearkens back to the sort of fun T.E. Lawrence seemed to have had, and Mr. Natural seems to be about stomping, or perhaps more accurately kicking ass, your assumption would mislead you. In fact, they are both about sex, which for Abbey hearkens back to his previous work of fiction, Black Sun. For Crumb, it hearkens back to quite possibly anything and everything he has ever done.
That is of course, a rash generalization, but one that I wouldn't regret making. While the main drama of The Monkey Wrench Gang may be about a group of environmental defenders on various quests to, in turn, destroy those who have been destroying their wild living spaces, the side drama of varied relationships stemming from their little group tends to hold the same weight with a reader. In a lot of ways, this venerable constitution of radical environmentalists tends to lose sight of its objective.
The band of misfits meet, decide to take down the giants of construction that are ripping their wonderful lives apart, and then act. Adventure is everywhere, and so are the cops. Sure, it sounds a bit ridiculous, but it was 1975, so of course it'll sound ridiculous. What makes it still pertinent is the fact that ridiculousness still abounds thirty-three years later, as it always has, and the fact that crazy is a dying breed. It just makes you want to up-and-revolt, not in the picket sign sort of way but in the dumpster fire sort of way; not in the insult hurling sort of way but in the shoe hurling sort of way. Injury by association be damned, something has to be done. It was refreshing to hear about the good old days, whether or not they actually happened.
Unfortunately, two aspects of the novel tend to evolve as the story progresses. There is the backdrop of the constitution I described, but in the forefront, there are the four main characters and their various escapades. It's where the two intersect that problems occurred for me. While Hayduke, the lovably unorthodox hippie type member of the crew drives along the highways of the southwest throwing beer cans out into the desert, he has no qualms about preaching the good word of a pure natural world. Thankfully, the characters have the depth to actually ponder amongst themselves the audacity of what he does. Of course, this is no deterrent, and they're able to justify it by telling themselves they're destroying the roads, not nature. of course, our old friend probably wouldn't agree:
This type of predicament seems to pop up a good deal, and I was dissappointed not to have received an answer. But hey, who really does care? This book was strictly badass, and no discrepancy of morality was going to diminish that fact. Watching the group of bandits become increasingly audacious to the point of stupidity is something that I couldn't help but enjoy. It is incredibly easy to see how these four outdoor enthusiasts turned vandalists could become the poster children for the generation of preservationists, despite their moral shortcomings.
As with any Abbey novel, his sentiments are spelled out as clearly as possible, and as such, we learn he loves Jewish women, guns, and blowing things up, all of which he happens to know much about. This comes as no surprise, but it makes for some great tales. Thankfully, most men can relate to Abbey's tastes, and as such are bound to enjoy The Monkey Wrench Gang.
