I first read the novel The Fool’s Progress (1988; Henry Holt and Company, New York; 485 pages) in 1988. By that time I had already read many of Edward Abbey’s other writings, and I was drawn to his humor, irreverence, and sharp, concise evaluations of issues and situations—particularly his take on our modern industrialized society and its effects on the environment. The book’s main character, Henry Holyoak Lightcap, is based on Abbey himself; although, being fiction, there are major differences.
Lightcap is a middle-aged man dying of cancer (Abbey died in 1989 from internal bleeding) who travels from the Southwest, where he spent most of his adult life, to his boyhood home in West Virginia. Along the way, he recalls his life in flashbacks, the highs and lows, and airs his opinions and philosophies of life. He is a man, like Abbey, who lived an unconventional life full of troubles with alcohol, bad decisions, poor behavior, and several failed marriages. Many of the stories in the book are based on what Abbey actually did, judging from his nonfiction and posthumous biographies. So in many ways, the loosely semi-autobiographical The Fool’s Progress is a culmination of Abbey’s best fiction and non-fiction writing.
In 1988, I was in the midst of reading works by many of the major environmental and nature-oriented writers such as John Muir, Rachel Carson, Paul Ehrlich, Sigurd Olsen, and more. I was a subscriber to Sierra magazine and belonged to most of the mainstream environmental groups. Living in Chicago’s expanding suburban area, with daily losses of natural habitats, I was ripe for Abbey’s polemical writings. I was also drawn to his writings because he eloquently expressed ideas that were vaguely floating around in my head. On the surface, he seemed to be someone I could listen to for inspiration, at least as far as his views on nature and living a simple, meaningful life. I did not see myself in a conventional suburban situation working an uninspiring nine-to-five job with only two weeks of vacation a year for the next forty years. Abbey’s writings showed how at least one man managed an alternative—if he was being honest.
After first completing The Fool’s Progress, subtitled “An Honest Novel,” I thought it was the best fictional book I had ever read. I felt as if I personally knew the Lightcap character, although I found it difficult not to view him as Abbey, albeit in fictional form. I savored every word of this book. These days, my view of The Fool’s Progress must be taken in the context of thirty additional years of living and voracious reading, a formal education in environmental science and ecology, and my professional experiences in the natural resources field (I fully acknowledge that Abbey’s writings were part of the motivation for entering this area of work). In fact, I think it is my scientific training toward objective analysis and digging deep for answers that helped me to view all of Abbey’s writings from a less fanciful viewpoint. And over the last thirty years I have traveled to or lived near many of the real places Lightcap passes through on his fictional journey. Also, there are many ecological references in The Fool’s Progress that I would not have fully appreciated the first time reading the book. So the details of the book came to life much more on the recent read than previously. In addition, as I became older, I have gradually become more politically aware. Much to my surprise, I eventually realized that many, if not most, of my attitudes would fall on the conservative side of the political spectrum; while the stances of environmental groups, in general, fall on the other side. As a consequence, I have long parted ways from such groups. And I never really had much use for radical environmentalism (e.g., Earth First!), which Abbey pioneered and where he probably remains an icon. It is because of the changes that I have gone through over the years that I was not sure how much I would like The Fool’s Progress on this latest read.
However, following my recent reading of The Fool’s Progress, I still believe it is a great book, deep, and very much a literary novel; it also maintains a strong plot that pulls the reader forward. I am still drawn to the main character, but not as someone I would listen to, learn from, or emulate in any way; in fact, one of Lightcap’s outstanding characteristics is his hypocrisy. Lightcap, like Abbey, complains about modern western society as he reaps its benefits. He longs for a return to a simpler, agrarian time when people lived closer to the land, but forgets to mention the hardships of those times, for example, when a toothache could easily turn deadly. He speaks of following a lifestyle of “voluntary simplicity.” But I ask, what does it take to manufacture his six-pack of beer that he routinely drinks while driving and his truck plus the fuel to power it along an asphalt highway so that he can throw his empty beer cans out the window (Lightcap does this in the novel, but Abbey actually did this). How much of modern, industrialized society is necessary so that such items and everything else that he takes advantage of can be designed, produced, and made easily available? He advocates for rugged individualism and the rights of a free person, but seems oblivious to how his actions affect others, especially in his relationships with women. He complains about human overpopulation, but seems to be fine with his own person. His hypocrisy and self-contradictions, in fact, are much more obvious to me today than thirty years ago.
Yet my final assessment of The Fool’s Progress is that it is well worth another read at some point. After the first time through, I had planned to return to the book after I turned 60, about the age of Abbey when he completed it. With that now accomplished, I probably should wait at least another thirty years for a third read, and then make a final re-assessment.
References
Abbey, E. 1988. The fool’s progress. Henry Holt and Company, New York.
Calahan, J.M. 2001. Edward Abbey: a life. The University of Arizona Press, Tucson.
Loeffler, J. 2002. Adventures with Ed: a portrait of Abbey. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque.
Hepworth, J.R and G. McNamee, editors. 1996. Resist much obey little: remembering Ed Abbey. Sierra Club Books, San Francisco.