Much of contemporary literary scholarship is rather formulaic. Some of it drifts into the absurd. It is sometimes said that half of academic articles have no readers besides the editor, peer reviewers, and the author. I suspect this number might be even lower than that. Drawing from my dissertation as well as some of my academic publications, I am working on a book of literary criticism about the work of Edward Abbey, titled Slickrock Crackpot.

Narratological analysis has a prominent place in this project, and for Desert Solitaire specifically, my core idea is what I call “the willing retention of belief,” a play on Samuel Coleridge’s concept of “the willing suspension of disbelief.” This willing suspension of disbelief refers to the necessary ability of the reader to enjoy a novel. When I read Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, for example, I am aware that it is unlikely that a German salesman would suddenly turn into a monstrous vermin, but I must accept implausible and fictive elements in a narrative in order to engage with and enjoy the literature. I argue a similar, yet mirrored dynamic occurs when one reads Desert Solitaire. For Desert Solitaire, which is broadly considered nonfiction after all, the reader immerses themselves in what might instead be called a willing retention of belief. For example, in an autobiographical work of nonfiction, one usually considers there to be no difference between author, narrator, and protagonist. Abbey utilizes this expectation and the willing retention of belief in Desert Solitaire by introducing fictive elements into the largely nonfictive narrative. The reader considers (most of) these fictive elements to not be fictive at all, and these elements are absolutely crucial in Desert Solitaire’s narrative.

Click here to read my article in Western American Literature, in which I compare Desert Solitaire‘s narrative to that of Hermann Hesse Der Steppenwolf.