Desert Solitaire

Abbey himself is the only substantively drawn human character in the book, despite brief, occasional appearances by other taciturn men who work in the park or accompany Abbey on some of his adventures.

Abbey evinces a poetic spirit in his descriptions of natural phenomena, as well as a love of adventure and a traditional, manly brand of courage. By some of his utterances, we can see that while he may love women in a physical way, he does not care much for their company, but prefers the company (and then only rarely) of other intrepid and capable men like himself. We can see that he is fair and pleasant to the tourists whom he ostensibly serves, though he lets the reader know that he is not fond of them.

Abbey frequently extols the ecstasies of being in communion with, and immersion in, nature, yet one can also sense a lonely yearning at his core. In fact, there is one occasion–and only one–wherein he admits to being lonely, almost casually, in the middle of the book.

Abbey’s writing reveals a very busy mind and a world of eloquent thoughts, yet there is very little conversation in the book. He does not have anyone to talk to, really, though this is not something he complains about. He is far more self-sufficient, physically and emotionally, than most humans born into modern society, yet he occasionally suffers from the claustrophobia of living in his own mind, without others to keep him company.

All in all, however, Abbey’s self-assurance and existential serenity feel strong and genuine. When he leaves the park at the completion of his six-month job, his melancholy at having to depart his beloved wilderness is tempered by his calm confidence that the wilderness, with all its beauty and teeming life, will endure in his absence.