Must be tough writing a book about a living figure, particularly a living legend like Gary Snyder, just about the last of the West Coast New American poets from the Beat Generation. (Thank goodness we have McClure and Ferlinghetti in the dugout.) But Gray lets very little of the embarrassment or anxiety that would otherwise underlie a project like his penetrate his book. In that, he's assisted by the apparently open and generous nature of his subject--who's even shown naked on the cover of the book, as if to allegorize a spiritual or aethetic nakedness, vulnerability, or humility, take your pick. But in addition, Gray isn't trying to find out what sort of guy Gary Snyder is. (So that simplifies things.) Instead, Gray's focus is somewhat larger and involves our understanding of the so-called Pacific Rim.
Where'd this concept come from? It is a cartographer's dream, that people are tracing with one finger the shoreline of an entire ocean from continent to continent, then watching the lands cross pollinate themselves over the water, like migrant birds bringing seeds of marrocain to Easter Island. Gray deplores recent attempts to delimit the concept of the Rim to 80s and 90s business propaganda--open markets, cheap foreign labor; the godfathers of this concept then would be Nixon and Kissinger and their drive to open China to western business in the 1970s. Gray urges us to look further back, to two earlier initiatives, if we would understand the murky geopolitics of the Pacific Rim and what it means to our nation's soul and ambition. One such initiative came in the wake of the Pacific-Panama Exposition, the San Francisco World's Fair of 1939, which widened the scope of SF cultural interests while of course glamorizing or exoticizing Asian imput. The other was the influence of Ernest Fenellosa, distorted and amplified through the propagation of his faith by his disciple Ezra Pound. Into this vortex Gary Snyder stands as a third way, with his Buddhist inflected texts including RIPRAP, RIVERS AND MOUNTAINS, and THE BACK COUNTRY.
The paradox is that, no matter how far Snyder would travel, he always came back home, though the place of "home" changed radically evbery time he hit it. The local and the global, as separate entities pounding against each other like rocks at the beach, gave his work an energy that exactly answered a need.
Recent New Yorker profile on Gary Snyder renewed interest in the venerable Beat era shaman, but Patrick Gray goes the New Yorker one better by actually presenting an account of substance and style. Book focuses on a particular period of Snyder's writing, and perhaps there we see Gray's judgment that perhaps the neglected work isn't as interesting or provocative as the best of it. But if you had a critic without opinions, you'd really be up one of those legendary Snyderesque creeks, and where's the paddle? Warmly recommended.