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Krakauer can write and I like that he injects himself into the story sometimes because I often wonder, "what would I do if I were in this situation?" Krakauer answers that question for me. Rather than a story, he is really just writing an exposé of Greg Mortenson's escapades since the events that led to the construction of his first school. It is interesting to read but it is sad on several levels.

First, it is sad because I can no longer feel the same way about what I read in Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace... One School at a Time and Stones into Schools: Promoting Peace with Books, Not Bombs, in Afghanistan and Pakistan. While I lament that loss, I view it as a sort of coming of age. It is like Krakauer telling me that my parents are Santa Claus. It was necessary, even if painful.

Second, it is sad because I can no longer hold Mortenson in the same high esteem that I did before now. Krakauer softens the blow ever so slightly by mentioning on several occasions that Mortenson has done a great deal of good. It is just difficult to understand how much good he has really done and how much is just self-aggrandizement.

Third, it is sad because I wished that I had gotten more of Krakauer's narrative that I have come to enjoy so much. It is hard to accept that the point of Krakauer writing this was not to narrate, but to get it off of his chest. As Gustav Holst said of music, "Never compose anything unless the not-composing of it becomes a positive nuisance to you".

In the end, I got out of this exactly what I have gotten out of his other books, which is a clearer feeling of what it would be like to be in the subject's place. I am confused and saddened by what I have read, which is exactly what Krakauer is for having written it.