![]() ![]() My relationship with my mother trapped me in the identity of a child.” Matis writes vividly of the culture of the PCT-the special treats the locals put out for hikers to find, called “trail magic,” or the “trail angels” who host hikers in small towns along the way-and she is bold in her willingness to expose her psychic wounds. I’d be truly homeless, directionless”-though she also realized that she “could not return to the person she’d picked for me to be. She also comes off as tone-deaf when she describes her journey on the trail, a trip funded by her parents: “The PCT would end, and I felt panicked. Unfortunately, the author is repetitive (“It was a new day, a beautiful one, and I was the director of my life…” "This time, I'd become the director of my life"), which causes the narrative to bloat (by nearly 100 pages). ![]() Matis periodically reaches back to her childhood in a leafy suburb of Massachusetts, the daughter of two Boston lawyers, to attempt to explain a nagging feeling of not belonging: friends at school teased her for the unfashionable clothes her mother bought her the girls in her cabin at sleepaway camp teased her her mother insisted on dressing her until she was well into her teens. ![]() Understandably devastated, she dropped out after her freshman year and decided to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, à la Cheryl Strayed in Wild. ![]() On her second night at college, she was raped in her dorm room. Matis sets up the book as a narrative of salvation. ![]()
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