There is no credible list of classics of mountain climbing literature. I looked. The lists that are out there are mostly a mix of well regarded books mixed with a couple of recent releases the writer of the list enjoyed. Several years ago, I chose to make my own list. But this wasn’t going to be a round-up list like so many others. I was going to read the nominated books and evaluate them. And I knew this would take a very long time.

I know you are not among them, but since most people do not share my niche interest for mountain climbing literature, and because they have not spent as much time as I have contemplating what makes these books special, I thought I would try to break down what I think makes a mountain climbing classic… well, at least as I understand it today.

I started seeking a credible list of mountain climbing classics because this blog started out as a pure reader response exercise. I would read climbing news, a passage in a book, or a whole book and reflect about the points. I was posting once a week when that was the blogging trend. I started focusing on increasingly on bound books because I believed in all of the forces and events that it took to make one from the author having a story to tell, to an editor and a publishing house believing it was worthy. I was living in a small urban condo where space had to be used judiciously and the things I owned had to be things I loved or have some practical purpose, as Marie Kondo would ask, “Does it bring you joy?” The climbing books did most of all, but I already knew that the ones I owned weren’t all the best books. I had read and collected many titles, but it was eclectic and a mix of narratives, guides, and what I call “instructionals.” If I was going to make space on this shelf for only some climbing books, which ones were the right ones?

My ideas of what should make the list have evolved, and I realized that there are really four lists (since I am not including my magazine collections of Alpinist, Climbing, and Rock & Ice.) The first three are very personal:

1. Guidebooks
2. Instructionals
3. Books that I value, though are clearly not classics, or were very recently published

The fourth list is the climbing classics and these are not guidebooks or instructionals. I am speaking about narratives. There are mountain climbing guidebooks that I adore for their embedded stories, writing, photography and overall presentation, like High Alaska by Jonathan Waterman or Mountaineering in Patagonia by Alan Kearney, except they are in a subcategory all of their own. I used to group some of my beloved guidebooks into my list of books to consider as mountain climbing classics, but I don’t think that’s appropriate any longer. That will be a separate list I hope to share one day.

The narratives of mountain climbing literature is a genre with unique lens on humanity. The better ones read more like novels with some limited perspective and talk about events and experiences those of us living a comfortable life don’t get to see. They are stories of exploration of terrain and the subject’s soul. I like to say, that great climbers incrementally push through multiple veils of fear to show us the strength of human spirit and out ability to manage problems and challenges, from navigating a vertical world, weather, or our own bodily and psychological limitations in those conditions. With great mountain climbing literature you don’t need fiction for entertainment, and they are anecdotes for our lives.

My favorite climbing stories are stories of the climber’s troubles or life being told on a climbing stage or with climbing as the primary backdrop. This includes why Paul Preuss of Voytek Kurtyka climbs to their objectives, in dealing with their own searching, to troubled youths like young Paul Pritchard escaping to a clearer world where he finds himself. In all of those, climbing is the vehicle for the climber to express himself, and the mountain climbing as a means to the stories of their adversity as humans are what makes us buy their book. It is also why their books’ longueurs — in between the climbing sections — are so impactful to the reader.

In general, classics are by definition excellent, enduring, sometimes traditional, memorable across generations, and are authentically representative of its subject. However, there were some bad traditions in climbing literature that I am thrilled have changed. The first is the old-fashioned expedition book. These books were official records of the expedition and can be tedious to read and have large appendices of lists. I find them fascinating records to read for nuggets or neat trivia. But they were dry, not well written with limited perspective, no soul, and they ignored anyone except the climbing party, meaning they marginalized anyone in a porter or supporting role. They were all, if not mostly, colonial in nature, where the indigenous people were there for the home country heroes.

Most of all, good mountain climbing literature is immersive to the reader. They are unapologetic to being a mountain climbing story, and they commit to not only a story and world-creating of the environment but of the climber’s universe. They don’t have to pause and explain a belay, what an adze is, or how the protection works (though a glossary is preferred than ruining rhythm.) And I think having a limited perspective, ideally first -person, but not necessarily, is helpful to making the story readable and more enjoyable, as the author conceals outcomes and reveals the solutions and unties the protagonist’s mental knots piecemeal.

And of course, a classic of mountain climbing literature must be able to stand the test of time. Do you still want to read them? Are young climbers coming to climbing literature through that title? Or are young adventurers coming to climbing through that book, as many did through Annapurna by Maurice Herzog?

Here is a photo of some of my books. As I have mentioned before, my library has been mostly in boxes in our basement. I keep them lifted off the ground in case of a leak, and until recently had a dehumidifier running on a thermostat until I realized the basement was so dry year round it wasn’t necessary. Most of my guidebooks, instructionals, and magazines are still in boxes, but I recently moved into a new office at work and had an empty bookcase. I gathered most of the narratives I owned and put them on the middle shelves. I put some recent American Alpine Journals as placeholders for the other books at home on my stack of to-read books or books I hope to acquire and read in the near future. The shelves in total are all I had in our DC area condo, so maybe this will help me stay true to the vetting process.

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