Book Review: Of Walking in Ice

Munich - Paris
23 November - 14 December 1974
by Werner Herzog

"My boots were so solid and new that I had confidence in them. I set off on the most direct route to Paris, in full faith, believing that she would stay alive if I came on foot. Besides, I wanted to be alone with myself."

Upon learning that his friend Lotte Eisner was dying, Werner Herzog packed a small duffel with the essentials (compass, notebook, jacket) and set off alone on foot across half of Europe to save her. He walked for three weeks, sleeping at night in barns and deserted summer cottages and chronicling the details of the trek (both beautiful and ugly) in his journal. In an early entry he notes he would have made the trip in about an hour and a half by plane but anyone familiar with Herzog's work will find his preferred mode of transport unsurprising.

"Only if this were a film would I consider it real."

Like his films, Herzog’s journal remains firmly in the moment. His nightly entries capture the changing momentum and feel of his days as the weather and physical demands of the trip alternately frustrate and exhilarate him. Although he allows himself the occasional rant, for the most part he eschews personal introspection and epiphany hunting in favor of an avid interest in everything around him. Equal weight is given to the solving of an unfinished crossword puzzle in a home he has broken into as he devotes to choosing his route. His egalitarian perspective on the import of events creates momentum and makes for an exciting reading experience (aside from a break to grab a beer and some pretzels, I found myself compelled to finish this in one sitting).

"At the market was a boy on crutches, leaning against the wall of a house as my feet refused to cooperate anymore. With a single, brief exchange of glances we measured the degree of our relationship."

Stylistically, Herzog's prose borrows from both his feature and documentary film making styles, combining poetic austerity with more blatant philosophizing. In his films he is adept at exposing the beauty in found moments (Kinski and the butterfly in My Best Fiend, the opening of Aguirre, etc...) but in his documentary narration he is prone to pushing for a meaning beyond what seems to be inherent (for example his comments on the bear that killed Treadwell in Grizzly Man). There are plenty of musings of the latter type in his journal but he also seems to intuit which moments are best left with a minimum of superfluous description. I came away impressed with the quality and momentum of Herzog’s writing and although familiarity with his films certainly enhances appreciation it’s hardly a prerequisite to enjoying this wonderful little book.