... ably translated by Frank Wynne ... Tesson is hardly the first to sing the praises of patience...but that doesn’t stop him from presenting it to the reader as a revelation. This would be tiresome if he weren’t a terrific writer, making the most of staying put in an interesting place ... The other saving grace of The Art of Patience is that...it is often quite funny ... Observant, funny, a stylish writer: so far, so encouraging. But what Tesson is not, we soon learn, is patient ... Markedly antediluvian notions of gender run through The Art of Patience. In Tesson’s telling, women are from Venus, as are most modern men; real men are, apparently, from twelfth-century Mongolia ... Tesson... tilts dangerously toward that old familiar strain of fascism in nature writing, the strain that despises cities as breeding grounds for the foreign and impoverished while promising to restore to a purer people glory and lands ... Humankind as destructive, culture as corrosive, progress as decline: these are old saws, dull from use, dull from their stalemate combination of truth and falsity ... The great imaginative failure of both the spiritual and the misanthropic strains of nature writing is that they valorize the challenges that arise when we confront ourselves and the wilderness but not the challenges that arise when we confront one another. Tesson comes maddeningly close to understanding what those interpersonal challenges require of us ... The real art of patience isn’t the one required to see a snow leopard, that grand incarnation of unfettered wildness; it’s the one required to save it.
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