Paolo Cognetti: 'The mountains give me a lesson in humility every time.'

With his novel The eight mountains Italian writer Paolo Cognetti (42) broke through internationally in 2017. Also Without reaching the top plays out at great heights again. 'The mountains give me a lesson in humility every time.'

Without reaching the top is the travelogue of Cognetti's mountain trek in late 2017 through a high plateau in Nepal near the border with Tibet. Trekking on foot over five-thousanders for a month - it takes a caravan of dozens of people and animals. For Paolo Cognetti, the trek is the conclusion of his 40th year of life and a confrontation with himself.

After The outdoor boy and The eight mountains this is your third book set in the mountains. Do they belong together?

'Yes, because all three are about the mountains and about my life, especially that of the last decade. The outdoor boy was about my moving out of the city and rediscovering the high plains. The eight mountains was a novel, but inspired by my experiences and adventures in those mountains. And Without reaching the top is an exploration of mountains as a place to share with the people you love. It will end up being four books, because at the moment I am working on a novel that again takes place at altitude. I feel I have more to say about it, that there is something missing: a woman's perspective. I have recently met several women who live in the mountains, about whom I would like to tell. It will be a story about courage.'

What is that lure of the mountains anyway?

'Mountains feel to me like a place where you can start over, so to speak. In that mighty wilderness, I feel like I've been reborn. At the same time, my roots lie there, as I spent my childhood summers in the Valle d'Aosta, taking long, silent walks with my father. When, after years in Milan, I returned to the Valle d'Aosta for the first time around the age of 30, it felt like returning to a forgotten place and period of my life. In this new book, the mountain area symbolises above all the dream of a purer, simpler world. The mountains as a spiritual place - that was new to me. I was raised Christian and have always been drawn to spirituality. In particular, ideas from Buddhism appeal to me; the idea that all living things and nature are connected. When I am in the mountains, I actually experience this harmony. Not as some kind of wishful thinking, something you can read about or dream about in your little flat in Milan. In the Himalayas, but also in the Alps, you feel that there is truth in that; that everything in this world is made of the same substance and that we share the elements - earth, water, fire and air - with the Earth. Being close to that is beneficial.'

Harmony

In the Himalayas, nature rules man rather than the other way around. Is that why there is more harmony between man and nature there?

'Yes, the people of the Himalayas are still living in the Middle Ages, as it were, in a pre-technological era. For me, this trip was a trip back in time, as if seeing the Alps as they must have been in the nineteenth century. But Nepal and the Tibetan part of the Himalayas are also changing rapidly. With Chinese influence in that region, modernity is also making inroads. The way of life of these traditional mountain peoples is about to disappear. This is unfortunate because they are respectful of their environment. They know that the mountains are stronger than them, so they act modestly. I really like that aspect of Buddhism: that humility towards each other and nature, life as a whole.'

To what extent is that projection of a Western dream image? Life in such regions is also mostly rather poor and tough.

'That's right, life ís tough there. We Westerners go there because we love the mountains and want to get a taste of the life of those old mountain people. But they only dream of becoming like us: they want roads, cars and mobile phones, a television. This is natural and natural, as humans constantly strive for progress. But it also has a sad side, because there they do not yet know what they will lose because of capitalism. We do know, but it would not be virtuous if we told them to always live the way they do now.'

Lesson in humility

What has this trip taught you about yourself?

'That I am weak. As soon as I get above 3,400 metres altitude, I get massive altitude sickness and feel ragged. That's good for me, because sometimes I tend to think I'm extremely powerful. So the mountains also give me a lesson in humility every time. Something I also experience when I write.'

Overcoming fears

Why not just stay ónder that height limit? Why do you insist on going even higher?

'Because I believe that our fears are also our mission: we have to overcome them. Only three years ago, I learnt to swim because I really wanted to go kayaking. For that, I had to be able to swim and overcome my fear of water. I have many fears: I am afraid of being alone and of the dark. Nights by myself in my house in the mountains are a problem for me. Only after a week do I get this fear under control and I can sleep, I no longer have trouble with silence. All my fears I try to overcome.'

Does that work?

'Yes, I learnt to swim and went kayaking. But not at night, ha ha. I think more people do have such problems and secrets, but at least I can write about them. For me, writing is about secrets, it's a way of making a confession. In The eight mountains I wrote about my father and was able to express what I could never say to him directly. The outdoor boy gave me the chance to write about my fears and depression. And this book is an admission that I have altitude sickness and need others to look after me. When I first went into the mountains as an adult years ago, I was looking for seclusion. But gradually I discovered that I am not as strong as I thought, that I need others, that I need friendship. Without reaching the top is a story about weakness and how we relate to it. Writing about such topics is healing.'

Pure and clear

Did it change you?

'I think so. In the mountains, I get closer to a pure version of myself. After a few days of hiking, I get clarity in my head and see more clearly what is important to me, what I have to do. Perhaps you can compare it to talking to God. You still hope you can keep that clarity of mind when you return to civilisation, but as soon as you descend, it is already lost. Then all you have left is the memory of it and the hope that one day you will find those clear thoughts again.'

So you are doomed to always return.

'I'm afraid so. People who love the mountains I think recognise the experience I describe. That memory of how pure you felt up there. Life on the plains, in urban environments, with work and our social lives, brings with it a lot of chaos that we can often barely cope with. So the longing for that dimension of purity and clarity rears its head again and again. And so we go up and down, up and down, for the rest of our lives.'