Occasionally, I find myself craving a book about a real-life adventure. I admire the courageous travelers and explorers whose biographies document their travels in rarely-before-seen locales, but there’s also a scholarly side to my personality that needs satisfying. In other words, I treasure adventure stories even more when they’re approached from a historical or socio-cultural angle. Striking a balance between drawing readers into the excitement/terror of blazing a new trail and providing readers with an explanation as to why the trail needed to be blazed in the first place is not easy to do. An author might lean too far toward the adventurist angle, or they might bore readers with a barrage of historical facts. In The Lost City of the Monkey God, Nat Geo writer Douglas Preston skillfully balances the tastes of the adventurer and the academic, showing us that these two tastes do not have to conflict with each other.
The Mosquitia rainforest in Honduras has historically been virtually impenetrable, with those who attempt to breach its dark interior struggling with illness, injury, starvation, and death. Still, the author found himself drawn to this dangerous and remote region of the world through friendships with documentary makers, scientists, engineers, and historians who were intent on uncovering the legendary lost White City, or “City of the Monkey God,” deep within the jungle. Preston spends the first several pages of the book outlining the historical context leading up to the moment his team touched down in the Mosquitia, from early explorers whose seemingly fruitless searches nevertheless yielded inklings of a hidden civilization; to the key players, such as filmmaker Steve Elkins and his tough-as-nails comrade Bruce Heinicke, who sought to transform the mere rumors of this enigmatic city into a concrete declaration of its existence. Preston also explains the lidar technology that cut through the dense jungle terrain to reveal the first traces of a city, paving the way for ground-level exploration. One may find that the pace of the book appears a bit slow within these first pages, but hang in there—a thrilling experience awaits.
As a shy literary nerd myself, I was excited to watch the journey into the jungle unfold through the eyes of a writer. Preston never considered himself the type to accompany ambitious archaeological expeditions in inhospitable climates, and he remains brutally honest about this throughout the book.* From fer-de-lance snakes to limb-devouring mud pits to relentless mosquito attacks, Preston makes it clear that carving a new path in the archaeological/historical/scientific world (both figuratively and literally, given that the team had to cut their way into the dense jungle with machetes) is no small feat. Still, the lack of human intervention in the cycles of nature occurring within this pristine space means that nature itself is absolutely breathtaking to behold. The ancient people of the Mosquitia made their home in a region that was cruel, yet beautiful in its cruelty. As the book progresses, the “adrenaline rush” associated with camping in a barbarous region so resistant to human occupation continues to build…until traces of the White City itself emerge from the jungle’s depths.
“I stood breathing in the rich odor of life, marveling at the silent mounds, the immense trees choked by strangler figs, the mats of hanging vines, the cries of birds and animals, the flowers nodding under the burden of water. The connection to the present world dissolved, and I felt we had somehow passed into a realm beyond time and space.”
p. 152
In addition to the riveting tale he weaves of the first-ever foot exploration of the White City, Preston takes care to contextualize his journey among current events. He touches on the significance of this landmark discovery to the Honduran government as the government attempts to develop a stable support base, as well as the archaeological controversy regarding a team of (primarily) Westerners disrupting the remnants of a very ancient Latin American culture. Preston also describes conflicting feelings of pride at unearthing such an astounding ancient find and sorrow that this discovery is now permanently damaged by human attention.
Given the time in which I am reading this book—right in the midst of the ongoing covid pandemic—I found Preston’s commentary on illness and contagion to be particularly timely and moving. Preston approaches illness from a personal standpoint, introducing readers to the prolific parasite that infects him in the Mosquitia and will occupy his body for the rest of his life. At the same time, he explains the role of contagion in the downfall of the great White City, and in doing so, he reminds us that this is the most powerful weapon of mass political/economic destruction there is. Contagions previously confined to the “Third World,” like the one that once plagued the great people of the Mosquitia, are slowly approaching our world, he warns. In 2015, when he wrote this book, he had no idea that he was predicting the arrival of one of the worst pandemics in world history just five years into the future.
Whether you seek out the world of the adventurer or the realm of the academic when you pick up a book, you will find that these two seemingly separate spheres intersect in between the covers of this outstanding travelogue. With Preston as your guide, you will gain a profound understanding of the complexity of archaeological work and an admiration for the brilliant people who need to come together for a discovery of this magnitude to occur.
*If you’re generally interested in travel accounts from writers who don’t consider themselves to be “seasoned travelers,” check out my review of Bill Bryson’s In A Sunburned Country!
