American rambler : walking the trail of Johnny Appleseed / Isaac Fitzgerald.

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * New York Times bestselling author Isaac Fitzgerald sets off into the heart of America, following the path of the legendary Johnny Appleseed on an epic journey that both takes him far from home and brings him closer to it.

"Rollicking, heartfelt. . . . Made me feel the kind of wonder and hope I've been longing for." --John Green, author of Everything Is Tuberculosis

As a child, Isaac Fitzgerald was captivated by Johnny Appleseed, drawn to the legend by family ties, his father's larger-than-life stories, and a shared restlessness to leave home and discover what lay beyond.

In American Rambler, he sets out on a year-long journey to follow Appleseed's path, walking (okay, sometimes driving, and at one point, even floating downstream) from Massachusetts to Indiana. On this journey, Fitzgerald turns a childhood fascination into a profound reckoning of loss and grief, ritual and faith, grimy gas station bathrooms and scenic apple picking. He is followed by a mysterious creature, camps in hostile environments, trespasses more than once, and is warmed by the generosity of strangers at every turn.

A moving blend of memoir, history, and travelogue, American Rambler is at once an ode to the American heartland, a meditation on escaping the breakneck pace of modern life, and a clear-eyed look at the myths--often violent, sometimes hopeful, frequently romanticized--at the very core of American identity and history.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Publishers Weekly Review

In this lyrical travelogue, memoirist Fitzgerald (Dirtbag, Massachusetts) recounts a yearlong journey he took from Massachusetts to Indiana that was inspired by his childhood love of Johnny Appleseed. Overwhelmed by financial struggles and worries about his aging parents, 30-something Fitzgerald--who developed the habit of taking aimless walks during the Covid pandemic--decided to clear his head and reconnect with his childhood wanderlust via a pilgrimage along the Johnny Appleseed Trail. Determined to move "at a human pace," Fitzgerald blends reflections on aging and contemporary ennui with historical tidbits about the ecology and culture of the states he passes through, all with an eye toward figuring out how to "separate legend from story from memory from fact." Memorable visits to Appleseed's birthplace of Leominster, Mass., his longtime home near Mansfield, Ohio, and his grave site give way to considerations of how Appleseed became "a legend used to help America look away from the darker aspects of its past." Elsewhere, discussions with people Fitzgerald meets in his travels prompt reflections about his budding romantic relationship and his mother's declining health. Throughout, Fitzgerald's elegant prose, restless curiosity, and deep compassion leap off the page. The result is a stirring, singular entry in the American road trip genre. (May)

Booklist Review

Inspired by the legend of Johnny Appleseed, Fitzgerald (Dirtbag, 2022) sets out to follow John Chapman's famous trail from Massachusetts to Indiana. What begins as a walk evolves in unexpected ways as Fitzgerald makes his way west. From the outset, the "trail" proves largely symbolic, more highway than marked path. While Appleseed's story provides the framework, Fitzgerald's deeper focus becomes America itself. Through the lens of westward expansion, he examines the displacement of Indigenous peoples and the ways capitalism and nostalgia have softened harsh histories into marketable legends. Traveling along train tracks, through small towns, and down rivers, Fitzgerald also reflects on the rituals of walking, prayer, and the occasional drink as a means of reckoning with inherited narratives. He candidly exposes the tension between myth and reality, revealing how history is often transformed into myths, complete with heroes. As he observes, "Like all things human, history is flawed, and forgetful, and at times overly optimistic" American Rambler ultimately becomes less about retracing one legendary man's footsteps and more about examining the ground beneath them.

Kirkus Book Review

A self-confessed ne'er-do-well goes off in search of the eccentric tree planter of yore. Fitzgerald, a devotee of tattoos and booze, might have been tempted to go gonzo in this rollicking travelogue, but he plays it reasonably straight. The author ofDirtbag, Massachusetts (2022) opens with a scene out of Steinbeck: On one of the moments that finds him "choosing sobriety occasionally," he's on the run from a railroad bull, a mean-spirited cop enforcing the private property rights of the rail line along which Fitzgerald has been walking, narrowly avoiding getting smacked by a locomotive. But Fitzgerald's options are limited: The supposed Johnny Appleseed Trail is really just a placard on a northern Massachusetts highway, as a spokesperson tells him: "'It's to encourage tourism in the area,' she says, before adding, with an almost concerned tenor in her voice, 'for motorists.'" Searching out the path of John Chapman, aka Johnny Appleseed, puts plenty of wear and tear on his legs, but it also gives him the vantage point of seeing small-town America up close. And although that America is sad and frayed, it's also full of interesting and well-meaning people who speak to "human civility." Having groused at points about how the whole nation, though, is built not around humans but cars, he gives in and buys a used Jeep, which affords him a less rigorous journey (and puts a tiny bit of lie to his subtitle). All to the good, though, for he gets everywhere Chapman did, including Chapman's grave. What we learn about the real Appleseed is fascinating. He was well-to-do, religious, an abolitionist, well-spoken, and not at all crazy (and planted apples mostly to make alcoholic cider). What Fitzgerald learns about himself and the state of the nation is more compelling still, with all their triumphs and tragedies.Blue Highways with hiking boots, and a grand entertainment for travelers real and armchair. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.