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A magical and much-loved book.

Chatwin was one of the great travel writers (as opposed to explorers, of whom Thesiger must be the last: our world is explored). Was, for 'those whom the gods love, die young'. Chatwin was consumed by his zest for exploration, the desire to taste new experiences: he died of what he called 'a rare blood disease' contracted on his travels: AIDS. But before he was taken from us, he wrote a series of wonderful books, light and heady, fresh and stimulating as champagne. It is not easy to pick out a favourite from his work. His essays including Lament for Afghanistan strike a special resonance with me, but perhaps On Patagonia is my favourite among his books. Writing of a place that one has never gone to, one comes to feel that one is almost there; and long after reading the book, images of the places described come unbidden to mind. Something, therefore, in Chatwin's way of describing how a place felt, its history, how he engaged with it, has the almost magical power of transporting the reader into his world - and that without the support of photographs. Only the greatest novels and plays have this kind of power. Chatwin, perhaps, could have succeeded in whatever he tried to write. We are fortunate to have what he wrote, and to remember him as if we had met him.

© Ian Alexander 2004