Tesson has a desire for freedom and solitude, and decides on a whim to take himself off to the shore of Lake Baikal, to stay in a 3 metre square log cabin, a six day hike from the nearest village. From February to July of that year he inhabits that small cabin, built many years previously by geologists it has a small cast iron stove and very primitive facilities. When he arrives in February he is in the middle of the brutal Siberian winter, and sets about gathering wood to warm the cabin. Each day is a challenge when he thinks about his solitude, but he starts a routine of collecting fuel, and taking time to smoke and read in the mornings, fishing and exploring his local environment.

It is written as a diary, with entries for most days describing what he did, what he drank and where he walked to. He has a regular stream of visitors that pop in for short visits and he also goes and see others in the locality in similar cabins to him. He takes time to explore the landscape too, climbing up on to the ridges, crossing the frozen lake and kayaking on it when it has thawed. He writes about the wildlife he sees, in particular the bears the wolves and the seal native to the lake. In his moments of solitude he describes how he feels being utterly alone. He has dark disturbing moments, and times when he has utter clarity of his emotions. He gives a kit list at the beginning, including the books that he took. Some provided comfort, others rattled him whilst alone.

It is beautifully written too, with moments of philosophy and insight that being alone with your thoughts can bring.
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I'm going to be honest - I did not finish this book, so I am only reviewing the portion that I read (slightly less than half of the book).

Sylvian Tesson is completely insufferable, at least in this memoir. Have you ever met someone who is so full of him-or-herself that it is physically painful to be around that person, someone who talks about how great he/she is and, not so subtly, paints everyone who isn't at his/her level as inferior? Yes? Then don't bother reading this book, because Tesson is one of the worst cases of this I have ever read.

Most of the book that I read (like I said, I didn't read all of it - there was no way in hell I could force myself to do so) was pretty much Tesson patting himself on the back for being so worldly and well-read. He comes across as being incredibly proud that he drinks a great quantity of vodka (so the fuck what?) and no other liquor apparently is good enough to touch his lips. And his reading list - good god! He is spending six months in Siberia - I expect a book with self-inflection and treatises on nature and government and politics and communities in the wild (whether plant or animal). I suppose I was expecting another Thoreau (and Tesson actually throws a dig at Thoreau in the beginning of the book - you, sir, are NO Thoreau and you are in NO WAY close to his caliber).

Instead, I got Tesson talking about what he reads "for pleasure" and then the footnotes explain the general gist of said books, because obviously us lowly peons reading this masterpiece are too stupid to have read the books ourselves.

There is extremely little self-inflection to be found in these pages - instead, Tesson has a superior, self-congratulating air throughout. I wonder if he is even capable of self-inflection. Maybe he got over himself in the second half of the book and actually started talking about other things, but I seriously have doubts - and, honestly, I don't care. The first half of the book was so incredibly off-putting that I wouldn't finish this book if it was the last book available after a book apocalypse.

I suppose I could give Tesson a bit of the benefit of the doubt, as I read the English translation. Perhaps something got lost in translation or a tone was inserted into the memoir that wasn't there in the original? I also doubt those things.

The book is titled The Consolations of the Forest: Alone in a Cabin on the Siberian Taiga. It would be better titled something along the lines of I Am Superior to You: Let Me Tell You How Repeatedly as I Sip Vodka in a Cabin in Siberia as I Ignore the Nature Around Me. ( )

With the aid of a dictionary my basic/intermediate level French allowed me to read this record of French journalist Sylvain (what an appropriate name) Tesson's 6 month stay in a remote log cabin on the shore of Lake Baikal in Siberia. An avid traveller he decided to stay in one place in his own company to gain the experience of stasis and loneliness. He undertook the exercise with good grace and a positive outlook and reaped the rewards of seeking a new experience. We might have some doubts of his version of a hermit's life including regular visits to chat and drink with neighbours and hosting friends who visit but he didn't flinch and always went back serenely to his own company.

Certainly a useful way of improving my French vocabulary of the countryside and its features. ( )

Tesson is a French travel writer (altho much more than that) and this is the first one of his works to be translated into English. I hope the rest of them will be soon as I would enjoy reading more. Tesson writes about spending six months alone in a cabin in Siberia (although he does occasionally have visitors). I have read quite a few of this type of book - solitude in nature - and this is one of my favorites. Many of them are about spiritual journeys or nature or animals. This one is very well balanced with all of the above included, with a small amount of political commentary thrown in regarding the meaning and experience of total freedom. There are also some interesting thoughts about Russian "types" based on geography. The writing was lovely and beautifully descriptive without being overdone. I enjoyed being in this location with this author and read this one more slowly than usual. It left me wanting more from Tesson. Five star read for me.
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Although nice reading, not so profound or philosophical as it was announced. Rather just a dairy with some thoughts; mostly about the freedom of the ermits (standing outside the society). Quite some repetition. The descriptions of the nature could have been more evocative (like paintings). ( )