This book is an intriguing blend of two distinct strands: the history of climbing, and the author's own personal journey within the sport.
The subtitle, 'From rock climbing pioneers to Olympic athletes' suggests a particular focus on rock-climbing, and this is generally what we get, but the early stages do consider the wider impulse towards high places. I suspect this is inescapable; much of the genesis of pure rock-climbing is tied up with greater mountaineering, with early climbs in the Lakes and Wales often dismissed as mere 'mountain practice'.
The early part of the history is a familiar tale: Petrarch on Ventoux, Paccard and Balmat on Mont Blanc, Coleridge on Broad Stand (erroneously described as being on Scafell Pike; it's on Scafell). However, we soon get a wider picture, showing how Victorian attitudes, specifically British attitudes, sought to exclude women and working-class people from mountaineering and many other pursuits. The cult of muscular Christianity and the oppressive insistence on amateurism (which can be said to have skewed the development of most sports far into the 20th century) come under scrutiny. And we see how women refused to be so confined far more often than is still generally supposed: but therein lies another story, how their exploits were under-reported. As Reych says, “It’s increasingly apparent that Victorian society’s rigid ideals of acceptability did not always accurately reflect real life.”
As the story moves into the 20th century, I didn't find too much that was revelatory, but it's well told and, on the whole, well-balanced. Reych, like many before, does succumb to the temptation of labelling (at least implicitly) Brown and Whillans as the first working-class men to make a real mark as rock-climbers. This is more than a little unfair to men like Jim Birkett and Bill Peascod, both active in the Lake District a good decade before Joe and Don, and there are many more, in the UK and beyond.
What Born to Climb does do particularly well is bring the story right up to date, with the growth of competition climbing, culminating in its inclusion in the Tokyo Olympics. Did those Games give us a greater breakthrough star, in any sport, than Janja Garnbret?
Interspersed with the history are chapters covering notable stages in Zofia Reych's own progress, from early days in the Polish Tatras via London, and an MA in Anthropology, to wild nights in Llanberis to current home in Fontainebleau. It's all fascinating and highly entertaining; my question is whether the personal memoir is fully integrated with the history. I feel that other authors, like Robert Macfarlane in Mountains of the Mind, have been more successful in finding the connections that allow personal experience to illuminate the wider narrative. At times Born to Climb feels to me like two books co-existing within one cover; but both are books that I'd be happy to read on their own. In fact I personally would have been very happy to have more of Reych's own story, not least key experiences around gender and identity; we are left with the intriguing fact that someone who self-identifies as non-binary is founder and director of the Women’s Bouldering Festival.
None of these mild reservations should deter anyone from reading this book. They say you should always leave the table wanting more, and I do.