The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit

By Michael Finkel

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • The remarkable true story of a man who lived alone in the woods of Maine for 27 years, making this dream a reality—not out of anger at the world, but simply because he preferred to live on his own.

“A meditation on solitude, wildness and survival.” —The Wall Street Journal

In 1986, a shy and intelligent twenty-year-old named Christopher Knight left his home in Massachusetts, drove to Maine, and disappeared into the forest. He would not have a conversation with another human being until nearly three decades later, when he was arrested for stealing food. Living in a tent even through brutal winters, he had survived by his wits and courage, developing ingenious ways to store edibles and water, and to avoid freezing to death. He broke into nearby cottages for food, clothing, reading material, and other provisions, taking only what he needed but terrifying a community never able to solve the mysterious burglaries. Based on extensive interviews with Knight himself, this is a vividly detailed account of his secluded life—why did he leave? what did he learn?—as well as the challenges he has faced since returning to the world. It is a gripping story of survival that asks fundamental questions about solitude, community, and what makes a good life, and a deeply moving portrait of a man who was determined to live his own way, and succeeded.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
• Release date: Mar 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781101875698

Michael Finkel

Michael Finkel has written for National Geographic, GQ, Rolling Stone, Esquire, Vanity Fair, the Atlantic, and the New York Times Magazine. He lives in western Montana.

Book preview

Map of The PondsMap of The Camps

1

The trees are mostly skinny where the hermit lives, but they’re tangled over giant boulders with deadfall everywhere like pick-up sticks. There are no trails. Navigation, for nearly everyone, is a thrashing, branch-snapping ordeal, and at dark the place seems impenetrable.

This is when the hermit moves. He waits until midnight, shoulders his backpack and his bag of break-in tools, and sets out from camp. A penlight is clipped to a chain around his neck, but he doesn’t need it yet. Every step is memorized.

He threads through the forest with precision and grace, twisting, striding, hardly a twig broken. On the ground there are still mounds of snow, sun-cupped and dirty, and slicks of mud—springtime, central Maine—but he avoids all of it. He bounds from rock to root to rock without a bootprint left behind.

One print, the hermit fears, might be enough to give him away. Secrecy is a fragile state, a single time undone and forever finished. A bootprint, if you’re truly committed, is therefore not allowed, not once. Too risky. So he glides like a ghost between the hemlocks and maples and white birches and elms until he emerges at the rocky shoreline of a frozen pond.

It has a name, Little Pond, often called Little North Pond, though the hermit doesn’t know it. He’s stripped the world to his essentials, and proper names are not essential. He knows the season, intimately, its every gradation. He knows the moon, a sliver less than half tonight, waning. Typically, he’d await the new moon—darker is better—but his hunger had become critical. He knows the hour and minute. He’s wearing an old windup watch to ensure that he budgets enough time to return before daybreak. He doesn’t know, at least not without calculating, the year or the decade.

His intention is to cross the frozen water, but this plan is fast abandoned. The day had been relatively warm, a couple of ticks above freezing—the temperature he knows—and while he’d hunkered in his camp, the weather had worked against him. Solid ice is a gift to trackless stealth, but this touch of softness will emboss every footfall.

So the long way it is, back in the trees with the roots and the rocks. He knows the whole hopscotch for miles, all around Little North Pond and then to the farthest reaches of North Pond itself. He passes a dozen cabins, modest wood-sided vacation homes, unpainted, shut tight for the off-season. He’s been inside many of them, but now is not the time. For nearly an hour he continues, still attempting to avoid footprints or broken branches. Some roots he’s stepped on so often that they’re worn smooth from repetition. Even knowing this, no tracker could ever find him.

He stops just before reaching his destination, the Pine Tree summer camp. The camp isn’t open, but maintenance has been around, and they’ve probably left some food in the kitchen, and there’s likely leftovers from last season. From the shadow of the forest he observes the Pine Tree property, scanning the bunkhouses, the tool shop, the rec center, the dining hall. No one. A couple of cars are in the lot, as usual. Still, he waits. You can never be too cautious.

Eventually he’s ready. Motion-detecting floodlights and cameras are scattered around the Pine Tree grounds, installed chiefly because of him, but these are a joke. Their boundaries are fixed—learn where they are and keep away. The hermit zigzags across the camp and stops at a specific rock, turns it over, grabs the key hidden beneath, and pockets it for later use. Then he climbs a slope to the parking lot and tests each vehicle’s doors. A Ford pickup opens. He clicks on his penlight and peeks inside.

Candy! Always good. Ten rolls of Smarties, tossed in the cup holders. He stuffs them in another pocket. He also takes a rain poncho, unopened in its packaging, and a silver-colored Armitron analog watch. It’s not an expensive watch—if it looks valuable, the hermit will not steal it. He has a moral code. But extra watches are important; when you live outside with rain and snow, breakage is inevitable.

He vectors past a few more motion cameras to a back door of the dining hall. Here he sets down his canvas gym bag of break-in tools and unzips it. Inside is a pair of putty knives, a paint scraper, a Leatherman multi-tool, several long-necked flathead screwdrivers, and three backup flashlights, among other items. He knows this door—it’s already slightly scraped and dented from his work—and he selects a screwdriver and slots it into the gap between the door and frame, near the knob. One expert twist and the door pops open, and he slips inside.

Penlight on, clamped in his mouth. He’s in the large camp kitchen, light flashing over stainless steel, a ceiling rack of sleeping ladles. Right turn, five paces, and to the pantry. He removes his backpack and scans the metal shelves. He grabs two tubs of coffee and drops them into his pack. Also some tortellini, a bag of marshmallows, a breakfast bar, and a pack of Humpty Dumpty potato chips.

What he really desires is at the other end of the kitchen, and he heads there now, takes out the key he’d collected from beneath the rock, and inserts it into the handle of the walk-in freezer. The key is attached to a plastic four-leaf-clover key chain with one of the leaves partially broken off. A three-and-a-half-leaf clover, perhaps still lucky yet. The handle turns and he enters the freezer, and the evening’s entire mission, all the meticulous effort, feels immediately rewarded.

He is deeply, almost dangerously hungry. Back at his tent, his edible supplies are a couple of crackers, some ground coffee, and a few packets of artificial sweetener. That’s it. If he’d waited much longer, he would have risked becoming tent-bound from weakness. He shines his light on boxes of hamburger patties and blocks of cheese, bags of sausage and packs of bacon. His heart leaps and his stomach calls and he sets upon the food, loading it into his backpack; smorgasbord.

2

Terry Hughes’s wife nudges him awake and he hears the beeps and he’s out of bed like a spring uncoiled, game on. Quick check of the monitor then a dash down the stairs, where everything’s in place: gun, flashlight, cell phone, handcuffs, sneakers. Duty belt. Duty belt? No time, forget the belt, now jump in the truck and head off.

A right onto Oak Ridge, then left in a half mile, accelerating down the long driveway to the Pine Tree Camp. Headlights are off but the truck’s still noisy, so he throws it in park and vaults out of the cab. He continues on foot, fast as he can though less agile than usual. The lack of a belt means his hands are encumbered with gear.

Even so, it’s full speed toward the dining hall, hurdling boulders, dodging trees, then a crouching scuttle to an exterior window. Heart pulsing like a hummingbird’s; from his bed to the window in four minutes flat.

Hughes takes a breath. Then he cautiously lifts his head and steals a peek through the window, straining his eyes against the dimness of the Pine Tree kitchen. And he sees it: a person carrying a flashlight, the pale beam emanating from the open door of the walk-in freezer. Could this really, after all these years, be him? It must be. Hughes is still in his pajama pants, and he pats the clip-on holster on his waistband to make sure—yes, his weapon’s there, a little Glock .357 Sig. Loaded. No safety switch.

The beam brightens and Hughes tenses and out of the freezer steps a man, hauling a backpack. He’s not quite what Hughes expected. The man is bigger, for one thing, and cleaner, his face freshly shaved. He’s wearing large nerdy eyeglasses and a wool ski cap; he roams the kitchen, seemingly unconcerned, selecting items as if in a grocery store.

Hughes permits himself a flicker of satisfaction. There are rare perfect moments in law enforcement, as Sergeant Hughes well knows. He’s been a Maine game warden for eighteen years, and before that, for nearly a decade, he was a U.S. Marine. You might as well award him a PhD in grunt work, dead ends, and paper filing. But once in a beautiful while, wisdom gained through frustration pays dividends.

A few weeks previous, Hughes had resolved to end the reign of the hermit. He knew that none of the usual police methods were likely to work. After a quarter century of intermittent investigations, including foot searches, flyovers, and fingerprint dusting, conducted by four separate law enforcement agencies—two county sheriff’s departments, the state police, and the game warden service—no one had even figured out the hermit’s name. So Hughes questioned experts in high-tech surveillance, he brainstormed with private detectives, he spitballed ideas with friends from the military. Nothing they came up with felt right.

He phoned some acquaintances working border patrol up at Rangeley, near the Maine-Quebec crossing. It turned out that one of the guys had just returned from a training camp in which new Homeland Security equipment had been introduced—devices that offered a better method of tracking people who tried to sneak across borders. This was closely guarded technology, Hughes was told, far too sophisticated for anything a game warden might need. It sounded ideal. Hughes vowed to keep quiet about the specifics, and soon three border patrol agents were tromping around the Pine Tree kitchen.

They hid one sensor behind the ice machine, another on the juice dispenser. The data-receiving unit was installed in Hughes’s home, at the top of the stairs, so that the alarm beeps would be audible in every room. Hughes devoted himself to learning the system until operating the device felt intuitive.

This was not enough. To trap the hermit, he could afford little margin for sloppiness. An errant noise while Hughes approached, an inadvertent glint from his flashlight, and his plan would probably fail. He memorized the motion lights, located the best spot to ditch his truck, and rehearsed every move from his house to the camp, shaving off seconds with each practice run. He made it a nightly habit to set out all his gear; the duty-belt oversight only proved he was human. Then he waited. It took two weeks. The beeps—first heard by his wife, Kim—came shortly after one o’clock in the morning.

All that, plus luck, for this perfect law enforcement moment. Hughes spies through the window as the burglar methodically fills his pack. No gray areas here; no circumstantial evidence. He has him dead to rights. And at the Pine Tree Camp, no less. Pine Tree caters to children and adults with physical and developmental disabilities—it’s a nonprofit organization, run off donations. Hughes is a longtime volunteer. He sometimes fishes with the campers on North Pond, catching bass and white perch. What kind of a guy breaks into a summer camp for disabled people, over and over?

Hughes eases away from the building, keeping his head low, and quietly makes a cell-phone call. Game wardens don’t typically work burglary cases—usually it’s more illegal hunters or lost hikers—and this effort has been chiefly a spare-time obsession. He asks the dispatch office of the Maine State Police to alert Trooper Diane Vance, who has also been chasing the hermit. They’ve been colleagues forever, Hughes and Vance, both graduating from their respective academies the same year, then working together on and off for nearly two decades. His idea is to let Vance handle the arrest. And the paperwork. He returns to the window to keep guard.

As Hughes watches, the man cinches his pack and heaves it to his shoulders. He departs the kitchen and disappears from Hughes’s view, into the vast empty dining room. He’s moving toward an exit, Hughes surmises, a different one from the door he’d pried open. Instinctively, Hughes maneuvers around the building to the spot where the man seems to be headed. This exterior door, like all the ones to the Pine Tree dining hall, is painted cherry red, trimmed with a green wooden frame. Hughes is without help, deep in the night, seconds away from a potentially violent encounter. It’s a complicated instant, a fraught decision.

He is as prepared as possible for whatever might happen, fistfight to shoot-out. Hughes is forty-four years old but still as strong as a rookie, with a jarhead haircut and a paper-crease jawline. He teaches hand-to-hand defensive tactics at the Maine Criminal Justice Academy. No way he’s going to step aside and let the intruder go. The opportunity to disrupt a felony in progress overrides all concerns.

The burglar, Hughes thinks, is probably a military vet, and therefore likely armed. Maybe this guy’s combat ability is as good as his forest skills. Hughes holds his position by the cherry-red door, Glock in his right hand, flashlight in his left, his back against the building’s wall. He waits, running the contingencies through his mind, until he hears a small clink and sees the door handle turning.

The burglar steps out of the dining hall and Hughes flips on his Maglite, blazing it directly in the man’s eyes, and trains the .357 square in the center of his nose, steadying his gun hand atop his flashlight hand, both arms extended. The two men are maybe a body’s length apart, so Hughes hops back a few feet—he doesn’t want the guy lunging at him—while ferociously bellowing a single phrase: Get on the ground! Get on the ground! Get on the ground!

3

As Diane Vance drives through the dark toward the Pine Tree Camp, all she knows is that Terry Hughes is in a risky situation, without backup, pursuing a man with an amazing ability to disappear. She’s pretty certain that by the time she gets there, the guy will be gone. Or worse. He could have a gun; he could use it. This is why she’s wearing a bulletproof vest. Hughes, she’s aware, is not.

Vance drives past the forest-green Maine Warden Service truck stashed beside the Pine Tree driveway and heads directly to the dining hall. There’s no sign of anyone. She steps from her squad car, wary, and calls out, Sergeant Hughes? Sergeant Hughes?

I’m ten forty-six! comes his response—Maine State Police code for suspect in custody—and Vance’s concern promptly eases. Around a corner of the building she sees a scattered mess of food and a man lying on his stomach, arms behind his back. Upon being confronted by Hughes, the thief, stunned, had dropped to the cold cement without resistance. Only he’s not completely in custody. The man is wearing a thick winter jacket, and the sleeves are interfering with Hughes’s attempts to secure the handcuffs. Vance swoops in and restrains the suspect with her own set of cuffs, and now he’s fully ten forty-six.

The officers guide the man into a sitting position, then help him to his feet. They pull everything out of his pockets—a pile of Smarties, the

Reviews for The Stranger in the Woods

[katya0133 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was an interesting story, well told, but I have to agree with other reviewers that the author fundamentally crossed ethical lines and invaded the privacy of Christopher Knight and his family.

[eavans-914612 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed Michael Finkel's most recent bestseller The Art Thief so much I had to try the rest of his work. The book displays a lot of why I loved the Art Thief: stranger-than-fiction source material, a natural weaving of outside opinion, and a conspicuous personal touch that makes his work so report-like while not being too proud. This was easy and enjoyable, though lacked the intensity of the Art Thief--our main man Knight here is so much more of a normal guy that it all just feels a bit... ironic an entire book ( a medium already by its nature exalting) tries to encapsulate... just a guy who wants to be left alone. Still recommend though, it's made me want to get into meditation!

[megacool24 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Not as good as Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer.

[la2bkk · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As the title indicates, this brief work tells the story of a most interesting individual. One part admirable for his incredible ability to live alone for over two decades, and one part disreputable for the fact that he stole everything necessary to accomplish his endeavor.

Not only is the story interesting, but the book flows well and it is a very quick and captivating read. Recommended.

[tuusannuuska-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Literal hermits are very interesting to me, considering how solitary I have a tendency to be in a much more modern and moderate setting. Christopher Knight's experience is a very interesting one, but by the end of this book I felt more than a little uncomfortable.

The discomfort didn't stem from the topic of the book, but from the author and his decision to write the book in the first place. While Finkel recounts their interactions through his own lense, it's still clear that he made Knight very uncomfortable while researching him for the book. It feels almost insulting that he (relatively honestly) reports how Knight repeatedly told him to basically get fucked, and he still felt the need to butt into the man's business.

The ending lines of the book basically state that the author belives that Knight would have been happiest if he got to live the rest of his life in the woods, isolated from everyone else, unknown to the wider world and with no words written about him. I don't know a more effective way to disrespect the man's wishes than to write a fucking book about him, just to sate your own curiosity and need for clout.

Makes me feel dirty about buying the book in the first place.

[janismack · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed this true story of the hermit Christopher Knight. I really can’t imagine doing what he did but I admire him for doing it. He entered the woods at 20 years old and managed to live undetected for 27 years. He survived my stealing ites he needed from nearby cottages and the Pine Tree Camp. The author does get to know him a bit and is affected by his relationship with the hermit. Recommended.

[kevn57-163679 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Loved this book, I;ve been reading lots of true life "quest" books lately and this was the strangest and most interesting of the bunch.

[shmerica-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Absolutely engrossing. A seemingly simple story, yet Chris Knight (the hermit) is a truly unique person, who did a truly astounding thing. Will definitely re-read and give as gifts! Better than Wild, which I read just before it.

[castlelass · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book tells the true story of Christopher Knight, who left society behind at age 20 in preference for a solitary life in the woods of Maine. He lived without touching or having a conversation with another human for 27 years. Knight was eventually caught and arrested for burglarizing cabins and camps nearby, as he had stolen food and supplies he needed to survive. The author contacted Knight in prison by mail, and Knight returned his correspondence, ultimately leading the author to interview Knight and write his memoir. This book elaborates on why Knight had chosen this rudimentary existence, and the challenges he faced when returning to society. The author includes research on the primary reasons people become reclusive, which I found extremely interesting. He also contacts mental health experts regarding possible psychological explanations for Knight’s eccentric behavior. This book seemed very philosophical at times, pondering the nature of solitude, and how it is sought out by some and feared by others. It ultimately portrays Knight as someone who prefers to live alone in the woods in order to find contentment and freedom. It made me think about how people find meaning, happiness, and fulfillment in life, and how a simplified existence could be appealing (even if not to the extreme practiced by Knight). The only difficulty I had is that it seemed a bit intrusive on the life of a person who never sought the limelight, and in fact, just wanted to be left alone. At the end, in “A Note on the Reporting,” the author provides a list of his sources. I plan to further explore several of these references. Recommended to those who enjoy reading about alternative lifestyles, survival stories or philosophical perspectives.

[wren73-89184 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was an interesting book, although very sad. I had lots of questions that could not be answered, but found what was addressed definitely held my interest.

[juliestielstra · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

As a "solitudinarian" myself, I was eager to read this. I often find people difficult, annoying, draining, exhausting. So it was fascinating to read about a young man who took that "introversion" to the extreme. Christopher Knight was not traumatized, he was not mentally ill, he just didn't want to be around other people. Ever. Even if it meant living in a tent made of tarps and garbage bags, wrapping himself up in stolen sleeping bags in central Maine's subzero winters. For twenty-seven years. He fed and clothed himself by regularly burgling summer cabins and a commercial camp, packing up books and batteries along the way. His existence was rumored; some people left food out for him, others lay in wait with firearms. But finally the very security technology he had been trained in outstripped him, and he was caught. Enter Michael Finkel, a journalist with a checkered past of his own. He courts Knight, sending him letters which seem to be mostly about himself, and for reasons I personally cannot fathom, Knight responds. A few times. So Finkel, apparently aiming for the big scoop, just shows up at the jail where Knight is being held, and Knight agrees to see him. There he sits, in a partitioned visitor cubicle, across from a man who has just spent nearly three decades in utter avoidance of all human contact and is now confined to a local lockup, and all he can think of to say to him is "So, have you made any friends here?" Seriously? Good grief. But let's be fair. Finkel proceeds to meet and have more substantive conversations, and Knight begins to open up. Finkel, to his credit, tells Knight's story simply and straightforwardly. He describes (and visits) Knight's camp, explaining the rather ingenious improvisations Knight has devised for shelter, for cooking, for washing, for defecating. He never lights a fire. He can move through a nearly impenetrable woods noiselessly in the dark. He steals, but steals essentials. The years go by. He is not lonely. He doesn't seem to be depressed, though he definitely includes alcohol in his swag. He is just quietly living, and enduring a great deal of physical suffering and danger as a price. Finkel is clearly quite fascinated, and sympathetic. Others in the community, not so much. He does quote a few residents who make comments like "[Knight] stole my piece of paradise," or that they lived in constant fear of the hermit, but these voices are few and we don't really get much depth from them. At last, Knight is freed upon certain conditions: he has to live with his elderly mother (who never knew what had become of him all those years), check in with the authorities, get a job...in short he is forced to do everything he had spent 27 years avoiding at any cost. He's miserable. I don't blame him. Knight's family emphatically refuses to speak with Finkel. I don't blame them either. If Knight ultimately decides he will disappear back into the trees to "walk with the Lady of the Woods," it would not be the worst thing to happen to him. I think it already has. This is a sad tale. It might have been even more interesting had Knight been able to convey more of his inner state, to describe what he was thinking or feeling. Did he "cope with" feelings of isolation? Or didn't he have any? He describes a sort of suspended state of "you're just there," but doesn't go much farther than that. Given his natural taciturnity - though his constant reading gave him a masterly and literary vocabulary - perhaps he just didn't want or need to discuss it. This is not exactly a cautionary tale, or a psycho-bio, just the story of how one misfit tried his best to live the life he needed to live... and failed.

[sjh4255 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is an inside look at a man who escaped from civilization for 20 years, living on his own, in the woods. The author tells the story from his own perspective, how he gathered the info, and interacted with the hermit. It’s a good story overall, and gives some idea of what it was like to be away from everyone for so long and why he may have made that choice.

[nbmars · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

One day in the early spring of 2013, Terry Hughes, a game warden in the state of Maine, arrested a man in the process of burgling the Pine Tree Camp, which catered to disabled children. The burglar, Christopher Thomas Knight, 47, was no ordinary thief—he was someone the local authorities had been trying to capture for 27 years!

Knight’s story, if true, is an extraordinary tale of survival. At the age of 20, Knight had simply driven from his home in Massachusetts to central Maine, abandoned his car, walked deep into the woods, and abandoned human society. He set up a camp consisting of a tent surrounded by large boulders and dense forest. He survived primarily by burgling local cabins when the owners were not around. He never encountered an owner and seldom took anything of great value. He stole food, batteries, books, and occasionally clothing.

Many people, including some others who reviewed this book, found Knight’s story not credible, but the arresting authorities believed him even after subjecting him to intense interrogation. Surviving in summer might not have been difficult, but it is hard to imagine living in just a tent through one Maine winter, let alone 27 of them.

Knight had to be extraordinarily cautious to avoid detection. It helped that he had worked briefly for a firm that manufactured burglar alarms, so he was adept at foiling his neighbors’ security systems. He also had to avoid burning fires (which would leave smoke) or leaving tracks in the snow. He never got sick because he never associated with other people.

His story caught the attention of Michael Finkel, a freelance writer, who first published his story in an article in Esquire Magazine, and then expanded it in this extraordinary book. Finkel attempted to befriend Knight, but was only partially successful. Knight turned out to be quite inept in interpersonal relations and was fundamentally prickly. Nonetheless, Finkel was able to achieve a modicum of affinity sufficient to piece together Knight’s history.

The criminal justice system was hard-pressed to determine an appropriate disciplinary action for Knight—he had committed multiple burglaries - perhaps hundreds - but he had never caused significant damage or committed a violent act. Moreover, he had become something of a folk hero. Several well meaning land owners offered to allow him the use of a few remote acres where he could continue his reclusive lifestyle.

While awaiting trial, he spent several months in jail, where he found it difficult to relate to other prisoners. Not only was he inexperienced with casual conversation, but he had become very well read during his time in the woods, and seemed far too intellectual for his fellow prisoners. Ultimately, he was sentenced to a year of “intense” probation (he had to report weekly to a parole officer and was tested for drug and alcohol use) and was released into the custody of his mother.

(JAB)

[stevesbookstuff · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

You may recall, back in 2013, hearing on the news about "The Hermit of North Pond", a man who had been apprehended after living alone in the woods of Maine for years, supporting himself by stealing food and other items from summer camps. Over his years in the woods "The Hermit" had broken into hundreds of camps.

The Stranger in the Woods is Michael Finkel's story about that "hermit", named Chris Knight. Finkel, a journalist, establishes a connection with Knight and visits him several times while he's in jail, at his sentencing, and after, to piece together the story of how, and why he did what he did.

This is a rather short book and feels incomplete. Knight, after a quarter of a century without any meaningful human contact, really prefers his solitude and so doesn't give Finkel a lot to build on. So rather than anything of depth on regarding Knight's time in the woods, what you get is Finkel's story of how he reached out to and met Knight, and pieced as much of the story together as he could. Even at that remove it's still an interesting story, if not as profound as the subtitle might lead you to expect.

[ldvoorberg · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very well written! The author does a great job of telling bits of the story at a time and weaving in related research and commentary to make it a very interesting book. Much better than I expected or what this style of journalism usually puts out (interesting beginning that gets boring after the first five chapters; not here!). Good reflection on life in solitary environs, though he neglects to contrast solitary confinement with what Knight had - yes, no contact, but prisoners are in a cement cell, not expanses of nature. That makes the difference between peace and punishment.

[fulner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This audio book was emotionally draining. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Its not comfortable, but I guess that Means Finkel did a good job.

This is the story of Chris Knight a man who decided life wasn't' for him and went to live in the woods and was found 27 years later. I first heard of Mr. Knight and this book during a segment on Public Radio. I feel like that segment gave me the same info as this 8 hour book, but of course this was deepr and more emotional.

Partly I was distraught because I see how many of my friends/family could have ended up like Chris.

[untraveller · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very interesting read in which I came to several conclusions: 1) Christopher Knight was not crazy, just socially unbalanced, 2) the author can write a good story, 3) the author is a certifiable sleaze. He is the sort of journalist that makes good journalists look bad and I never intend to read another book by him, should he ever produce one. Finished 18.07.2020.

[flourgirl49 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Interesting book. I wonder how the hermit has been surviving in the outside world - it seems to me he probably isn't going to make it. Sad story really.

[tinkerbellkk · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Interesting book about a man who lived for 30 years by himself in the woods. While it is difficult to understand his chosen way of life, it was certainly interesting to read about his way of life from his perspective. Interesting although a little strange at the same time.

[mjspear_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Chris Knight drove to the end of the paved roads in Northern Maine and with only a backpack, disappeared for 27 years. He lives by petty thievery and his wits. This book is as much about the nature of solitude and alone-ness and less about wilderness survival. Interesting story if not about a laudatory man (there is something very unethical about a man who steals propane in that remote area.) Knight is no hero but he is compelling.

[whybehave2002 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I chose this book because at this moment in time the entire world is practicing "social distancing" in hopes to slow down the virus that is killing almost everyone that comes in contact with it. We aren't working. We aren't hugging. We are in a holding pattern. I thought this would be the time to explore the thoughts of a true hermit. Many of us THINK we are practicing hermitism but in truth how many are enjoying and being mindful of this experience. I loved this book! I am a New Englander so it's not hard to picture the experience in my mind's eye. His survival instincts are amazing and show what can be done when you feel there is no other alternative. One of my favorite lines has to do with the journalist asking if he had ever been sick. His response is no. He doesn't see anyone. Social distancing done to an extreme. :) Wonderful read. I even took the time to look up some of the resources and other articles on him. I highly recommend this. And if you listen to the audiobook you get the treat of a Maine accent. ;)

[charrlygirl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

3.5/5 stars.

This book has me conflicted! I listened to it, narrated by Mark Bramhall, and he was excellent. What follows are my thoughts on this book while trying to avoid spoilers, (even though the synopsis tells a lot already). Perhaps my feelings will become more clear as I write.

What I found most fascinating was this: think about how long you've gone in your life without talking to or touching another human being. I'm talking phone calls, internet, or hugs. As the author points out in this book-most of us have gone only a matter of hours. Imagine going for 27 years.

Is a person who has a need for quiet and silence sick? Are they autistic? Are they schizophrenic? Do they have Asperger's? The author asks all of these questions-of doctors and regular people alike. I couldn't help but wonder why everyone thought something was wrong with Christopher Knight. Is it so wrong to want to avoid people, noise, news, television, and electronics? Is that abnormal? I guess 27 years with no contact does seem strange, but sick? I'm not sure about that.

A number of philosophical views were also offered as well as quotes from many different books about hermits and recluses throughout history. Views on solitary confinement are also discussed, with most agreeing that solitary is a type of torture.

Here's what bothers me most: I'm not sure I'm comfortable with what the author did to get the information for this book. While I did find this story fascinating, the hermit himself asked Mr. Finkel to leave him alone on a number of different occasions, yet he persisted-not only visiting him in jail, but also visiting him in Maine once he was released. (Christopher Knight was incarcerated for a time, due to his repeated thefts of food, books and other items.) I'm not sure if I view this as honorable or as harassment.

I can't deny, however, that I did keep listening. I loved the parts that were direct quotes from Mr. Knight, because he had such a clear view of how he saw things/nature/people. Did all of these things make sense to me? No, but they sure did cause me to rethink my views on the world and all of its noise and distractions.

I will also admit to a bit of envy when Knight spoke of one of his deep winters in the Maine wilderness when there was NO SOUND. Nothing whatsoever. No animals, no planes, no birds, no chatter, nothing at all. It's hard to imagine that.

Well, I wrote all this and I'm still conflicted. I guess I am glad that the author pursued Mr. Knight because I did find this tome to be fascinating at times. It's just that I feel Knight's wishes were disrespected and I hate the thought of that; and I hate that I took part in it by listening to this book. Which probably makes no sense at all, but there you have it.

[dypaloh · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I can’t say I understand Chris Knight, The Stranger in the Woods of Michael Finkel’s book. Yet, I’m somehow impressed by him despite his guarded self-centeredness and the way his thievery caused unease or distress to residents of the North Pond community near Rome, Maine. Knight spent 27 years camped in the woods alone, winters included, a silent solitary unseen despite that he lived within minutes’ walk of buildings he burgled regularly to get whatever he needed to subsist or that would provide entertainment (books, a TV and radio, batteries for the electronics, copies of Playboy—he seems not to have minded other people so long as they were disembodied).

Finkel does a good job learning about this man and exploring the history and psychology of social isolation (intended or otherwise), and he seems more patient with Knight than I could have managed. He gives us reasons to think that Knight is a remarkable man, not just a man to remark on. It would be too much to say Knight was thankful for this attention but I think it possible he appreciated some of it to a small degree. Knight, if forced to comment, surely would say I’m wrong. He never, ever wanted to be found and arrested (this is true) and Finkel never could have known him and cared but for that.

What to make of it all?
When arrested, Knight is asked, “Have you ever been sick?”
“No,” he replies. “You need to have contact with other humans to get sick.”

Or, one might add, to give love.

[formerenglishteacher · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

True story of a man who lived nearly 30 years in seclusion in the Maine woods. Only twice did he come in contact with other humans. Finkel’s well reported and researched book gives insight into not only the hermit, but also to man’s need for isolation. The book is well written in the same vane as Pulitzer Prize winner Tracy Kidder. Although short at just under 200 pages, I found the book thoroughly entertaining and informative. Well worth the while of any fan of good nonfiction.

[jonez-6 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

3.75

This was a well written and well-researched book. It was an interesting glimpse into Christopher Knight, and also into the psychology of loneliness which for some is a blessing and to others is a curse. As a often solitary person myself (not on the level of Knight, but I understand the inclination) who relishes days (and once even months) on end with little to no human contact, I was delighted to see the author come to a somewhat good understanding of a person that selects solitude as a path. However, through much of the book, I cringed at how the author put himself upon this poor man in order to get his story. I could almost feel Knight's discomfort and towards the end of the book found myself groaning for the author to just leave him alone. I do share Finkel's curiosity, and I understand how he could easily grow to care and worry for this gentleman, but simply wanting a relationship doesn't make you deserving or worthy. It certainly doesn't make one endearing to someone who went to an extreme to avoid those much like Finkel.

*Spoiler*
When Knight ran Michael Finkel off his property for the final time I couldn't help but utter a "Way-to-go, Chris."

[grandpahobo_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fascinating story. The most moving part (for me) was how Knight was forced to "integrate" back into "society" following his capture. To put someone who has done no tangible harm to anyone else and clearly wasn't a danger to anyone is typical of the cruelty of a society like ours, which values conformity second only to wealth. After all, what is the difference between Chris Knight and Howard Hughes, other than immense wealth?

[gypsysmom_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

My book club chose this; otherwise I'm pretty sure I would not have read it. And that would have been a shame because the book tells a fascinating story.

Christopher Knight ditched his car in the woods of northern Maine in 1986 and went into the woods with not much more than the clothes on his back, a tent and a little food. He survived in the woods for the next 27 years without contact with other people. The area where he settled was not far from human habitation but it was so well concealed that no-one found his camp until he led them to it. It was essential for Knight's survival that he be near people because he broke into their seasonal homes to get food, clothes and other goods on a regular basis. He estimated that he committed at least a thousand burglaries in his 27 years of being a hermit. He was finally caught when he broke into a youth camp that had just installed some sophisticated silent alarms. He did not dispute his crimes and he was quite co-operative with authorities. Although some people had trouble believing he had been on his own for that period of time the ranger who caught him and other authorities were convinced he was telling the truth. His story came to the writer's attention and he flew from Montana to Maine on a number of occasions to interview Knight. Finkel even camped in the site that Knight had used. It's a fascinating true story.

Most people are in contact with others daily; in fact many would be very uncomfortable to be without human contact for more than an hour. What was it about Finkel that made him want to disappear so completely? Finkel talked to a few mental health professionals who offered some suggestions such as autism but for every diagnosis there are arguments against it. Maybe he is just a unique individual.

[pferdina · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a really interesting book about Chris Knight, a man who lived alone in the forests of Maine for 27 years, stealing supplies from houses around the area. In addition to Chris's story, the book looks at solitude, hermits through history, and psychology of being alone.

[codonnelly · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I picked this book up on a whim at my local library, and I'm so glad I did.

Chris Knight is a fascinating anomaly in our media-fueled society, and while he committed some egregious crimes in the 27 years he spent alone in the woods, a part of me was impressed with what he had to say about life. Finkel should be proud of the tireless effort he took to interview and write about Chris. While I may not agree with everything Chris had to say, I still think his thoughts and insight are valuable and worth reflecting upon.

[bobbieharv · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A fascinating book. When he was caught, I had read about this guy who lived by himself in the Maine woods for 27 years, and the story fascinated me then as well. How did he manage? What were his living circumstances like? And why?

Mostly, the book answered my questions except for the why. Finkel painted an excellent picture of Knight's tent and bed and stove and "storeroom" and even his toilet area; and described all the supplies he had to manage to steal over the years. And I guess the author did as good a job as he could have, given that he was limited to what Knight was willing to tell him. But I would still love to know why, and to read a more detailed account of all those years, especially how it was in the cold Maine winters. On the other hand, could have done without the accounts of all the other hermits, which just seemed to pad the book.

Christopher Knight, if you happen to read this, and if you happened to keep a journal, please publish!