Travel as Hell: Exploring the Katabatic

Structure of Travel Fiction

Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing
Introduction
Literature contributes to and influences our imaginings of travel, both in a
positive and negative sense. Many novels depict travel in terms of ‘hell,’
depicting journeys that are exhausting, dangerous, and nightmarish. This
narrative can be explored using the concept of the katabasis. Drawn from
Ancient Greek mythology, it literally means ‘the descent,’ and more generally
a journey to hell and back. 1 The underworld is a ‘realm of death,’ where
sacrifices are often demanded and the ‘other’ is encountered. 2 Where the
traveller returns, they are usually irrevocably changed by the experience.
Erling Holtsmark observes that the central motif of these sojourns is identity:
“The journey is in some central, irreducible way a journey of self-discovery, a
quest for a lost self.” 3 Through suffering, the traveller learns what they are
capable of and understands themselves more deeply. The reader also absorbs
the lesson that while travel is not necessarily straight-forward or enjoyable, the
difficult passages and twists are intrinsically rewarding and enlightening. The
mythic concept of the katabasis has been applied more broadly to cover
fictional journeys drawn from many cultures and across different forms of
media, including books and film. 4 It also appears to apply across genres,

Dr Warwick Frost is an Associate Professor in the Department of Marketing and Tourism

and Hospitality at La Trobe University. Dr Jennifer Laing is a Senior Lecturer in the
Department of Management at Monash University.
1
Ken Dowden, ‘The Myth That Saves: Mysteries and Mysteriosophies,’ in A Companion to
Greek Mythology, eds Ken Dowden and Niall Livingstone (Chichester: Blackwell, 2011),
pp. 283-300; Tim Whitmarsh, ‘The Writes of Passage: Cultural Initiation in Heliodorus’
Aethiopica,’ in Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, ed. Richard Miles (London and
New York: Routledge, 1999), pp. 16-40.
2
Rachel Falconer, The Crossover Novel: Contemporary Children’s Fiction and its Adult
Readership (New York: Routledge, 2009).
3
Erling B. Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema,’ in Classical Myth and
Culture in the Cinema, ed. Martin. M. Winkler (Oxford and New York: Oxford University
Press, 2001), p. 26.
4
James J. Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell: Mythic Paradigms in The Searchers,’ Journal of
Popular Film and Television, vol. 27, no. 3 (1999), pp. 2-17; Falconer, The Crossover
Novel; Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema’; Evans Lansing Smith, Rape
and Revelation: The Descent to the Underworld in Modernism (Lanham and London:
University Press of America, 1990); Eric Rawson, ‘To Hell with Ya: Katabasis in Hard-

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 215

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

including the Western, 5 science-fiction, 6 and crime fiction. 7 It has been argued
that the katabatic structure provides these fictional or cinematic journeys with
resonance and power, and makes them compelling for an audience.
We also contend that this narrative shapes the way that the process of
travel is perceived, whether by potential or armchair travellers. In this way, it
both mediates expectations and frames the travel experience. 8 It might affect
the way we travel, as well as contributing to cultural myths about tourism. In
this way, it can be likened to the “circles of representation” that may occur
when visual images in brochures and photographs are in turn reproduced by
tourists, in a process of “cultural production and reproduction.” 9 The katabatic
narrative gives travel an edge and the traveller a sense of risk and danger – or
at least the potential for these. In this way, it is a powerful influence on travel
imaginings and should be subjected to analysis in order to understand more
fully the way that travel and the travel experience are comprehended and
appreciated as social phenomena. This is the focus of the present article; an
examination of how the unconscious exposure to the katabatic narrative
moulds and helps to construct our understanding of travel, in particular its
‘dark’ side.
We subject three texts to a literary analysis using the katabasis as a
theoretical framework: the His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman, 10 The
Searchers by Alan Le May, 11 and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg
Larsson. 12 These texts cover three popular genres (children’s, adventure, and
crime fiction) and span over half a century. Each has been filmed; tributes to
the emotional pull of the stories, the result of using a katabatic structure to
drive the narrative. Each is chosen as an exemplar of their genre, while
recognising that there were many other examples that could have been selected

Boiled Detective Fiction,’ The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 42, no. 2 (2009), pp. 291-
303; Bent Sørensen, ‘Katabasis in Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian,’ Orbis Litterarum,
vol. 60 (2005), pp. 16-25.
5
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell’; Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema’;
Sørensen, ‘Katabasis in Cormac McCarthy.’
6
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’
7
Rawson, ‘To Hell with Ya.’
8
Tamara Young, ‘Framing Experiences of Aboriginal Australia: Guidebooks as Mediators
in Backpacker Travel,’ Tourism Analysis, vol. 14, no. 2 (2009), pp. 155-164.
9
Olivia Jenkins, ‘Photography and Travel Brochures,’ Tourism Geographies, vol. 5, no. 3
(2003), p. 324.
10
Philip Pullman, Northern Lights (London: Scholastic, 2007 [1995]); Philip Pullman, The
Subtle Knife (London: Scholastic, 2007 [1997]); Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass
(London: Scholastic, 2007 [2000]).
11
Alan Le May, The Searchers (New York: Harpers, 1954).
12
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (London: Quercus, 2009 [2005]).

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 216

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

and analysed. All contain a journey of some sort; which manifests itself in a
‘hellish’ predicament or destination.

The Descent into Hell

The classical katabasis generally involves six steps:
1. A journey is taken to the realm of the dead.
2. The journey is necessary to recover someone or something, which Eric
Rawson dubs “the elusive object of the katabasis.” 13
3. The entrance is over a river or through a cave and requires a guide or
companion, who may need to be paid or tricked into helping.
4. The realm of the dead is more than dangerous. It is foreboding,
nightmarish, and haunted.
5. One of the group must die as a sacrificial victim.
6. The journey changes the hero. He or she is reborn or gains some other
benefit. 14
The quintessential katabatic tale is the story of Orpheus in the underworld. He
ventures there to save the beautiful Eurydice, who died on their wedding day.
The gods relent at his distress and allow him to rescue his wife on the condition
that he does so without looking back at her. The temptation is of course too
great, and his failure to comply with the condition results in Eurydice
remaining out of reach until the lovers are reunited in death. 15 Another myth
involves Persephone, the beautiful daughter of the harvest goddess Demeter,
who is abducted by Hades, king of the underworld. She is finally released for
six months of the year, marking the beginning of spring, with her return to the
underworld equated with the start of winter, and Demeter’s mourning for the
loss of her daughter. Thus the seasons are explained. 16 The underpinnings of
these stories are the journey to hell and back, and the changes that this has
wrought on the traveller. They are transformed through their experiences.
Orpheus is confronted by his human frailty, while Persephone becomes a deity
of the underworld.
Subconsciously, exposure to the ubiquitous katabatic structure
throughout our lives preconditions us to view travel as testing and taxing, yet
ultimately enlightening and rewarding. This is far removed from the traditional
image of travel as fun, escapist, and a vehicle for relaxation and unwinding
from the stress of life. And yet it gets to the nub of the real travel experience
for most individuals, which is often replete with unforseen dramas, delays, and

13
Rawson, ‘To Hell with Ya,’ p. 296.
14
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell’; Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’
15
Robert Graves, The Greek Myths (London: Folio Society, 2005 [1955]).
16
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 217

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

the shock of the new, no matter how prepared the traveller might be. The
recurring incidence of the katabasis in books and films reinforces the idea that
the seductiveness of travel is in part due to its seamy or shadowy side; the
underworld that we feel exists behind the facade of sun, surf and sex.
These are not narratives that are reserved for adult audiences and
material. Our first text, a trilogy, is ostensibly young adults’, even children’s
fare, although it could be argued to constitute a “crossover novel,” 17 with its
appeal spanning the generations. The subject-matter of His Dark Materials is
often weighty; if one looks behind the fantasy of encountering talking polar
bears, angels, and witches, the book deals with questions of an afterlife, the
role of organised religion in society, 18 the moral imperative of making
sacrifices for the good of others, and deciding who has the right to make
judgements as to what constitutes a social ‘good.’ The descent to hell is not
merely literal, and results in cataclysmic consequences for all involved.

His Dark Materials Trilogy (Philip Pullman, 1995-2000)

In the first book, Northern Lights, we are introduced to Lyra, a young girl
living as a ward of an Oxford college, but this is not the Oxford University of
our world. This is an Oxford within an alternate or parallel world, one of
millions of universes which co-exist, and can be traversed through various
entry points or portals, only known to a select few. Technology has developed
almost in a nineteenth century ‘steampunk’ sensibility, with airships for
transport, as in Michael Moorcock’s The Nomad of Time trilogy. 19 The biggest
difference with this world, however, is that human souls are visibly manifested
as an accompanying animal, known as a daemon, which becomes a constant
companion and friend. The daemons of children can change form at will, but
become fixed at puberty in the form of an animal that best symbolises the
dominant facets of one’s personality, whether it be bravery, intelligence, or
cruelty.
Lyra has been brought up thinking she is an orphan. Her parents,
however, are estranged; Lord Asriel, her father, pretends to be her uncle and
visits her regularly, while Mrs Coulter, her mother, comes to take Lyra away
under the pretence of needing an assistant for her work. The college Master
agrees, in part because of the danger he foresees for Lyra. Young children have

17
Falconer, The Crossover Novel.
18
Jessica Garrahy, ‘His Controversial Materials: Philip Pullman and Religious Narrative
Identity,’ Literature & Aesthetics, vol. 19, no. 2. (2009), pp. 105-122.
19
Michael Moorcock, The Warlord of the Air (London: Panther, 1984 [1971]); Michael
Moorcock, The Land Leviathan (London: Panther, 1984 [1974]); Michael Moorcock, The
Steel Tsar (London: Panther, 1984 [1981]).

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 218

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

been disappearing, including Lyra’s best friend, the kitchen boy Roger. Lyra
travels by zeppelin to London with Mrs Coulter, her first journey among many.
At first, the luxurious lifestyle is seductive, with beautiful clothes, and Lyra
forgets about her former life and concerns about her friend. She eventually
learns the truth: the children are being taken by a shadowy religious
organisation known as the Magisterium to an island in the Arctic, and her
mother is one of the ringleaders. They are trying to close openings that they
have discovered to other worlds, and maintain their own world order, where
organised religion prevails. Moreover, experiments are being conducted on this
island on children, removing their daemons to make these children more
passive and controllable.
Lyra runs away, and joins an expedition to rescue the children. This is
the call to action which is argued to denote the start of the katabasis. 20 She
makes the first of several journeys over water, another classical step of the
katabasis. The first is by canal boat, and then by ship across the icy seas to the
frozen North. Lyra quickly begins to realise that this is not a children’s game,
like the mock battles she played with the gypsy-like gyptians back in Oxford,
but instead a life and death struggle. She is frightened and would like to
abdicate her responsibilities: “I wish it was someone else instead of me, I do
honestly!” In overcoming her fears, Lyra takes her first moves towards
adulthood and her destiny as a modern ‘Eve’ who will seek knowledge and the
truth above obedience. Her journey is thus a rite of passage, from the tomboy
we meet in Oxford, to the heroine who displays courage and loyalty to an old
friend. It reinforces the idea of travel as a mechanism for transitioning from
youth to adulthood. 21
As in all quests, the hero must overcome trials and put matters right,
particularly those in which they have played a part, however unwittingly. 22 To
her horror, Lyra has been instrumental in Roger’s death. She is the one who
takes him to Lord Asriel. Asriel then uses the boy and the power unleashed by
removing his daemon to open up the passage-way to another world. Lyra’s
betrayal, while unintended, has dreadful consequences (“It was my fault he was
dead”). This becomes the catalyst for seeking Roger’s resurrection from the

20
Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1993 [1949]); Rawson, ‘To Hell with Ya.’
21
Amie Matthews, ‘Living Paradoxically: Understanding the Discourse of Authentic
Freedom as it Emerges in the Travel Space,’ Tourism Analysis, vol. 14, no. 2 (2009), pp.
165-174; Pamela J. Riley, ‘Road Culture of International Long-Term Budget Travellers,’
Annals of Tourism Research, vol. 15, no. 3 (1988), pp. 313-328; Naomi Rosh White and
Peter B. White, ‘Travel as Transition: Identity and Place,’ Annals of Tourism Research, vol.
31, no. 1 (2004), pp. 200-218.
22
Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces.

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 219

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

dead (“I got [sic] to go down into the land of the dead and find him”). This is
her great quest, which will lead her to the gates of hell. In saving Roger’s
ghost, she will defeat the Magisterium and restore the balance between the
different worlds.
In the second book, The Subtle Knife, Lyra meets Will, a boy from our
world. He shares her journey and burdens, becoming a confidante in the
tradition of the katabasis and eventually her great love. He is a Perseus to her
Andromeda, saving her from her mother’s clutches through ingenuity and clear
thinking, akin to the outwitting of Medusa. Later on, he accompanies her in her
journey through hell, armed only with a magic knife that can cut a portal into
other worlds. To reach the world of the dead, the children must travel over
water, across a lake shrouded in mist. Like the Greek myth of the underworld
and the River Styx, 23 there is a ferryman (“aged beyond age ... his bony hands
crooked permanently around the oar-handles”). Lyra wants to “find a way out
across the water where the dead people go,” but is told that she must be
accompanied by her “death,” which waits for all of us until the appointed time.
She tells her death that her quest is hers and hers alone, and that she does not
wish to die to complete it: “It’s too important to wait till I die in the natural
way, it’s got to be done now.”
Her sacrifice involves leaving her daemon behind, which for Lyra is like
rending her soul in two: “And then for the first time Lyra truly realised what
she was doing. This was the real consequence. She stood aghast, trembling...”
The ferryman tells her that no-one returns from this trip “this way.” He cannot
be bought or tricked, along the lines of the traditional katabasis. This betrayal
of her daemon was foretold by the Master of Jordan College in Oxford; this is
another nod to Greek mythology and the prophetic power of the sibylline
oracle. 24 The experience of entering the world of the dead involves both
physical and mental anguish. In the case of the latter, “something secret and
private was being dragged into the open where it had no wish to be.” It felt like
the greatest treachery towards a loved one: “There was nothing worse to feel.”
Nevertheless, the children endure the pain for a greater purpose, and travel on.
Even in the midst of hell, their natural curiosity, like that of any traveller, is
aroused: “to see what would happen and where they would land.” They also
take comfort in each other, having a fellow companion to share the odyssey.
This creates an attachment between them, like any travellers who mutually

23
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema’; Alice Mills, ‘Forms of Death in
Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials, Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea, and Garth Nix’s Old
Kingdom Novels,’ Literature & Aesthetics, vol. 19, no. 2 (2009), pp. 92-104.
24
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 220

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

undergo a difficult or bewildering experience, which is reminiscent of Turner’s

communitas.25
A number of caves also feature in this second book, with one used by
Lord Asriel to hide his arsenal of weaponry and hardware that he will use to
defeat the Magisterium. The language used to describe this subterranean
hiding-place, with its “river of sulphurous molten metal” and “cloud of evil
smoke,” is redolent of the underworld. The second is the “system of caves”
they enter with the ghosts, in an attempt to lead them to freedom. This is
described as “dark, with an enfolding blackness that pressed on Lyra’s eyes so
heavily that she almost felt the weight of the thousands of tons of rock above
them.” The children risk falling into an abyss, “a vast black emptiness, like a
shaft into the deepest darkness.” This is the stuff of nightmares: “The darkness
was so profound that it seemed to pull the eyesight down into it, and a ghastly
dizziness swam over their minds when they looked.” They encounter the lurid
horror of the harpies – terrifyingly repulsive creatures from Greek
mythology, 26 working to diminish hope and leave the dead with a sense of
despair – who symbolise the grotesquery inherent in the realm of death, a
distortion of the real world. 27
Lyra feels defenceless – “there won’t be any help where we’d have to
go” – but she takes on a number of magical guides who assist her in her quest
to save Roger. The first is her death, who calls himself her “guide,” but warns:
“I can show you the way in, but as for getting out again, you’ll have to manage
by yourself.” She also has Will and two miniature spies for Lord Asriel, who
take on Lyra’s quest as their own (“against every instinct, we’ll go with you”).
They light the way for the band of ghosts through the darkness, both through
the glow of their dragonfly mounts and the moral luminosity that they exhibit.
Even the harpies are won over by the truth that the children speak – of a world
of beauty, as well as wickedness. They realise that there is more than the world
in which they dwell, a world of fear and gloom. A bargain is struck. They are
given the right to hear the truth about the world from each ghost, “the story of
their lives,” as recompense for guiding them out of the world of the dead. This
is the payment that the guide demands in the katabatic narrative. It honours the
assistance of the guide, and their sacred knowledge. When Lyra falls into the

25
Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Harmondsworth:
Penguin, 1974); Victor Turner and Edith Turner, Image and Pilgrimage in Christian
Culture: Anthropological Perspectives (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978).
26
Mills, ‘Forms of Death.’
27
Rawson, ‘To Hell with Ya.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 221

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

abyss, one of the harpies swoops down to save her. The advice and assistance
of the guide is instrumental to the success of the journey. 28
The dead, or those who are willing to follow Lyra, are led to the surface
and then into another world. It is the “greatest blow” that can be struck against
“The Authority,” the name given to the deity, and thus resembles the rebellion
in the Garden of Eden, with Lyra the second ‘Eve.’ Even the realisation that
the ghosts will become mere particles, part of the “air and the wind and the
trees and the earth,” is comforting; becoming a form of higher life in nature,
rather than perpetually wandering the underworld. 29 The cutting of a hole
between worlds to allow the ghosts to escape is reminiscent of a ritual
rebirth. 30 They move from a world that is silent and dark, much like the womb,
to a world of chaos and confusion:
The first thing they sensed was noise. The light that struck in was
dazzling and they had to cover their eyes, ghosts and living alike, so
they could see nothing for several seconds; but the pounding,
explosions, the rattle of gunfire, the shouts and screams were all
instantly clear and horribly frightening.
The return home for Lyra involves a sacrifice that cannot be overcome or
outsmarted. She cheated death but cannot avoid the inexorable laws of nature.
It demands that she live in a different world to Will in order to keep her
daemon alive and to stop the exodus of dust, a synonym for human
consciousness. In so doing, she learns more about herself and the bittersweet
nature of love:
She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so
much; of all the things that had astonished her in her adventures, that
was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left
in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she
would cherish it forever.
Lyra is not the only one who will lose something in this story. Her mother
leaps to her death to annihilate the evil angel Metatron, engaged in a life-and-
death struggle with Lyra’s father, but in so doing, destroys them all. It is her
final sacrifice to save Lyra and the world in which she will grow up, a world
that will be free of tyranny and open to embrace the truth.

The Searchers (Alan Le May, 1954)

Adventure fiction commonly involves the Rite of Passage of a young hero.
There is typically a bittersweet loss of innocence as the hero’s travels result in
their growing up and taking on adult responsibilities. In Treasure Island

28
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’
29
Mills, ‘Forms of Death.’
30
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 222

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

(1883),31 Jim Hawkins sets out on an adventure to find buried treasure on an

uncharted island. His youthful enthusiasm for the charismatic Long John Silver
is quickly tempered as he learns lessons about trust, betrayal, and doing one’s
duty. In The Three Musketeers (1844),32 the exuberant D’Artagnan heads to
Paris to join the Musketeers and make his fortune. While he succeeds, there is
also tragedy as Milady murders Constance to spite him. In many adventure
stories, this rite of passage is shaped as a katabasis; the hero journeys through a
wasteland, encounters danger and darkness, and is profoundly changed. The
wasteland is often constructed as an arid and hostile desert, as for example in
King Solomon’s Mines (1885),33 The Four Feathers (1902), 34 and Beau Geste
(1924).35 In this section, we consider the example of The Searchers (1954), an
‘adult’ Western adventure, set on the frontier of the American south-west.
Up to World War Two, Western adventure stories were simple moral
stories. Good battled evil. Good eventually won out. This was exemplified in
the prolific output of Zane Grey, and of the fictional heroes Hopalong Cassidy,
the Lone Ranger, and the Cisco Kid. After World War Two, however, all that
changed. In the post-war boom, America rapidly became more urban and
sophisticated. While the new media of television was dominated by Western
series, the old fashioned Western movies rapidly lost their box office appeal
and the fiction of heroic Western adventures seemed corny and out-dated.
These changes resulted in the ‘Adult Western.’ Movies explored themes that
could not possibly be shown on television. Westerns of the 1950s thus had a
much harder edge; heroes were now flawed and morally ambiguous, sharing
similar qualities with the villains. Rather than simple wanderlust, their journey
through the West was either a symptom of their inability to settle down or they
were on the run from the law. In popular culture and tourist attractions, the
outlaw became the appealing “anti-hero.” 36 Feeding these adult films were a
new generation of adult novels. 37 Le May’s novel was also distinct, in that

31
Robert L. Stevenson, Treasure Island (London: Penguin, 2010 [1883]).
32
Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers (London: Wordsworth, 2001 [1844]).
33
H. Rider Haggard, King Solomon’s Mines (Oxford and New York: Oxford University
Press, 1991 [1885]).
34
A. E. W. Mason, The Four Feathers (London: Nelson, 1989 [1902]).
35
P. C. Wren, Beau Geste (London: John Murray, 1924).
36
Fiona Wheeler, Jennifer Laing, Lionel Frost, Keir Reeves, and Warwick Frost, ‘Outlaw
Nations: Tourism, the Frontier and National Identities,’ in Tourism and National Identities:
An International Perspective, eds Elspeth Frew and Leanne White (London and New York:
Routledge, 2011), pp. 151-163.
37
Michael Coyne, The Crowded Prairie: American National Identity in the Hollywood
Western (New York and London: Taurus, 1997); R. Philip Loy, Westerns in a Changing
America, 1955-2000 (Jefferson: McFarland, 2004).

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 223

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

rather than being a fictional fantasy, it drew heavily on historical accounts of

attempts to rescue captives, including those by George Custer and Kit
Carson. 38
The Searchers begins with the Commanches raiding the Edwards family
homestead. Everyone is killed, except 11-year-old Debbie, who is carried off.
Amos (her uncle) and Marty (her 18-year-old adopted brother) set out to rescue
her. With the family destroyed, these two marginal members set out to recreate
the family by regaining Debbie and bringing her home. Their obsessive quest
will take five years.
Alan Le May was a Hollywood scriptwriter and it was not surprising
that his novel was quickly made into a film by John Ford. The Searchers
(1955) is widely regarded as a classic, one of the best Western films ever made
and probably one of the greatest American films in any genre, largely because
of its difficult and dark themes. 39 Changing parts of the story, Ford provides a
much more detailed and nuanced backstory for Amos (renamed Ethan, and
played by John Wayne), and a much more romanticised portrayal of frontier
community life, a hallmark of many of his Westerns. It is these key differences
which have led to Le May’s book being dismissed as a “crude novel,” 40 and the
film lauded as greatly superior. 41 We do not agree with that judgement. Our
view is that while there are differences, the film and book are equally
impressive and complement each other.
Marty and Amos wander through the frontier in Texas, New Mexico,
and Indian Territory (now Oklahoma). While bound together by their quest,
Marty and Amos are not close. Amos refuses to recognise Marty as kin to
either himself or Debbie, constantly emphasising that he is a stray orphan.
Both, of course, are now without family and the search for Debbie is also a
search for a new start. Marty quickly realises that Amos is obsessed with
killing and mutilating Indians. He worries that Amos will blindly attack the
Commanches (who will react by killing their White prisoners), or even kill
Debbie himself. They follow many leads, but they prove to be dead ends. The

38
George Armstrong Custer, My Life on the Plains (London: The Folio Society, 1963
[1874]); Hampton Sides, Blood and Thunder: The Epic Story of Kit Carson and the
Conquest of the American West (New York: Anchor, 2006).
39
Roger Ebert, The Great Movies II (New York: Broadway Books, 2005); Jim Kitses,
Horizons West: Directing the Western from John Ford to Clint Eastwood (London: BFI,
2004); Jonathan Rosenbaum, Essential Cinema: On the Necessity of Film Canons
(Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 2004).
40
Kitses, Horizons West, p. 100.
41
Martin M. Winkler, ‘Tragic Features in John Ford’s The Searchers,’ in Classical Myth
and Culture in the Cinema, ed. Martin M. Winkler (Oxford and New York: Oxford
University Press, 2001), pp. 118-147.

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 224

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

longer the search continues, the more ‘lost’ Amos and Marty are. Their mission
is all-consuming, driving them on even though they have little to go on. Both
suffer from nightmares and Amos is gradually going blind.
Their journey is constructed as a katabasis. To regain Debbie, they must
cross into a hellish wilderness. Constantly wary of being ambushed, they are
also beset by the elements, including severe blizzards. The Indian side of the
frontier is certainly depicted as the realm of death. They are constantly coming
across sites of massacres and attacks. Amos is happy to sacrifice Marty as a
decoy when they encounter trouble. The frontier is also a forsaken zone, for
during the period of the search for Debbie, the US had pulled back its troops.
The area of conflict is expanding as the Commanches get bolder. Amos and
Marty are conscious that they are racing against time, that a ‘Day of
Reckoning’ is coming (a strong parallel with Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings 42).
The fighting between Commanches and Whites is becoming more widespread
and constant and Amos and Marty know that, soon, the US will change its
policy and send in troops, which will probably lead to the Commanches killing
all their captives.
To journey through this realm, Amos and Marty must become like the
Indians, learning and respecting their ways. Marty learns Commanche, though
mysteriously the hateful Amos is already fluent. Caught in a blizzard, Amos
even sings a Commanche death song. Every year or so, they briefly return back
over the settled frontier. Initially they are supported by the other settlers, but
every year the welcome is less friendly. Some blame their search for triggering
retaliatory raids by the Commanches, others see them now as nothing more
than the hated Commancheros, white renegades who trade and consort with the
Indians.
Increasingly alienated from White society, how will they ever be able to
return and settle down? Waiting for them on the settled side of the frontier is
Laurie. She dreams of marrying Marty and rebuilding the Edwards place. In
direct contrast to the Ford film, however, her love gradually sours over time.
Sick of waiting and fearful of becoming an ‘old maid’ she gives up on the
search ever being successful and marries another suitor. This is a bitter part of
the journey for Marty, who had always selfishly assumed that she would wait,
and he is shocked to find out that Laurie is no Penelope to his Odysseus.
To find Debbie, they have to deal with a range of untrustworthy guides.
Their co-operation is gained through the offering of a large reward, though this
brings additional problems. The trader Futterman may know something, but he

42
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring (London: HarperCollins, 2001 [1954]); J. R.
R. Tolkien, The Two Towers (London: HarperCollins, 2001 [1954]); J. R. R. Tolkien, The
Return of the King (London: HarperCollins, 2001 [1955]).

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 225

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

tries to ambush and kill them to gain the reward. A Mexican rancher Jaime
Rosas takes them deep into New Mexico to meet a Commanche chief who has
taken a young captive White as his wife. They believe he is willing to trade
her, but when they meet they realise the girl is not Debbie. Disillusioned, they
finally decide to quit and return home. It has been five years. On their return,
news comes from the deranged Lije Powers that Debbie is with a chief called
Scar. Should they trust this news? They choose to begin the search again.
While their quest has a definite objective, their journey meanders
through the south-west. They follow many spurious leads, really taking them in
circles. At the end they find that the Commanches had easily avoided them,
and even controlled their route. Their search ends only when the over-
confident Scar chooses to reveal himself. They enter Scar’s village and realise
that they have been there many times before as traders. For all their searching,
the Commanches have successfully hidden Scar and Debbie from them. They
talk with Scar, who hates whites as they have killed all his sons. They meet
Debbie, now 16-years-old. She tells them that Scar is her father, and that he
rescued her from some other Indians and has raised her as a Commanche. She
cannot remember being white. When Amos tells her that Scar killed her real
father and mother, she refuses to believe them.
Scar has only revealed himself as he is preparing for a decisive battle
with the cavalry and Texas Rangers. After an epic battle, Scar is defeated.
Amos and Marty ride into the village. Amos rides after a Commanche girl he
mistakes for Debbie. She shoots him as he picks her up to take her home.
Amos is the sacrificial victim in this katabasis. Scarred by his hatred, he could
never have returned to settled life. It is Marty who finds Debbie. She tells him
that she does remember, and that she remembers it all.
Written in the 1950s, The Searchers has obvious Cold War overtones.
Debbie’s captor convinces her that he has rescued her, that he is now her
father, and that her real relatives are liars. She tells Amos and Marty that their
quest is wrong, that they are wrong, and that she is happy with her new life. In
the vernacular of the fifties, she has been ‘brainwashed.’ Nor is she alone, as
other children are being taken and similarly converted to an ‘alien’ way of life.
Furthermore, the American authorities are powerless. Washington has been
convinced by Quaker pacifists that they need to appease the Commanches and
not use any force. It is only after five years of frontier warfare that this policy
is reversed, and the cavalry can literally ride to the rescue of the settlers.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson, 2005)

The final text, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, is an international best-seller
and part of an emerging genre of crime fiction, labelled Scandinavian noir for

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 226

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

its bleak outlook, mirrored in its minimalist landscapes. Although somewhat

lurid and arguably ‘pulp fiction,’ it is important to acknowledge that the
katabatic underpinnings are as likely to be present in popular texts as in classic
literature, and thus the former play a role in our understanding of travel.
Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy involves the journeys of two individuals,
initially separately and later together: an investigative journalist, Mikael
Blomkvist, who runs a magazine, Millennium, and a security expert, Lisbeth
Salander. Both are lonely and alienated from society, but for different reasons.
Blomkvist is divorced, has a long-standing but ultimately doomed love affair
(“they had a connection as addictive as heroin”) with a married colleague,
Erika Berger, and has just lost a court case for libel in relation to an
industrialist whom he accused of fraud. He resigns from his position with the
magazine, and feels humiliated in the eyes of those who saw him as a crusader
for social justice. He is a lost soul, looking for a way to recapture meaning and
purpose. The case he is called upon to solve metaphorically saves his life.
Salander is highly intelligent, but emotionally fragile. Like the actors in
an ancient Greek drama, she wears a mask, which keeps her from engaging
fully with the outside world. Her ‘look’ is a defence, involving confronting
piercings and tattoos, dyed short hair, weird clothing, and ultra thinness: “She
looked as though she had just emerged from a week-long orgy with a gang of
hard rockers.” She has a job with a security firm and specialises in
investigating people’s backgrounds and uncovering secrets, largely through
hacking computers. Salander has a guardian appointed to look after her affairs,
who rapes her and subjects her to degrading acts to get access to her own
money. The scenes with her rapist are brutal and explicitly detailed. The fact
that Salander turns the tables on her adversary shows her inner strength, as well
as her willingness to return violence (‘an eye for an eye’) and extract revenge,
beyond what we might consider a normal response. We are never sure what
this young woman is capable of, or how she will react to a situation.
The two join forces to solve the mystery of the disappearance of the
granddaughter of Henrik Vanger, which took place at a family gathering on a
small island in Sweden in the 1960s. The grandfather engages Blomkvist, who
sees the exile as a way to escape the unwanted publicity about his libel trial and
take his mind off his troubles. It will also provide him a generous salary to
cover his debts. The attempted recovery of the missing girl is the first hint of a
katabatic structure. Blomkvist goes to live on Hedeby Island while he is
collecting information, requiring a journey by train and then across water. This
acts as a demarcation 43 between his old and new lives. The island is a bleak
wintery backwater for a man used to a free urban lifestyle in Stockholm (“It
43
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 227

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

was eerily quiet”) and the bitterly cold weather saps his spirit (“At times he
was on the brink of tears and toyed with taking the first train heading south”).
His ‘banishment’ to the island is a form of descent. 44 It is ‘alien territory’ 45;
initially unfathomable and replete with secrets. Blomkvist also ends up in jail
for a few months, the ultimate social fall from grace. The island is largely
deserted in the winter months, when the summer visitors have left, and is a
kind of hell or realm of the dead, both figuratively and literally, as Blomkvist is
later to find out. The bleak landscape matches the desolation that Blomkvist
feels, isolated from his real work and his network, however unsatisfactory. He
starts an affair with Cecilia Vanger, one of the missing girl’s family members,
but one feels that this is purely temporary, an attempt at alleviating his ennui
and emptiness.
The twist to the tale is that Harriet Vanger has run away and taken on an
alias, to escape the clutches of her brother, the seemingly innocuous Martin
Vanger. The genial veneer hid the monster within, just as the outward
respectability of Hedeby Island masks a dreadful secret. Martin raped his sister
and has followed in his father’s footsteps as the perpetrator of a spate of serial
murders of women. Uncovering the truth involves painstaking attention to
detail, and clever detective work. Maria de Lurdes Sampaio 46 argues that
Blomkvist, like the Greek hero Theseus, must journey through a labyrinth of
falsehoods and cover-ups, before destroying the source of evil. Salander is
sometimes his guide, as is his daughter Pernilla, when she discerns the Biblical
connection to the murders, but he also works alone, acting on instinct. Salander
is more correctly categorised as his companion, the woman who traditionally
assists the katabatic hero to achieve their goals. 47 He ends up in Martin’s
basement, a symbolic cave in the katabatic tradition, where he is bound and
gagged (“Blomkvist had opened the door to hell”). He confronts evil at its most
visceral. We are given a graphic description of this ‘hellhole’; with its chains,
restraints, video technology for recording the victims, and a steel cage.
Salander rescues him, before chasing Martin’s car on her motorbike until he
veers off the road and dies. She is inexorable in her determination to see him
pay for his sins. As the katabatic narrative demands, one of the group must die.
The journey ends with Blomkvist and Salander returning to Stockholm.
His reputation has been rehabilitated, as he is eventually able to prove the truth
of his indictments against the financier, through the aegis of a book, The Mafia

44
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’
45
Sørensen, ‘Katabasis in Cormac McCarthy,’ p. 18.
46
Maria de Lurdes Sampaio, ‘Millennium Trilogy: Eye for Eye and the Utopia of Order in
Modern Waste Lands,’ Cross-Cultural Communication, vol. 7, no. 2 (2011), pp. 73-81.
47
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 228

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

Banker, and the subsequent media exposure it attracts. The book is a form of
catharsis, which allows him to move on from the events of the past, and “was
animated by a fury that no reader could help but notice.” Blomkvist also has
the moral satisfaction of knowing that his work has led to the rapprochement of
Harriet Vanger with her grandfather, and prevented further evil being
committed through the death of Martin Vanger. His work has given him back
his self-respect and achieved closure. 48 Blomkvist can therefore be reintegrated
into society; another classic element of the katabasis. 49 He also becomes closer
to his formerly estranged daughter, and develops a close relationship with
Salander, which brings comfort to both. It could be argued that Blomkvist is
‘born again’ with a new self-identity. 50 He is the traveller who has endured and
triumphed over adversity. While “the katabatic hero often wins a bride
following his underworld journey,” 51 Blomkvist has learnt through his trials
that he can function alone and does not need a permanent mate to make him
happy.
Salander’s life is also changed, but not necessarily for the better. Like
Blomkvist, there is a symbolic rebirth. She cleans out her flat, and, in so doing,
starts to put into order her previously anarchic existence:
She dragged out a total of six black rubbish bags and twenty paper
bags full of newspapers. She felt as if she had decided to start a new
life. She thought about buying a new apartment – when she found
something suitable – but for now her old place would be more
dazzlingly clean than she could ever remember.
There is also a partial reintegration into society 52; the outsider taking the first
steps towards feeling accepted. Salander has formed a bond of trust with
Blomkvist, one of the few non-dysfunctional relationships she has enjoyed in
her life. He does not judge her, and sees behind the defences she uses to protect
herself from others. She realises, however, that he does not share the intensity
of her feelings: “It could not possibly work out. What did he need her for? ...
When he asked her if anything was wrong, she gave him a neutral,
uncomprehending look.” She later visits him to bare her soul, only to find him
with his former lover, Erika Berger. Salander is left alone, in the swirling
snow. Her other crisis involves the crime she has committed. She has
harnessed her hacking talents and ability to disguise herself to transfer
approximately 2.5 billion Swedish kroner from the offshore accounts of the
corrupt financier to her own. This wealth is likely to be temporary, which
48
Rawson, ‘To Hell with Ya.’
49
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’
50
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’
51
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell,’ p. 7.
52
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell.’

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 229

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

Holtsmark conceptualises as an “anti-katabasis.” 53 In the next book in the

series, The Girl Who Played with Fire, she is on the run from the police. Her
katabatic journey has left her defenceless and vulnerable, and in a sense she
“has never really escaped from the harrowing journey to hell.” 54

Discussion
The use of the katabasis occurs across a broad sweep of genres and its mythic
dimension is also the source of its universality. 55 As Holtsmark argues: “The
appeal of the katabasis type is freed from any kind of anchoring in specific
cultural traditions.” 56 This is the background to its power as a narrative device
and the potentially broad influence it may have on travel imaginings. Hell may
be a physical place, as experienced by the child protagonists in His Dark
Materials, who venture to the world of the dead to rescue their friend. It may
also be emotional or metaphorical, in the case of The Searchers and The Girl
with the Dragon Tattoo, where the hero and/or heroine experiences a kind of
living hell or meets those with hellish intentions or lifestyles. The realm of the
dead can be experienced through “the psychological suffering and purification
of the protagonist.” 57
In all three texts, the journeys undertaken are not easy, but they are
enriching and purposeful in their hardships. These travellers are not flâneurs,
strolling about and seeing the sights, nor are they hedonists. The travel
experience is portrayed as raw, precarious, and authentically challenging. The
traveller is not sheltered within a bubble, nor protected from the visceral
qualities of life. They are immersed in what they are doing, and survive
through self-reliance, as well as the relationships they develop with their fellow
travellers. The latter could be characterised as communitas, “an essential and
generic human bond” based on shared experience. 58 There is a transcendent
quality to these relationships, exemplified by the bond between Lyra and Will
in His Dark Materials, or Salander and Blomkvist in The Girl with a Dragon
Tattoo. In both these cases, the connection between the travellers is so intense
and extraordinary that it blossoms into love.
Ritual elements of the katabasis can be understood within the
framework of the modern travel experience. They suggest that travel involves

53
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’
54
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema,’ p. 32.
55
Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
56
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema,’ p. 49.
57
Sørensen, ‘Katabasis in Cormac McCarthy,’ p. 18.
58
Turner, The Ritual Process; Turner and Turner, Image and Pilgrimage in Christian
Culture, p. 250.

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 230

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

both an inner and outer journey, with the traveller forced to turn inward to cope
with circumstances, as well as seeking the assistance of others, including the
guide. These journeys offer opportunities for self-actualisation, what Dean
MacCannell calls the search for “an Absolute Other,” 59 in that the individual
discovers more about themselves and what they are capable of. While
Christoph Hennig labels this merely a “modern myth” of travel, 60 it has been
found to be both an important motivation and outcome of travel in a number of
different contexts, including adventure travel, volunteer tourism, and religious
tourism. 61
The katabatic structure also helps to explain why difficult or dangerous
travel can paradoxically be so pleasurable; why we endlessly discuss with our
friends and neighbours the intricate and often highly personal details of holiday
illnesses, missed connections, rude hosts, and substandard accommodation.
Deep down, as we witness in the books we read and the films we watch, we
realise that these experiences are good for us: “the pattern speaks to something
deeply human.” 62 Travel teaches us self-reliance and a greater understanding of
the world around us, as well as of ourselves and our capabilities and
weaknesses. We must sometimes sacrifice something in the process, even if it
is only our pride or sense of superiority. The importance of a guide or insider
knowledge is emphasised in these narratives, which suggests that we need to
reach out to others, which is part of the socialisation of travel. There is also the
need for endurance, to realise that challenges are part and parcel of the travel
ritual, but not the whole story. The benefits realised through travel are
multifarious, and the traveller may be irrevocably changed.
While some of these elements might be disputed in their general
application to all tourists (Edward Bruner, for example, argues that few travel
experiences are truly transformational 63), this is the promise that books deliver
through the mechanism of the katabatic narrative. In this way, we are

59
Dean MacCannell, The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class (Berkeley and Los
Angeles: University of California Press, 1999), p. 5.
60
Christoph Hennig, ‘Tourism: Enacting Modern Myths,’ in The Tourist as a Metaphor of
the Social World, ed. Graham Dann (Wallingford: CABI, 2002), pp. 169-187.
61
Jorge Gutic, Eliza Caie, and Andy Clegg, ‘In Search of Heterotopia? Motivations of
Visitors to an English Cathedral,’ International Journal of Tourism Research, vol. 12, no. 6
(2010), pp. 750-760; Jennifer H. Laing and Geoffrey I. Crouch, ‘Frontier Tourism:
Retracing Mythic Journeys,’ Annals of Tourism Research, vol. 38, no. 4 (2011), pp. 1516-
1534; Pekka Mustonen, ‘Volunteer Tourism: Postmodern Pilgrimage?,’ Journal of Tourism
and Cultural Change, vol. 3, no. 3 (2006), pp. 160-177.
62
Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema,’ p. 49.
63
Edward M. Bruner, ‘Transformation of Self in Tourism,’ Annals of Tourism Research,
vol. 18, no. 2 (1991), pp. 238-250.

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 231

Exploring the Katabatic Structure of Travel Fiction

preconditioned to seeing the process and experience of travel as potentially

problematic and risky, but also hugely satisfying and meaningful. The return
home is an important part of the journey, and may lead the traveller to seek
another quest, armed with the knowledge that they have overcome obstacles
and thrived on exposure to the unknown.

Conclusion
In this article, we analysed three books using the Greek katabasis as a
theoretical framework or lens, to assist in understanding more deeply how
travel is portrayed and represented in literature, and how this colours or
frames 64 readers’ perceptions of the travel experience. These narratives suggest
that travel can often be purposeful, and involve struggles or challenges, which
must be overcome. The guide or companion is often integral to the success of
the journey. The return home is a time of reflection, when the traveller realises
what they have gained (or lost) and how they have been changed or
transformed by what they have seen or done.
These themes are presented to us as children and through our adult lives,
when we read these books, and absorb them unwittingly and perhaps
subconsciously. They implant in us a certain way of understanding travel and
perhaps create the stirrings of a desire to travel. The katabasis also gives these
narratives an emotional intensity that makes them cinematically powerful story
arcs.65 It is no coincidence that these three books have been adapted into
generally highly successful films, some with multiple versions over the years.
The power of books and their link with travel is an important social and
cultural phenomenon, which warrants further research, building on prior
studies in the context of guidebooks, 66 and travel brochures and photographs. 67
The concept of the katabasis can be used to analyse other genres of fiction, and
may provide a useful tool for understanding the essence of these stories. They
might also help to explain why we gravitate towards certain stories and their
enduring popularity across the generations. In a tourism context, it can be
argued that all books involve some kind of journey or “movement,” 68 and thus
these mythic elements tell us something about the complexity of travel, and
how we feel about it and approach it, both as children and as adults. The

64
Young, ‘Framing Experiences of Aboriginal Australia.’
65
Clauss, ‘Descent into Hell’; Holtsmark, ‘The Katabasis Theme in Modern Cinema.’
66
Young, ‘Framing Experiences of Aboriginal Australia.’
67
Jenkins, ‘Photography and Travel Brochures.’
68
Dan Vogel, ‘A Lexicon Rhetoricae for “Journey” Literature,’ College English, vol. 36, no.
2 (1974), pp. 185-189.

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 232

 Warwick Frost and Jennifer Laing

katabatic narrative might also be a useful lens for exploring a swathe of tourist
behaviour, including travel motivations and the way we experience travel.

Literature & Aesthetics 22 (1) June 2012, page 233