Silence: In an Age of Noise by Erling Kagge

“As I rebuild the WLS archive with books I've read from 2011 through to 2025, I want to build a fully-fledged ecosystem of books I've read and recommend. I'd like to be able to reference and speak to any I've finished. For books I haven't reviewed (or can't entirely remember), please enjoy this brief questionnaire that can help you decide whether it's a read you'd like to pursue. Some of these are favorites I just haven't gotten around to fully reviewing yet—I'll explain in each description, but I hope this Q&A can be illuminating to you in the meantime.”

"A joyful celebration" (NPR) that shows us why silence is essential to our sanity and happiness—and how it can open doors to wonder and gratitude--from a renowned explorer and acclaimed author.

In this astonishing and transformative meditation, Erling Kagge, famed Norwegian explorer and the first person to reach the South Pole alone, explores the silence around us, the silence within us, and the silence we must create. By recounting his own experiences and discussing the observations of poets, artists, and explorers, Kagge shows us what silence is, where it can be found, and why it is now more important than ever.

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Why I Picked It Up

I picked up Silence: In an Age of Noise by Erling Kagge in the same 2019 kick that led me to How to Disappear: Notes on Invisibility in a Time of Transparency. Basically, we face more pressure than ever to be in tune with the noise and chaos of the modern world, making it more valuable than ever to retreat. How much of our personhood is based on the perception of others? What's the proper balance of absorption vs. contribution? Are you comfortable in your own company? Etc,. etc,.

I'm a quiet person by nature (usually—unless you get me talking about book recs or catch me on the tail end of a particularly painful deadline slog), especially in groups. I like listening. I like being a bit of a wallflower—and I do credit fundamental observation for nearly all of my writing and artistic skill. I love the particular silence of a starry night in the wilderness, connected and alone.

This book seems to strikes at that feeling exactly, so on my list it went.

What It's About & What I Remember

Recently, I've been reading a lot about wanting vs. gratitude, nostalgia vs. here-and-now processing, understanding vs. missed connections, and I've been continually struck over the last few weeks by how effectively my recent reads layer together for a cohesive picture.

I can't verbalize what exactly the theme of my reading is, but I know there's a spine of something there that accurately sums up my 2024 (and my journey to a book deal as a whole.)

Again, not an existential crisis, but a very specific resonance at the current moment that combines gratitude, grief, wanting, contentedness. Everything feels both powerful and settled in the current moment, which contributes to the sense that 2024 has been one of my most meaningful years. Which, come to think of it, is also exactly the kind of duality in scale that the feeling of awe provokes in us when exposed to the natural landscapes depicted in Silence: In an Age of Noise.

Silence: In an Age of Noise details Kagge's journey on a solo trek to the South Pole. The overall impression is rugged and isolated, daring but comfortable. He's not depicting an adrenaline-filled trek so much as a poignant exploration.

Silence Is an Ode to Everything You Can't Say

I prioritize beauty and nature and independence and connectivity, of course. And in drawing, one of the first things you're taught is contrast. You can often build out the shape you want by also articulating the negative space around the image too. Who you are is also who you are not, etc,.

Recently, I've also feared the ways in which articulating something can detract from its potency, so have an appreciation for the gaps in silence that allow a moment or experience to speak for itself. I have a similar awareness when I take a photo of a beautiful sight and my phone's camera can never quite capture the nuance of it; I'm, for a moment, so distinctively grateful that no method of remembering it will come even close. It makes the current moment so much better and more liminal.

“Words can destroy the atmosphere. They are unsatisfactory. Yes, it is incredible to share grand experiences with others, but talking about it may distance us from what is happening.”

And then I'm a word girl. But The Paradox of Choice told me that detailing reasons often makes us reach for the easiest ones to put into words rather than the truest ones. The Memory Illusion cautioned me against crystallizing my memory. "The words we speak become the house we live in," and all, but there's also a perpetual tension between wanting to honor my experiences and reflections vs. being trapped by the very act of putting them into words. A frustration in knowing that you can never fully get your meaning across to somebody else because the millions of connections you've made are already filtered through your POV at the speed of sound (and already gone.)

I probably write in the pursuit of connection—that sense of a reader absolutely getting it—but that process is all subjective and random and chaotic anyway. Knowing another person is fundamentally a limited, imperfect experience, and the best we can do is stay curious and open and steady to try to get as close to mutual understanding as possible. (Right?) Language can be so enormously frustrating in that way.

“Helberg understood the way that words create boundaries for our experiences. He wanted to avoid a situation in which members of his group were continuously remarking to each other throughout the day on just how ‘amazing’ everything was, instead of actually concentrating on it being amazing.”

The Meaning Is in the Pursuit

Although we can't quite say what we mean, and we can't quite get away from the chaos of modern life, Erling Kagge writes a tribute to the creation of silence in the margins.

His nature writing is especially beautiful, albeit minimal; I recently read Peter Matthiessen for the first time, and their styles strike me as similar—although Matthiessen is more focused on static details than personal reflection.

“The starry sky is the truest friend in life, when you've first become acquainted; it is ever there, it gives ever peace, ever reminds you that your restlessness, your doubt, your pains are passing trivialities.”

Kagge writes that silence isn't about shutting out the outside world entirely, but rather staying true to your course. (For that reason, he would likely vibe with Stoicism too. We get bogged down in the trivial.) Silence, in contrast to the demands of modern life, is a way of getting to the core of a matter.

“In a way, silence is the opposition to all of this. It’s about getting inside what you are doing.”

The idea is intuitive. Instead of explicit meditation, I'm a fan of flow states and deepening my appreciation for the detail of a hobby or pursuit. It boosts my concentration and well-being.

I've also realized that many of my favorite things to do mean I very seldom feel pressure to "fill" a silence. I'm happy reading or surfing or exploring alone, which can sometimes make it difficult to strike past my own independence, or to feel self-conscious about gaps in conversation. Genuine confidence is found in alignment to yourself rather than the validation of others, etc,. etc,.

I also think about a stat from You're Not Listening: What You're Missing and Why It Matters by Kate Murphy that says Americans automatically perceive a long silence (I forget the exact threshold, but she provides an exact number of seconds) as meaning disapproval rather than pondering, which is why we're often so uncomfortable with it.

And really, silence on a physical level doesn't entirely exist anyway. He means more so stillness—achieving contentedness and peace in the face of constant demand for more and more engagement. (And he does talk about dopamine's role in all this, which is my current obsession.)

“I have searched for absolute silence, but never found it. One of my friends made a serious attempt and locked himself into a soundproof room. The room was not only supposed to shut noises in, but it was also impossible to hear any noises from outside. The room was soundless. Or was it? My friend heard sounds inside too. Maybe he imagined them, or maybe it was the blood circulating around his body. I don't know, but I believe that absolute silence exists more as a dream than in reality.”

Personally, I made it a mission to quiet my head more this year. Think less. Be more in the moment. One bad day in November, I realized before bed that it was the first night in months that I'd been up because my head was spinning. I'd gotten my head silent before then and hadn't realized it. I've always been a grateful person, but had rarely been able to go blank enough for that kind of serenity.

“‘Perhaps it’s because silence goes together with wonder, but it also has a kind of majesty to it, yes, like an ocean, or like an endless snowy expanse,’ he said. ‘And whoever does not stand in wonder at this majesty fears it. And that is most likely why many are afraid of silence (and why there is music everywhere, everywhere).”

Unlike Kagge, I actually do enjoy listening to music while on a walk or hike sometimes, and don't think it detracts from the experience—although I very much value opportunities for reflection and absence without any stimuli whatsoever.

He's a little condescending about smartphones, which reminds me of Cal Newport or Dopamine Nation, whereas I prefer a more empathetic approach (like Adam Alter's) that recognizes the many ways in which many people today have to participate within the systems of reality in order to survive within them, plus the sheer scale of the engineering focused on making Gen Z addicted to the (overwhelming) cultural landscape before they ever had the chance to escape it.

There's a certain democratic achievement to exposure that allows for more flexibility and mobility in peoples' lives, so we can't wholly demonize "noisy" culture either—just find ways to tune it down on a personal level. Kagge, while demonstrating an impressive dedication to silence, may not entirely recognize his luck and privilege in being able to escape into wilderness whenever he pleases and still build a living in his chosen pursuit. But I do think that as a whole, the reflection isn't grating at all. He makes solid points, and is generally contemplative.

As Erling Kagge says, both in dedication to his personal goals and his fulfillment, desire and willingness to keep going is the only choice that matters—in agreement with other books like The Paradox of Choice and Grit I've read recently that argue that commitment and choice are the most impactful tools we have in forging a meaningful existence.

“The secret to walking to the South Pole is to put one foot in front of the other, and to do this enough times. On a purely technical scale this is quite simple. Even a mouse can eat an elephant if it takes small enough bites. The challenge lies in the desire.”

Overall Thoughts

If you're reading this for a vivid, wintery depiction of the landscape, you might find yourself disappointed by the focus on "the silence within" rather than the poetics of Antarctica. There's enough nature writing in it to satisfy me—centered around the moving experience of awe—but I'm just warning those of y'all naturalists who might crave more scenery. It's not so much about his path; fundamentally, it's a more interior book.

Many of the insights are familiar, especially for those who enjoy concentrated retreats or align with the facets of Buddhism, but Kagge has a clear, fresh way of writing that I'm sure will resonate. (The style actually reminded me some of When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi—simple, but not plain.)

An openness to the wild world. A mourning for unexplored places (a craving that I intensely resonate with.) Appreciation for the small sensations that make a white-out landscape much richer and more interesting than you'd expect at first glance. If you read often about these kinds of topics, the offerings likely aren't new—but they sure are lovely.

In all honesty, I perhaps got more depth and grist from a more thorough meditation like Why We Swim by Bonnie Tsui that reiterates many of the same points about achieving stillness. But at only 160 pages, Silence: In an Age of Noise is a quick, thoughtful read that can recalibrate you through its various vignettes and observations.

For fans of:

The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen; Why We Swim by Bonnie Tsui; How to Disappear: Notes on Transparency in a Time of Transparency by Akiko Busch; Upstream: Essays by Mary Oliver; Deep Work by Cal Newport; Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder by Dachner Keltner; No Mud, No Lotus by Thich Nhat Hanh; You're Not Listening: What You're Missing and Why It Matters by Kate Murphy; When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi; Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

A related quote I love, from Saul Bellow:

“I feel that art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness which characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm. I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.”