The Impossible Climb

A Death-Defying Dance with Perfection

Mark Synnott's The Impossible Climb is a masterclass in narrative nonfiction that reads like the most intense thriller you've ever encountered, except every death-defying moment actually happened. This is the story of Alex Honnold's June 3, 2017 free solo ascent of El Capitan's Freerider route—a climb so audacious, so impossibly dangerous, that even mentioning it makes experienced climbers pale.

What makes this book extraordinary isn't just the jaw-dropping achievement it chronicles, but Synnott's ability to weave together multiple narratives: Alex's personal journey, the history of climbing, the evolution of free soloing as a discipline, and his own relationship with the sport. As a National Geographic photographer and accomplished climber himself, Synnott brings both insider credibility and outsider wonder to a story that defies rational explanation.

The Art of Impossible Things

The central question that drives this book isn't "What happened?" (we know Alex survived), but "How is this even possible?" How does a human being climb 3,000 feet of vertical granite with no rope, no safety equipment, knowing that a single mistake—a moment of inattention, a slight miscalculation, a sweaty palm—means certain death?

Synnott explores this question from every angle: the physical preparation, the mental conditioning, the psychological profile of someone who can manage fear at such an extreme level. We learn about Alex's rigorous training regimen, his meticulous route planning, his almost superhuman ability to remain calm in situations that would paralyze most people with terror.

But the book goes deeper than just documenting preparation. Synnott delves into the philosophy of risk, the nature of human ambition, and what drives someone to pursue perfection in something so inherently dangerous. He introduces us to the climbing community—a tight-knit group that simultaneously celebrates and fears what Alex is attempting. Many of his friends and mentors openly wished he wouldn't do it, knowing that the odds, over time, are never in a free soloist's favor.

The Human Behind the Superhuman

One of the book's greatest strengths is its portrayal of Alex as a fully realized human being rather than a caricature of daredevil recklessness. We meet a man who is introspective, intelligent, and acutely aware of his own mortality. Alex isn't courting death; he's pursuing a very specific form of perfection that happens to exist in the most dangerous arena imaginable.

Synnott explores Alex's childhood, his relationship with his parents, his struggles with social connection, and his evolution from a van-dwelling climbing bum to someone with global recognition and responsibility. The portrait that emerges is of someone who found his calling early and pursued it with single-minded dedication, someone for whom climbing isn't a hobby or even a passion—it's the fundamental expression of who he is.

The book also examines Alex's relationship with filmmaker Jimmy Chin and the team documenting his climb for the film Free Solo. The ethical questions are profound: Is filming encouraging dangerous behavior? Does the presence of cameras add pressure? What responsibility do documentarians have when their subject is risking his life?

The Climb Itself: Literary Vertigo

When Synnott finally describes the June 3rd ascent, the prose achieves something remarkable: it makes you feel like you're on the wall with Alex. The descriptions are so vivid, so visceral, that reading about certain sections—particularly the Boulder Problem and the infamous "thank god hold" traverse—induces actual anxiety.

Synnott breaks down the climb pitch by pitch, explaining the technical challenges of each section, the specific moves that gave Alex trouble during practice runs, the moments of decision and commitment that defined the route. We experience the four hours of the climb in real time, feeling the exposure, understanding the consequences of the smallest error.

What's masterful is how Synnott balances technical climbing detail with emotional resonance. You don't need to be a climber to understand what's at stake or to appreciate the magnitude of what Alex is attempting. The writing makes the impossible comprehensible and the superhuman relatable.

The Broader Context: Climbing Culture and History

The Impossible Climb is also a history of free soloing and the evolution of climbing as a sport. Synnott introduces us to the pioneers—people like John Bachar, Peter Croft, and Dean Potter—who pushed the boundaries of what was considered possible. Many of them are now dead, casualties of the sport's unforgiving nature.

This historical context serves multiple purposes. It shows us that Alex didn't emerge in a vacuum; he's part of a lineage of climbers who constantly redefined the possible. It also underscores the risks: free soloing has a terrible attrition rate, and many of the greatest practitioners have died doing what they loved.

Synnott also explores the commercialization of extreme sports, the role of social media in modern athleticism, and the tension between purity and publicity in climbing culture. Alex's climb occurred in an era of GoPros and Instagram, where every achievement is documented and shared. What does it mean to pursue something so personal in such a public way?

On Fear, Risk, and What It Means to Be Alive

Perhaps the book's deepest exploration is into the nature of fear itself. Alex undergoes brain scans that reveal his amygdala—the fear center of the brain—responds differently to stimuli than most people's. But Synnott argues this isn't the full story. Alex has trained himself to manage fear, to separate rational risk assessment from emotional panic.

There's a fascinating philosophical question at the heart of the book: Is free soloing irrational, or is it the most rational pursuit of mastery possible? Alex would argue that he only climbs when he knows he won't fall, when the moves are so well-rehearsed and the conditions so perfect that failure becomes nearly impossible. From this perspective, the free solo isn't a gamble—it's the execution of a plan refined to eliminate chance.

The book doesn't try to answer whether this is heroism or hubris, wisdom or insanity. Instead, it presents Alex's perspective alongside the reactions of those who love him and fear for him, allowing readers to grapple with the questions themselves.

The Weight of Documentation

One of the most compelling subplots involves the moral quandary faced by Jimmy Chin and the Free Solo film crew. They're trying to document one of the greatest athletic achievements in history, but they're also acutely aware that they might be filming their friend's death. The tension between artistic ambition and human concern creates its own drama.

Synnott explores how the presence of cameras affected everyone involved. For Alex, there was the question of added pressure—was he climbing for himself or for the film? For the crew, there was the psychological toll of watching someone they care about risk his life, knowing that their job required them to keep filming even if the worst happened.

This meta-narrative about documenting extreme achievement adds another layer to the book, raising questions about spectatorship, responsibility, and our cultural appetite for witnessing the impossible.

Literary Merit and Narrative Craft

Synnott's writing is exceptional—clear, propulsive, and emotionally intelligent. He knows when to provide technical detail and when to pull back and focus on the human story. The pacing is masterful, building tension even though we know the outcome from the first page.

The book's structure is also clever, moving between Alex's preparation, the author's own climbing experiences, historical context, and the climb itself. This multi-threaded approach keeps the narrative fresh and provides breathing room between moments of high intensity.

Synnott also excels at creating scene and atmosphere. His descriptions of Yosemite Valley, El Capitan, and the climbing community are vivid and evocative. You can smell the pine trees, feel the granite under your fingertips, sense the vertigo of exposure.

Criticisms and Limitations

If there's a weakness, it's that the book occasionally indulges in hero worship. While Synnott is clearly in awe of Alex's achievement, a bit more critical distance might have strengthened certain sections. The question of whether free soloing should be celebrated or condemned is touched on but not fully explored.

Additionally, some readers might find the technical climbing details either too much or too little, depending on their background. Synnott walks a fine line, and while he generally succeeds, there are moments where the balance feels slightly off.

Why This Book Matters

The Impossible Climb is significant because it documents a genuinely historic moment in human achievement. What Alex Honnold did on June 3, 2017, had never been done before and may never be repeated. It represents the absolute pinnacle of a discipline, the equivalent of a perfect game in baseball or a flawless Olympic routine—except the stakes are life and death.

But beyond the achievement itself, the book explores timeless questions about human nature: Why do we push boundaries? What separates courage from recklessness? How do we find meaning in a world that often feels too safe, too predictable, too insulated from genuine risk?

In an era of increasing safety culture and risk aversion, Alex's climb represents something almost anachronistic: the willingness to risk everything for a purely personal goal with no practical benefit. There's no money at the summit, no cure for disease, no world peace. There's just one human being testing the absolute limits of what's possible.

Final Thoughts

The Impossible Climb earns its five stars by being simultaneously a gripping adventure story, a psychological portrait, a meditation on risk and fear, and a documentation of an unrepeatable moment in human achievement. Mark Synnott has written a book that will be read long after contemporary bestsellers are forgotten, because it captures something essential about the human spirit.

This is a book that will make you question your own relationship with fear and risk. It will make you wonder what you're capable of if you removed all the safety nets and committed fully to something that terrifies and excites you in equal measure. It might not inspire you to climb a mountain without a rope, but it might inspire you to approach your own impossible climbs—whatever they may be—with greater courage and commitment.

Whether you're a climber or have never touched rock, this book delivers. It's a reminder that humans are capable of extraordinary things, that perfection is achievable even in the most unlikely circumstances, and that sometimes the most irrational-seeming pursuits reveal the most profound truths about what it means to be alive.

Read this book. Then maybe reconsider what you thought was impossible.