Foreigners felt called to Borneo

The two wild men of the title of Carl Hoffman’s fascinating nonfiction account aren’t, as one might expect, members of one of the many tribes of Borneo.

Both were foreigners who made their way to the thirdlargest island in the world in the 1970s and ‘80s.

Bruno Manser was an idealistic Swiss environmentalist who moved to Borneo after spending years in the Alps as a shepherd. He made himself at home with the Penan, a relatively small group of hunter-gatherer families who lived in the mountains.

Not only did he study them carefully, recording their activities in his voluminous journals and learning their language, but he also began dressing like them, wearing only a loincloth.

In the mid-’80s, Manser was appalled by the logging encouraged by the Malaysian government, which devastated the forests where the Penan “The Last Wild Men of Borneo” (William Morrow, 368 pages, $27.99) by Carl Hoffman

lived. He encouraged them to protest the logging, and garnered support for the protests from environmentalists around the world.

Thrown out by the government, he returned to Switzerland, where he lived unhappily for a while before returning to Borneo, where he disappeared without a trace in 2000.

The other “wild man” is Michael Palmieri. The draft-dodging California surfer drifted through Asia in the ‘70s, finding a home in Bali. From there, he made excursions to Borneo, gathering fabric produced by the locals and selling it for a profit.

He went on to become one of the great procurers of sculpture and other art from Borneo, selling pieces to major museums and private collectors and developing a keen eye for forgeries.

Palmieri, who still lives in Bali, served as one of Hoffman’s primary sources and took him on a largely unsuccessful art-collecting expedition in Borneo.

Information about Manser was gleaned from his many journals as well as interviews with two long-time friends, who saw both Manser’s heroic and frustrating sides.

The book moves neatly back and forth between the two men, resisting any temptation to make one a hero or the other a villain.

Manser, whom Hoffman suggests might have brought about his own death through reckless behavior, comes across as a searcher for a lost Eden. Charismatic and capable of inspiring others to contribute time and money to important causes, he was also frequently selfish and unrealistic.

Palmieri could be viewed as an opportunist, or, as Hoffman puts it, a “buccaneer,” profiting from the destruction of tribal cultures. But he also managed to preserve artifacts that might easily have been destroyed.

Although Hoffman largely avoids inserting himself into the narrative, he does so in the last few chapters to good effect, describing his dazzled reactions to a newly westernized Borneo and to a wrenching journey through the forest with a Penan family.

The author of “Savage Harvest” and a former contributing editor to National Geographic Traveler knows how to tell a suspenseful story without fudging facts.

Without slowing down its pace, the book raises important questions about the clash of cultures and the relationship between those who create art and those who exploit or preserve it.