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I'm reasonably sure that I first read this book at age 13 because my best friend was reading it, so basically a buddy read. I've been meaning to reread it for some time and now, 50 years later, I managed to find a few friends to buddy read with me again. I'm quite convinced that I didn't really understand it as a teen, although I couldn't recall any details.

I found myself comparing Lost Horizon with H. Rider Haggard's She. Both involve Englishmen who stumble into lost civilizations. Of course neither could possibly be run by a local inhabitant—in both cases they are overseen by a mysterious Caucasian. It is difficult to find either civilization but those who are meant to be there are drawn to them. Freaky long life is featured in both instances. (And I wore out our school's copy of She because I loved it so much. The librarian gave me the discarded copy.)

I have to say that the life at Shangri-la didn't appeal to me at all, despite presumably having much more time to tackle my TBR. The older I get, the less happy I am with cold weather, something pretty unavoidable in the Himalayas. I don't think of myself as particularly social, but the limited number of people available would certainly give me pause. It is interesting to me that Shangri-la has become identified as a utopian society, a place to be sought out. It could just as easily be a dystopia. It is also fascinating that real-life expeditions have tried to search for it. Hilton obviously hit a nerve.

I was left with a kind of delicious limbo, wondering if Conway's experience was real or the result of a PTSD fugue state. The neuroscientist who frames the story with prologue and epilogue gives just enough tantalizing details to tease but not to confirm. Being one of those people who love ambiguous endings, this was a good novel for me.