How the Rhino Lost His Horn: Cautionary Tales from Appalachia to Africa

I’ve grown to appreciate books that not only tell a good story but also prompt reflection on the world my children are inheriting. Jack Rathmell’s How the Rhino Lost His Horn does exactly that. Part travelogue, part social critique, and part coming-of-age memoir, the book is layered with humor, biting cultural commentary, and sobering truths about privilege, corruption, and the human desire for meaning.

The narrative begins with an almost slapstick account of shark-cage diving off the coast of South Africa, told with self-deprecating wit and enough detail to make me feel the chill of the ocean spray. Rathmell places himself in the middle of absurd, sometimes reckless adventures, often egged on by companions like Chet, the stereotypical frat-boy archetype. These scenes are hilarious, but beneath the humor lies a theme I found deeply resonant as a parent: the tension between peer pressure, bravado, and authentic self-discovery. We’ve all seen our kids (and sometimes ourselves) pulled into situations that test judgment, and Rathmell makes those stakes feel real without losing his playful tone.

Beyond the adventures, the book takes a harder look at the realities of post-apartheid South Africa. Through conversations on airplanes, volunteer projects in Cape Town, and the jarring presence of sprawling townships contrasted against tourist beaches, Rathmell exposes the inequalities that persist in everyday life. For me, these passages carried the strongest emotional weight. They forced me to think about how narratives of “voluntourism” often gloss over the systemic issues that drive people into those conditions in the first place.

The book is wide-ranging but cohesive. There is the humor of youthful misadventures, yes, but also meditations on privilege, identity, and disillusionment with Western ideals. Rathmell grapples with his upbringing in small-town Pennsylvania and his yearning for more, balancing satire with sincerity. He skewers cultural clichés, whether it’s gap-year volunteers seeking Instagram validation or political leaders exploiting power, yet he also acknowledges his own complicity. This self-awareness gives the narrative authenticity.

Rathmell writes with a sharp eye for absurdity. His prose is witty, quick, and often irreverent, but it never feels gratuitous. Even the outlandish anecdotes, like an iPod app that supposedly requires travel to Africa to unlock Hans Zimmer tracks, fold back into broader reflections about technology, FOMO, and how young people define themselves. The balance of humor and seriousness makes the book highly readable, even when it veers into uncomfortable territory. Ultimately, How the Rhino Lost His Horn is about more than just a young man’s adventures abroad. It’s about how we reconcile the messy contradictions of modern life: idealism and cynicism, privilege and responsibility, comedy and tragedy.

I would recommend Rathmell’s work to readers who enjoy memoirs with a satirical edge, fans of Bill Bryson’s travel writing, or anyone curious about the intersection of personal growth and global inequity. It’s a book that will make you laugh, cringe, and think, sometimes all in the same chapter.