James Oliver Curwood (1878–1927)

Passing through this book very early on is one character, Paul Weyman, a zoologist who loves wild animals purely for their own sake: he hates the steel gin-traps, bait poisoned with strychnine, the whole paraphernalia of cruelty used routinely in this setting—and, in fact, never even carries a gun. He plays no important part in the story and is there, I’m sure, to give us a glimpse of the author himself. Even back in 1914 when Kazan was being written, there were people with a more show more enlightened attitude toward our fellow creatures and James Oliver Curwood, a hunter as a young man, had become one of them.
   Kazan is three parts husky and one part wolf, most of his four years having been spent as lead dog in a sled-team during the pioneering days of the Canadian northwest. Although a huge and powerful animal, it’s been an exceptionally savage existence and his body is scarred from nose to tail by the whip and the club, his eyes bloodshot from the brutal winters. One fateful day, though, Kazan kills a man and takes off into the forest; what he’s actually done is save a woman from attack, possibly even saved her life, but he’s not to know that—all this wolf-dog knows is that he’s ripped a human throat out and must run. And so he exchanges one harsh life for another, but at least in this new one he is free.
   I found the opening a bit confusing, and clumsy—but after that simply could not put this book down as Kazan contended, one after another, with everything the Yukon and its harsh landscapes and climate, its other wild animals and occasional humans, could throw at him. The truth of it is that Curwood doesn’t get into his stride until he finally clears the last human being off its pages and leaves us with the wolf-dog alone in his wilderness. Once he has, though, it’s an effortless read: no elaborate plot or subtle characters, just a series of challenges, tragedies and adventures. If you have any kind of soft spot for dogs and wolves at all, it’s a rollercoaster.
   There are inevitable comparisons with Jack London’s The Call of the Wild and White Fang, some questioning Curwood’s portrayal of Kazan’s inner life as unrealistic, too similar to our own. Unusually for his time, he came to believe we are not the only animal on this planet capable of rational thought and Kazan reads to me very much like his response to The Call of the Wild, which is more to do with instincts, with drives. He uses his gin-trap-hating zoologist to make this clear too: Weyman is himself writing a work to be called The Reasoning of the Wild.
   Either way, for me Kazan’s setting is the more memorable of the two, with its lynx, beaver dams and snowshoe hares, its vast open spaces, its winters. There is a sequel, but I doubt I’ll read it—I don’t want to risk spoiling Kazan himself; I want to leave him, and Gray Wolf too, in my mind exactly the way they are. show less

Oh.my.God! This is silly, and also appalling. What ever was I thinking? I blame it all on my spouse's grandfather, who introduced me to James Oliver Curwood some 49 years ago, when we had just begun courting.

So, Jim Kent, a Mountie, lies in bed. He thinks he's dying, so confesses to having murdered someone or other so as to get the guy the Mounties had fingered, Sandy McGregor, set free. An amazingly beautiful young woman visits Kent, briefly, and he is immediately smitten by her long raven show more tresses and her violet-flamed eyes. Also her tiny feet.

Well, it turns out Kent was lying and he didn't kill someone or other. But his testimony convicts him. But...the ravishing young woman, Marette Radisson, comes to the jail and frees him. They flee up the river into the north. They are separated when their boat crashes on the rapids, and each presumes the other is done for. But each persists on to the "Valley of the Silent Men" so as to commune with the soul of the "lost" one. And so forth.

The sexism in this is appalling. Yeah, I know it was written in 1920, but even for that time it seems appalling to me. The silly, self-indulgent romantic fantasies of the main character are appalling. But, back in the dark ages, I was attracted to the works of James Oliver Curwood, chuckling at the rampant sexism and self-indulgent romantic fantasies. I'm appalled at what I once was. show less

This book, initially published in 1915, was adapted into a movie in 1937, starring George Brent. It is the first book I have read by this author, who writes adventure stories reminiscent of Jack London. The romantic mystery hooked me right away and kept me reading late into the night until I finished it.

The story begins with Philip Weyman, a researcher in the Arctic, as he makes his way out of the wilderness toward Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Having not seen civilization in four years, he show more dreams of food and of encountering a "white woman" again. Just as if answering his dreams, Philip happens upon a woman beside a stream. He discovers she is Josephine Adare, who is concealing a terrible secret that she refuses to reveal. Naturally, Philip is smitten and promises to help her.

Together, they travel through the wilderness in canoes with Jean Jacques Croisset, known as the Forest Man, who is a loyal friend of the Adare family. Once they reach her home, Philip meets her parents and her trained wolf pack, only to discover that she has an infant.

During their journey, Philip, pretending to be Josephine's husband, faces several assassination attempts, and the mystery surrounding the terrible secret intensifies. When the action begins, it doesn't let up. The suspense kept me glued to every page as the story escalated to an action-packed conclusion that clarified everything. I will admit that there are a few plot holes, but I found the book to be well-written and thoroughly entertaining. show less

A lovely read about a complicated passage in history, this old chestnut is worth picking up. I read it because I'm going on vacation in Quebec, where it's set. But it's a great story for anyone -- at times, heartwarming and even laugh-out-loud funny; at other times, horrifying and sad. Curwood produced a well researched glimpse of colonial North America that many of us have not contemplated. Prepare for a few shockers and some food for thought. I had so much fun reading it that I'm already show more knee-deep in its prequel, The Black Hunter. show less