Wilson Rawls (1913–1984)

It's a classic. It makes me weep salty tears. I hate how much I love this book, and every time I don't want to read it, but it sweeps me up into its pages every time. It makes me believe I can skin a raccoon and chop down a sycamore tree and run barefoot through the wild Ozark mountains with my dogs. This book is the reason I always Does the Dog Die before watching movies. But man do I love it.

Where the Red Fern Grows is a timeless coming-of-age story that hits hard no matter your age. Though aimed at younger readers, this novel holds a powerfully emotional narrative that captures the heart of anyone willing to dive into its pages. It follows Billy, a determined young boy growing up in the Ozarks, and the deep bond he forms with his two beloved coonhounds, Old Dan and Little Ann.
What makes this book shine is its honest portrayal of hard work, loyalty, and loss. Billy earns his show more dogs through perseverance, raises them with love, and trains them into champion hunting dogs. His growth as a character—his independence, compassion, and quiet strength—is inspiring, especially as he faces the responsibilities of adulthood far earlier than most. And yet, his family—especially his grandfather—remains a grounding, loving force throughout his journey.
But be warned: this book does not spare your emotions. Against all hope, you may try to convince yourself that not all endings are tragic—but Rawls doesn’t flinch from portraying the harsh truths of life. The ending is deeply heartbreaking, and it's not something you'll easily forget. Few books make you weep in public, but this is one of them. The grief is raw, the love is real, and the final image of the red fern is as poetic as it is symbolic.
Even the so-called antagonists—such as the rival boys or even the tragic death of one—are handled with complexity and empathy, allowing readers to feel compassion even for the flawed characters. This nuance adds depth to what could have been a simple tale about a boy and his dogs and instead makes it a story of resilience, sacrifice, and deep emotional growth.
Where the Red Fern Grows is a beautifully written, emotionally resonant story that explores childhood, devotion, and the pain of growing up. It's a must-read classic that lingers with you long after the final page—and yes, it may just break your heart, but it’s worth every tear. show less

At the end of the 19th century, Jay Berry Lee lives with his parents and twin sister on a farm in Oklahoma. Money is tight but life is good. Yes, he has farm chores but much of his time is his own, and Jay Berry roams the area with his faithful hound, Rowdy. A railway accident involving a circus train results in a group of monkeys (plus one chimpanzee) escaping into the river bottom near the Lee farm. These are trained circus performers, and the reward motivates Jay Berry to capture the show more animals so he can finally get the pony and gun he’s longed for.

This was just a delightful boy-and-his dog adventure tale. I loved the relationship between Jay Berry and his grandpa, as well as the way he interacted with his parents and sister. But the real joy in the book is the way he goes about trying to capture the monkeys. Every fail-safe idea he has results in some disaster or another, some with rather hilarious consequences. But he’s determined, and his heart is in the right place.

I could not help but think of my father and my brothers while reading this. When growing up we spent many hours in the woods, exploring, “hunting,” fishing and just observing nature. I loved those long days outdoors (and some nights as well). show less

"You can read every day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child, or lay down his life for his master. Some people call this loyalty. I don't. I may be wrong but I call it love-the deepest kind of love."

I remember reading this book as a child and how it helped me get over the death of my first dog Roscoe. All these years later it still makes me cry. Absolute classic, even though it breaks my heart every time I read it. I'll be hugging my dogs a little closer tonight. Such a shame dogs show more are only here for part of our lives, but we are their whole lives. show less