When I see a dog turn a phrase far better than I can and wax philosophical about matters I've barely pondered, I can't help but think that modern public schooling has failed me. Buck, protagonist of The Call of the Wild, is one smart dog. He's smarter than me. Just think of what a cat could create.

I remember that once upon a time I was fascinated by Jack London. I was that age—probably 9 or 10 or thereabout. I had a copy of The Call of the Wild, maybe White Fang. I'm pretty sure I saw a movie or two, but I don't recall now what London titles they may have been. I think I tried to give The Call of the Wild a read, but I honestly wasn't much of a classics reader at that time in my life. I enjoyed reading, but only simple books that pulled me in. Looking back, I can see why it's unlikely I made it past page ten—this book is full of dense exposition and vocabulary that even a dictionary wouldn't have helped illuminate when I was that age.

These days, my forays into reading are largely planned out far in advance. I have to-read lists and schedules, titles I plan on reading during certain times of the year. Books I must finish before I read others. I'm not obsessive with too many things in life, but I can be that way when it comes to books. Slowly, I'm trying to add a little spontaneity to my reading. That's exactly how my engagement with The Call of the Wild came about. I woke one morning without the slightest intention of getting around to this novel in this lifetime, and by evening I was halfway through it.

I don't know that I really have much to say about this novel. It's difficult to articulate my feelings about a story that's best quality is my own personal nostalgia. Would I have loved this story had I never encountered it before? Probably not. It's adventure-based, dense, and it holds some archaic thoughts that are off-putting regarding the treatment of animals, as well as various stereotypes humans held of one another at the time. Further, it certainly doesn't help that in my adulthood, I've realized I am much more of a cat person. Perhaps my greatest barrier to truly enjoying this story is the animal perspective. Chalk that one up to my own lack of imagination; it's a struggle for me to get behind a non-human narrator with a human-like perspective.

Even so, I enjoyed this novel. The transformation of Buck may be obvious from the first chapter, but seeing it play out is captivating. This is a classic adventure. It has enthralled many, particularly children, for over a hundred years. In the same way that the lamppost in the forest of Narnia pulls me completely into that novel, so does Buck bounding back to John Thornton. Its simple nostalgia, but its something I cannot ignore.

Well, well, well. Here we have two books that are classics, as well as absolute disappointments. The only reason I ever picked up a Jack London novel is because they are assigned in 7th and 8th grade honors English. And let's be honest, they are terrible. Why they're classics is a mystery to me. I do know that COTW was one of the first really commercial books (besides things like the Bible or etc.) and had lots of positive uproar. However, that was back then. This is now. Writing has evolved, people have changed. This book should NOT be a classic. Books like Dracula or Murder on the Orient Express are creative enough and written well enough to be a good choice to read now. Absolutely none of London's books are this way, I am upset that in the education system, they believe a 170 page novel about a dog/wolf thing that's written terribly is a good thing to assign to the gifted students in exchange for books like The Great Gatsby or To Kill a Mockingbird, that, in my school, even if you're an honors student, don't read until 10th/11th grade, and by then you aren't being challenged enough. Not that you were to start with, anyways. 

Now, in both White Fang & Call of the Wild, the writing is terrible. Sure, London uses some big words and goes into detail of one thing for three whole pages, but it doesn't make any sense! I'm fine with a paragraph of detail for something that's important, but you don't need more than 2-3 sentences to describe a tree, for goodness' sake. If you take out all of the unseeded filler, you're left with a 50 page book, that isn't worth a read anyways. Also, the plot development is terrible and the actions of each character don't seem to have a reason or explanation. It goes from one scene to another with little to no transition. The dialogue, also, is horrendous. I understand that people used to talk like they do in London's novels, and that's not on him, it's more on the people that make the revised editions before sending them out. They leave it there, and it just seems like a bunch of illiterate characters talking. If the people speak like that, why can the dogs think in perfect English?

Now, the plots are fine. The development is fine in the beginning, but by the time London gets to the end of the book, you can tell he was done with it. It's rushed with little to no detail, and comes to an abrupt end. A long beginning, short end, and boring middle does not make an acceptable classic book. 

Now, with Jack London's history. I know that the books are more lifelike as he actually experienced many of the things he writes about, but he was never an author. His books were so bad that they got rejected for years by many publishers and magazines, until he finally got COTW published. It was a hit, and so was White Fang, but many of the others he wrote never really got popular. Even though they were famous, though, they were not good. Like the last two Divergent novels, or the couple Harry Potter books that didn't quite live up to the name. But anyway, Jack London was never a writer. He even claimed once that he was not good at reading or writing for a while before he actually wrote his first few short stories.

Anyway, if you have the choice, I wouldn't read these. They're a snooze-fest. Unless you want to read them because their classics or you actually have enjoyed London's work. Though, some of his short stories are better than his books.

The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept. 

Jack London

July 25, 1897: On this day, Jack London set sail to join the Klondike Gold Rush. He would develop scurvy and lose his front teeth in the harsh conditions, but the experience would also inspire him to write the first of his successful fiction.

The story of Buck, a St. Bernard/Shepherd cross family pet, stolen and subsequently sold to become a sled dog in the harsh environments of the Alaskan wild.  Passed from owner to owner, Buck soon learns that the only way to survive is to use his sheer size to overpower any would be attackers and show them who's boss. 

Told from an odd combination of Buck's perspective in third person, we slowly see Buck transform from beloved family pet to the savage mutt, fighting to survive in the (excuse the pun) dog eat dog world,  finally to the wild and free dog, adopted by the local wolf population. 

I have to admit, I'm fond of books told from an animals perspective (Black Beauty being one of my all time favourite books), horrified at the way people treat them, heart melting when they at last have a happy ending.  Though the setting wasn't really appealing to me, I still enjoyed the story.

4 stars.