The Call of Jack London

Portrait of Buck

I read The Call of the Wild the other night. I have had the book for years, and I can't say what really inspired me to finally pick it up. I guess I just decided it was time. I went straight home after work, made a fresh pot of coffee, pulled the book off my shelf (dusted it off), and plopped onto my favorite reading chair.
The copy I have was published in 1910 (the first edition was in 1903). So the pages are uneven along their edges (some have not even been cut!), it has a moldy paper kind of smell, and it has that "thickness" that old books and pages use to have. I think it's romantic to read "classic" books that were printed and bound when their authors were still alive. I like to wonder at that journey that took the volume from the printing press, through a hundred years, to my hands. Old books tell a story, but they are a story too, and I love that about them.
Anyway really didn't know what to expect from the book, but as it happens with most things I read, my two most basic ideas about it turned out to be incorrect. First I thought it was a children's book. But after reading it, I don't think that was London's intention. It's full of violence, and one of the prevailing themes throughout is that life is not fair, and there isn't much you can do about it. Also, unlike most other children's books, I didn't perceive a moral to the story. Or maybe there was, but it was a negative one, that morals are useless when it comes to nature, and only rules like "eat or be eaten" are worth taking to heart. London called it the Law of Club and Fang in the book. (It has both a beautiful literary ring to it, and a dangerous edge, that I think makes it a well chosen phrase.)
The second thing I thought was that it was about a wolf, which is untrue. It's about a dog named Buck, half Bernese mountain dog half something else that grew up in the Santa Clara Valley of California of all places. He was stolen from his owners and sent up north into Canada to become a sled dog.

Buck fighting Spits to the death.

The story is told from his perspective, and that was one of the most interesting aspects to me.  (I also think that's why a lot of people mistake it for a kids book.) Because he was a dog, he passed no judgement on anything, but rather took everything is stride. He accepted everything that was put forth to him, and learned from it what to, and not to do. It is the tale of Buck's abduction, his subsequent beatings by "the man in the red sweater", what he learned from those beatings, his journeys with various mushers and masters, his struggle for dominance and survival with other dogs, and finally experiencing what it feels like to love. The latter isn't a romantic escapade with another dog, but a chance meeting and rescue of Buck by a man named John, who took care of him, and treated him as a friend and equal. At the end of the story John is murdered by Indians, so Buck is left to himself in the wilderness and finally becomes "wild".
It was a good story, and different to be sure, but not a happy one. It was more a frank description of reality, without all the frivolous "human" ponderings about the why and what if's of life. I couldn't decide after it was all said and done if I was happy for Buck or sad for him. London doesn't really indicate anything one way or another, and so it's sort of left up to the reader to decide. Maybe that was the point, to show the difference between how people view life and how other animals might. I'm still thinking about it though.
At any rate (happy or not) I was inspired to read more Jack London. Next on my list? White Fang!