Much of White Fang is written from the viewpoint of the canine character, enabling London to express how animals may view their world and humans. White Fang examines the violent world of wild animals and the equally violent world of humans. The book also explores complex themes including morality and redemption.
in California. But his life took a sudden turn when he was sold by a
rogue servant and was transported to the Far North. The cold, wild
land was cruel and heartless; inhabited by greedy gold prospectors,
savage wolves and even more savage Indians.
Buck became a sled dog and was subjected to a life of immense
hardship. He soon realised that he must return to the law of the
wild and learn to survive. Buck turned to the ways of his forefathers,
using the cunning, toughness and ferocity that lay dormant in him
– he became the strongest sled dog in Alaska. But can he overcome
the urge to run free of man’s rule; the urge to respond to the call
of the wild?
Eden represents writers' frustration with publishers by speculating that when he mails off a manuscript, a "cunning arrangement of cogs" immediately puts it in a new envelope and returns it automatically with a rejection slip. The central theme of Eden's developing artistic sensibilities places the novel in the tradition of the Künstlerroman, in which is narrated the formation and development of an artist.
Eden differs from London in that Eden rejects socialism, attacking it as "slave morality", and relies on a Nietzschean individualism. In a note to Upton Sinclair, London wrote, "One of my motifs, in this book, was an attack on individualism (in the person of the hero). I must have bungled, for not a single reviewer has discovered it."
It was a quiet night in the Shovel.
At the bar, which ranged along one side of the large chinked-log room, leaned half a dozen men, two of whom were discussing the relative merits of spruce-tea and lime-juice as remedies for scurvy.
They argued with an air of depression and with intervals of morose silence. The other men scarcely heeded them.
In a row, against the opposite wall, were the gambling games.
The crap-table was deserted.
One lone man was playing at the faro-table. The roulette-ball was not even spinning, and the gamekeeper stood by the roaring, red-hot stove, talking with the young, dark-eyed woman, comely of face and figure, who was known from Juneau to Fort Yukon as the Virgin.
Three men sat in at stud-poker, but they played with small chips and without enthusiasm, while there were no onlookers....
A vast silence reigned over the land.
The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness.
There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness--a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility.
It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life.
It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.
But there _was_ life, abroad in the land and defiant.
Down the frozen waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs.
Their bristly fur was rimed with frost.
Their breath froze in the air as it left their mouths, spouting forth in spumes of vapour that settled upon the hair of their bodies and formed into crystals of frost.
Leather harness was on the dogs, and leather traces attached them to a sled which dragged along behind.
The sled was without runners.
It was made of stout birch-bark, and its full surface rested on the snow....
Chafing at custom's chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain."
Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.
Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon....
Also included are; That Spot, Trust, All Gold Canyon, The Story of Keesh, Nam-Bok the Unveracious, Yellow Handkerchief, Make Westing, The Heathen, The Hobo and the Fairy, Just Meat, and A Nose for the King.BROWN
She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in
order to put on her overshoes, and when she emerged from the house
found her waiting husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting
almond-bud. She sent a questing glance across the tall grass and in
and out among the orchard trees.
"Where's Wolf?" she asked.
"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine
drew himself away with a jerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the
organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed the landscape. "He was
running a rabbit the last I saw of him."
"Wolf! Wolf! Here, Wolf!" she called, as
they left the clearing and took the trail that led down through the
waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the county road.
Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger
of each hand and lent to her efforts a shrill whistling.
She covered her ears hastily and made a wry
"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all
the rest of it, you can make unlovely noises. My eardrums are
pierced. You outwhistle----"
"I was about to say a street-arab," she
"Poesy does not prevent one from being
practical--at least it doesn't prevent me. Mine is no futility
of genius that can't sell gems to the magazines."
He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on:
"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler.
And why? Because I am practical. Mine is no squalor of song that
cannot transmute itself, with proper exchange value, into a
flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods,
an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and
two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter of a mile
of gurgling brook."
"Oh, that all your song-transmutations were
as successful!" she laughed.
"Name one that wasn't."
"Those two beautiful sonnets that you
transmuted into the cow that was accounted the worst milker in the
"She was beautiful----" he began.
"But she didn't give milk," Madge
"But she was beautiful, now, wasn't
she?" he insisted.
"And here's where beauty and utility fall
out," was her reply. "And there's the Wolf!"...
About Jack London:
Jack London (1876-1916), was an American author and a pioneer in the then-burgeoning world of commercial magazine fiction. He was one of the first Americans to make a lucrative career exclusively from writing. London was self-educated. He taught himself in the public library, mainly just by reading books. In 1898, he began struggling seriously to break into print, a struggle memorably described in his novel, Martin Eden (1909). Jack London was fortunate in the timing of his writing career. He started just as new printing technologies enabled lower-cost production of magazines. This resulted in a boom in popular magazines aimed at a wide public, and a strong market for short fiction. In 1900, he made $2,500 in writing, the equivalent of about $75,000 today. His career was well under way. Among his famous works are: Children of the Frost (1902), The Call of the Wild (1903), The Sea Wolf (1904), The Game (1905), White Fang (1906), The Road (1907), Before Adam (1907), Adventure (1911), and The Scarlet Plague (1912).
Had it not been my custom to run up to see him every Saturday afternoon and to stop over till Monday morning, this particular January Monday morning would not have found me afloat on San Francisco Bay.
Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the _Martinez_ was a new ferry-steamer, making her fourth or fifth trip on the run between Sausalito and San Francisco.
The danger lay in the heavy fog which blanketed the bay, and of which, as a landsman, I had little apprehension.
In fact, I remember the placid exaltation with which I took up my position on the forward upper deck, directly beneath the pilot-house, and allowed the mystery of the fog to lay hold of my imagination.
A fresh breeze was blowing, and for a time I was alone in the moist obscurity—yet not alone, for I was dimly conscious of the presence of the pilot, and of what I took to be the captain, in the glass house above my head.
I remember thinking how comfortable it was, this division of labour which made it unnecessary for me to study fogs, winds, tides, and navigation, in order to visit my friend who lived across an arm of the sea....
Also you will find an author biography.
The Son of the Wolf
The God of his Fathers & Other Stories
A Daughter of the Snows
The Call of the Wild
The Sea Wolf
The Faith of Men & Other Stories
Tales of the Fish Patrol
Moon-Face & Other Stories
Love of Life & Other Stories
The Iron Heel
The Abysmal Brute
South Sea Tales
When God Laughs & Other Stories
The Scarlet Plague
The House of Pride
A Son of the Sun
The Valley of the Moon
The Mutiny of the Elsinore
The Strength of the Strong
The Star Rover
The Little Lady of the Big House
The Turtles of Tasman
Jerry of the Islands
Michael, Brother of Jerry
Hearts of Three
The Red One
On the Makaloa Mat
Children of the Frost
Dutch Courage and Other Stories
Also Available in Black Horse Classics
1 - Mark Twain
2 - Charles Dickens
3 - William Shakespeare
4 - Jane Austen
5 - leo Tolstoy
6 - Jack London
7 - Rudyard Kipling
8 - H.G Wells
9 - Marcel Proust
10 - Victor Hugo
11 - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
12 - Jules Vernes
13 - Thomas Hardy
14- Joseph Conrad
15 -Oscar Wilde
16- Herman Melville
17 - Edgar Allan Poe
18 - Henry James
19 - Lewis Carroll
20 - Hans Christen Andersen