In 'Horn of the Hunter,' author Robert Ruark tells the story of a Tanganyikan safari he took with his wife in late '40s or early '50s. Ruarke is the archetype of the 1950s man's man, with all the casual racism, misogyny, colonialist attitudes, and assumed superiority that implies.
Still with me? Early in the book, he writes, "The hunter's horn sounds early for some, I thought, later for others. For some unfortunates, prisoned by city sidewalks and sentenced to a cement jungle more horrifying than anything to be found in Tanganyika, the horn of the hunter never winds at all. But deep in the guts of most men is buried thje involuntary response to the hunter's horn, a prickle of hjte nape hairs, an acceleration of the pulse, an atavistic memory of his fathers, who killed first with stone, and then with club, and then with spear, and then with bow, and then with gun, and finally with formulae. How meek the man is of no importance; somewhere in the pigeon chest of the clerk is still the vestigial remnant of the hunter' heart; somewhere in his nostrils the half-forgotten smell of blood. There is no man with such impoverishment of imagination that at some time he has not wondered how he would handle himself if a lion broke loose from a zoo and he were forced to face him without the protection of bars or hjandy, climbable trees." If your heart thrilled while reading that passage, this book is for you. If not, you'll find that reading this book is like attending a tiresome dinner party with a host whom you realize you don't particularly like.
I fall in the latter category. I grew up in the woods, but I never took to hunting. I don't particularly like fishing, for that matter - both strike me as tedious pursuits I'd as soon pay others to do for me. Still, I was willing to give this book a shot as it was recommended by a friend. I need to learn to take the advice of another friend, who argues for simply discarding books that don't work for us.
Why two stars, instead of one? Well, it is clearly written, all the commas are in the right places, and it doesn't insult the reader's intelligence. This book may not be for me, but that doesn't me it isn't for anyone. I recommend it to hunters and to big Hemingway fans.