So this is the story, as you likely know, of a red fox named Vulpes, who is born in the developing Maryland woodlands along the Potomac River, and grows to be a legend for his beauty, intelligence and strength. His real life and his fabled life interweave, and though there is some straining of this relationship between the fabular and the more realistic narrative lines, each meet where they develop into a cautionary tale and an important ode to a particular place and time. Not a moment in time, but an era before urban and suburban development all but destroyed the kind of wooded land where many fables are born.
This is one of those books that doesn't fall neatly into my idea of "great fiction." Not only does it walksa dubious line between anthropomorphizing fiction about animals and narrative non-fiction about woodland areas, but there were also moments where I thought, "Oh no, this is dangerously close to tacky" or "oh no! This is a little tacky." Many individual animals are given names, and that I found a bit distracting at times. But the story remains fresh and compellingly tied to a living, breathing landscape. It does what it is doing well and with a quiet skillfulness.
The book begins the moment Vulpes is born: "Vulpes, the Red Fox, was born in a den in Maryland. It was April. The snow had gone. The woods were cold and wet. A chill rain splashed through the barren woodlands and filled the earth til it could hold no more." And ends the moment he dies. (I won't quote the last sentence, but be prepared for some feelings.)
There is something about the construction of the book (I won't refer to it as simplicity, because I no longer believe this kind of chronological storytelling is simple. It can be made to look that way.), and close attention to natural detail, and the particular way George explores the intellectual life of the fox, that keeps it feeling old-fashioned in a way, and yet keeps it from feeling too dated.
Here is a bit about the author from wikipedia:
"Jean Carolyn Craighead was born in 1919, in Washington DC, and raised in a family of naturalists.[4] Her father, mother, brothers Frank and John, aunts, and uncles were students of nature. On weekends they camped in the woods near Washington, climbed trees to study owls, gathered edible plants, and made fish hooks from twigs. Her first pet was a turkey vulture. George centered her life around writing and nature."
In the end, I think it is an important book, both for drawing us into the vibrant ecosystems and experiencing it just as it is being destroyed in the name of development. It really offering readers a sense of kinship with the wildlife and while the fox is clearly our hero, we are meant to feel respect for both the wilderness and the farmers and trappers.
I think George does a beautiful job of describing the delicate balance at play between humans and the ecosystems they come in contact with. Killing and dying isn't the bad thing in this book. It is a natural part of life. But it's also not something to be taken likely. It's emotionally costly and ultimately can shatter the magic of the places we love. (Everyone thinks they want this handsome fox dead for the sport of it, for his handsome coat, but if they catch him, they have a trophy and lose the vibrant beauty and also the magical myth of him. (There's something Buddhist in the attitude toward death and toward desire. And I can't read a story like this without thinking of Faulkner's The Bear.)