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The Call of the Wild and White Fang / Edition 1

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Overview

THE CALL OF THE WILD delves into the mind, relationships and adventures of Buck, the dog, in the wilds of Alaska. In WHITE FANG, an orphaned half dog-half wolf struggles to survive in the Yukon wilderness.

The adventures of an unusual dog, part St. Bernard, part Scotch shepherd, that is forcibly taken to the Klondike gold fields where he eventually becomes the leader of a wolf pack.

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Editorial Reviews

Children's Literature - Carolyn Mott Ford
This newly illustrated edition of the author's best-known work is part of the "Scribner Illustrated Classics" collection. The story begins with Buck, a rangy mixed-breed, enjoying the life of a family pet in the sunny climate of California. When gold is discovered in the Klondike, large, healthy dogs are needed to pull the sleds through the snow and over the ice. After Buck is stolen and sold to dog traffickers, his exposure to the harsh life of a pack dog awakens his primordial urges. Buck passes from one owner to the next until he is sold to a threesome lacking the knowledge about what it takes to survive in the Alaskan frontier. Their lack of respect for the elements culminates in a brutal beating of Buck, who is saved by John Thornton. Thornton treats Buck well and, for the first time, Buck feels love for another creature. Nonetheless, the spirit of his ancestors calls to him, and when John Thornton is killed, Buck answers the call. He returns to the wild. The author experienced life in the Klondike during the gold rush of 1897 and his writing about men, animals and nature is stripped of all sentimentality. 1999 (orig.
Children's Literature
With an introduction by Gary Paulsen, noted author of young people's stories, this Aladdin Classic edition joins 20 others of similar stature as must-reads for any age. The combination of man and dog against the elements of the then untamed North and the anything-goes adventurous nature of Buck, the protagonist, makes for exciting reading. London, the author, draws on his turn of the century experiences during the Goldrush in Alaska. The important element of the dogs in the life and survival of those adventurers brings an exciting element to the story. Dogs were as important as people, and London is at his best in describing this relationship through thick and thin. There is a reading group guide included for classroom use, but the story is a good one for reading aloud within the family, too. 2003 (orig. 1903),
Booknews
**** An alternative title might be The Annotated Call.... Dyer--a near-mad fan of London--presents the definitive (unbowdlerized) text with maps, photos, drawings clarifying the text. Extensive notes and bibliography. Will surely supplant the Nelson-Hall Casebook cited in BCL3. Annotation c. Book News, Inc., Portland, OR (booknews.com)
From the Publisher
 • "I can't celebrate the romantic ideas or the killing of savages in this book. But I can say I'm fascinated by it and that I find it worth going back to. It's a story which has gained its own life and will probably be with us for as long as we're reading books." —David Vann, Daily Telegraph
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780534521455
  • Publisher: Cengage Learning
  • Publication date: 7/13/2004
  • Series: Wadsworth Classics Series
  • Edition description: New Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 240
  • Product dimensions: 5.90 (w) x 8.90 (h) x 0.50 (d)

Meet the Author

JACK LONDON was born in 1876 in San Francisco, California. His parents weren't married and he grew up with a foster mother. Growing up in a working class family, London had a tough childhood. Desperate to escape a life of hard labour and make his way by writing, London managed to scrape together enough money to go to the University of California. However, financial difficulties forced him to leave before he graduated. On July 12, 1897, aged 21, London and his sister's husband sailed to join the Klondike Gold Rush. This time in the Northlands damaged his health and like so many other men who were malnourished in the goldfields, London developed scurvy. His gums became swollen and he lost his four front teeth. Inspired by his experiences during the gold rush, London went on to write stories which would make him a worldwide celebrity and a rich man. His most popular story, The Call of the Wild, was published in 1903 and was an instant bestseller. It was followed by White Fang in 1906. London was one of the first authors to make a fortune through his writing.

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Table of Contents

CALL OF THE WILD. 1. Into the Primitive. 2. The Law of Club and Fang. 3. The Dominant Primordial Beast. 4. Who Has Won to Mastership. 5. The Toil of Trace and Trail. 6. For the Love of a Man. 7. The Sounding of the Call. WHITE FANG. Part 1: THE WILD. 1. The Trail of the Meat. 2. The She-Wolf. 3. The Hunger Cry. Part 2: BORN OF THE WILD. 1. The Battle of the Fangs. 2. The Lair. 3. The Grey Cub. 4. The Wall of the World. 5. The Law of Meat. Part 3: THE GODS OF THE WILD. 1. The Makers of Fire. 2. The Bondage. 3. The Outcast. 4. The Trail of the Gods. 5. The Covenant. 6. The Famine. Part 4: THE SUPERIOR GODS. 1. The Enemy of His Kind. 2. The Mad God. 3. The Reign of Hate. 4. The Clinging Death. 5. The Indomitable. 6. The Love-Master. Part 5: THE TAME. 1. The Long Trail. 2. The Southland. 3. The God's Domain. 4. The Call of Kind. 5. The Sleeping Wolf.

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First Chapter

Chapter One: Into the Primitive

"Old longings nomadic leap,
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 tidewater 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.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless -- strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king -- king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparable companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was not so large -- he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds -- for his mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was ever a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a health preserver.

And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one of the gardener's helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuel had one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting weakness -- faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener's helper do not lap over the needs of a wife and numerous progeny.

The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers' Association, and the boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of Manuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money chinked between them.

"You might wrap up the goods before you deliver 'm," the stranger said gruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neck under the collar.

"Twist it, an' you'll choke 'm plentee," said Manuel, and the stranger grunted a ready affirmative.

Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger's hands, he growled menacingly. He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to command. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck, shutting off his breath. In quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft twist threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.

The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and that he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. He had travelled too often with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king. The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of him once more.

"Yep, has fits," the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the baggageman, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle. "I'm takin' 'm up for the boss to 'Frisco. A crack dog-doctor there thinks that he can cure 'm."

Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco water front.

"All I get is fifty for it," he grumbled; "an' I wouldn't do it over for a thousand, cold cash."

His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.

"How much did the other mug get?" the saloon-keeper demanded.

"A hundred," was the reply. "Wouldn't take a sou less, so help me."

"That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper calculated; "and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead."

The kidnapper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand. "If I don't get the hydrophoby -- "

"It'll be because you was born to hang," laughed the saloon-keeper. "Here lend me a hand before you pull your freight," he added.

Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cagelike crate.

There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride. He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face of the saloon-keeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl.

But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth till he realized that that was what they wanted. Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and finally he was deposited in an express car.

For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When he flung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen throat and tongue.

He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck. That had given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show them. They would never get another rope around his neck. Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nights of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul of him. His eyes turned blood-shot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train at Seattle.

Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater that sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver. That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a hatchet and a club.

"You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked.

"Sure," the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a pry.

There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch the performance.

Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him out.

"Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made an opening sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.

And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shot eyes. Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In mid air, just as his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been struck by a club in his life, and did not understand. With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on his feet and launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time he was aware that it was the club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen times he charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.

After a particularly fierce blow he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver. Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose. All the pain he had endured was as nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this. With a roar that was almost lionlike in its ferocity, he again hurled himself at the man. But the man, shifting the club from right to left, coolly caught him by the under jaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward. Buck described a complete circle in the air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground on his head and chest.

For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he had purposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went down, knocked utterly senseless.

"He's no slouch at dog-breakin', that's wot I say," one of the men on the wall cried enthusiastically.

"Druther break cayuses any day, and twice on Sundays," was the reply of the driver, as he climbed on the wagon and started the horses.

Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength. He lay where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater.

"'Answers to the name of Buck,'" the man soliloquized, quoting from the saloon-keeper's letter which had announced the consignment of the crate and contents. "Well, Buck, my boy," he went on in a genial voice, "we've had our little ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learned your place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all 'll go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffin' outa you. Understand?"

As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he endured it without protest. When the man brought him water he drank eagerly, and later bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chunk by chunk, from the man's hand.

He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken. He saw, once for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He had learned the lesson, and in all his after life he never forgot it. That club was a revelation. It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law, and he met the introduction halfway. The facts of life took on a fiercer aspect; and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he faced it with all the latent cunning of his nature aroused. As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some raging and roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them pass under the dominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven home to Buck: a man with a club was a law-giver, a master to be obeyed, though not necessarily conciliated. Of this last Buck was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon the man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand. Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey, finally killed in the struggle for mastery.

Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly, wheedling, and in all kinds of fashions to the man in the red sweater. And at such times that money passed between them the strangers took one or more of the dogs away with them. Buck wondered where they went, for they never came back; but the fear of the future was strong upon him, and he was glad each time when he was not selected.

Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened man who spat broken English and many strange and uncouth exclamations which Buck could not understand.

"Sacredam!" he cried, when his eyes lit upon Buck. "Dat one dam bully dog! Eh? How moch?"

"Three hundred, and a present at that," was the prompt reply of the man in the red sweater. "And seein' it's government money, you ain't got no kick coming, eh, Perrault?"

Perrault grinned. Considering that the price of dogs had been boomed skyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum for so fine an animal. The Canadian Government would be no loser, nor would its despatches travel the slower. Perrault knew dogs, and when he looked at Buck he knew that he was one in a thousand -- "One in ten t'ousand," he commented mentally.

Buck saw money pass between them, and was not surprised when Curly, a good-natured Newfoundland, and he were led away by the little weazened man. That was the last he saw of the man in the red sweater, and as Curly and he looked at receding Seattle from the deck of the Narwhal, it was the last he saw of the warm Southland. Curly and he were taken below by Perrault and turned over to a black-faced giant called François. Perrault was a French-Canadian, and swarthy; but François was a French-Canadian half-breed, and twice as swarthy. They were a new kind of men to Buck (of which he was destined to see many more), and while he developed no affection for them, he none the less grew honestly to respect them. He speedily learned that Perrault and François were fair men, calm and impartial in administering justice, and too wise in the way of dogs to be fooled by dogs.

In the 'tween-decks of the Narwhal, Buck and Curly joined two other dogs. One of them was a big, snow-white fellow from Spitzbergen who had been brought away by a whaling captain, and who had later accompanied a Geological Survey into the Barrens.

He was friendly, in a treacherous sort of way, smiling into one's face the while he meditated some underhand trick, as, for instance, when he stole from Buck's food at the first meal. As Buck sprang to punish him, the lash of François's whip sang through the air, reaching the culprit first; and nothing remained to Buck but to recover the bone. That was fair of François, he decided, and the half-breed began his rise in Buck's estimation.

The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did not attempt to steal from the newcomers. He was a gloomy, morose fellow, and he showed Curly plainly that all he desired was to be left alone, and further, that there would be trouble if he were not left alone. "Dave" he was called, and he ate and slept, or yawned between times, and took interest in nothing, not even when the Narwhal crossed Queen Charlotte Sound and rolled and pitched and bucked like a thing possessed. When Buck and Curly grew excited, half wild with fear, he raised his head as though annoyed, favored them with an incurious glance, yawned, and went to sleep again.

Day and night the ship throbbed to the tireless pulse of the propeller, and though one day was very like another, it was apparent to Buck that the weather was steadily growing colder. At last, one morning, the propeller was quiet, and the Narwhal was pervaded with an atmosphere of excitement. He felt it, as did the other dogs, and knew that a change was at hand. François leashed them and brought them on deck. At the first step upon the cold surface, Buck's feet sank into white mushy something very like mud. He sprang back with a snort. More of this white stuff was falling through the air. He shook himself, but more of it fell upon him. He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his tongue. It bit like fire, and the next instant was gone. This puzzled him. He tried it again, with the same result. The onlookers laughed uproariously, and he felt ashamed, he knew not why, for it was his first snow.

Copyright © 2001 by Simon & Schuster

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
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Sort by: Showing all of 15 Customer Reviews
  • Posted June 17, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Jack London's The Call of the Wild and White Fang

    Lately I have been picking up many Barnes and Nobles classics for their great price and better than average quality. So a couple weeks ago I went to Barnes and Noble and picked up the very book I am reviewing. I looked at the appealing price (Eight dollars), the fact that it was a hardcover, and the nice ruffled paper. I started reading it a few days later and finished it in three days flat. I was taken into the frigid and brutal Alaskan wilderness and followed the dogs that Jack London created. I thought it was a great book overall. It has an interesting setting and time (the Klondike gold rush), and was written well, in my opinion. Now if you like dogs, then this book will be a more meaningful and powerful read for you. Now there was some brutal parts in the book(No spoilers, dont worry), but I think that Jack London included them to show the power of nature and give you a different feeling of the book. Now a big thing that I have learned with Barnes and Noble classics in general is that one should read the Introduction AFTER reading the book (Do I smell a paradox?). For some odd reason Barnes and Noble feels the need to spoil the entire story before you even hit page one. The introduction gives away the plot, many events, and, basically, just made you waste eight dollars if you got the book for enjoyment only. I really think they should make it a Conclusion.But, the Introduction is very helpful for giving one a better understanding of the book, and I, personally find it quite interesting and find it helps connect some "dots" of the book if I read the Introduction AFTER I have read the book in full. Now if you are reading this review, you may have noticed that it is "out of stock" or something to that degree (It is as I am writing this). If I am correct, I remember looking at a hardcover Barnes and Noble classics named "The Count of Monte Cristo," and it said the same thing(out of stock). But when I checked a couple weeks later it was "in stock." So if one really wants this book, it should, if I am correct, be "in stock" in some weeks. If not, just buy the paperback copy. The paper is good and the only difference is that its not a hardcover (Did I mention its cheaper?)

    So, in summary: Great Book,great value, and read the Introduction after reading the book.

    Hope you like it as much as I did :)

    6 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 29, 2012

    Highly recommended

    Excellent excellent excellent.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 26, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    It'll do

    this book was very abnormal. I didn't like how the main characters were dogs and. Some of the scenes were very gruesome. I understand how their dogs but I didn't like how they made it hard to understand. I think it was cruel when they were beating the dog. I don't recomend this book to people who are into love and happiness. It is about dogs and blood.

    2 out of 10 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 2, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    its okay

    The "Call of the Wild" was very grewsome and bloody. I would not reccomend it to some people, i would reccomend it to people that like abuse and bloddy scenes. Over all, I am not glad I read it cause I dont really like these sorts of things. I also dont like this book because it hurts me to know that the dogs get abused. I would not recommend this book to basically anyone.

    0 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 10, 2009

    Call of the Wild

    Call of the Wild has a good plot because it is exciting. I thought it was a really good book. The mean idea is told by Buck, a mixed breed who is a sled dog. From his point of view, he is trying to show the world in a dog's eyes. It was written in the early 1890's by Jack London. Young readers are attracted to this story. Jack London is a suspenceful authur.<BR/> Judge Miller is the original owner of Buck until he is sold enormous times, he is taught the law of club and fang. Buck goes days without food, water, and sleep. Spitz the head leader is visous and cruel to the other sled dogs. He killed Curly in a fight for food, and Buck told himself that he would never let that happen to him. Spitz instigated Buck to fight and one day they finally did. Buck had won the big fight. He became the head dog and wouldnt let Francios put him in any other position.<BR/> John Thorton saves Bucks life when he is getting beaten by Charles and Hal by taking him when he refuses to cross the Unfrozen river. He saved John Thorton's life 3 times. He also pulls 1,000 pounds of flour for John Thorton, when he placed a bet. Buck realizes what love is for the first time. Will he answer the call, or stay with John Thorton...read and find out.

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  • Posted February 9, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    Kiana's Review

    The Call of the Wild is really amazing. When I read this novel I figured the main idea was whether or not a dog named Buck would answer his call of wild. Jack London probably wrote this novel to entertain the reader. Buck is kidnapped and begins an adventure after becoming a sled dog. I liked the way London created his characters. For example when François speaks he uses dialect. I would compare this book with 101 Dalmatians but with a little more exciment. I think they are alike because they are both dog stories but the call of the wild has more description of the fights. Overall I think many readers should read this book. I would give this novel five stars!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 5, 2008

    okay, but not fantastic

    It was an okay book, I must admit, but the story line was very poor. It seemed as if the call of the wild had no point to it, at all. His descriptions and everything were all right, I mean it kept you reading, but his plot was very messy, especially in call of the wild. It seemed as though it lead you to nothing, really. I must admit, White Fang had a better ending, a little more planned out than Call of the Wild, but they both almost seemed the same. It was all right, don't get me wrong, it all seemed planned out carefully to start with, up until the end. I don't get why it became a classic, but it was still an okay read. Hey, a pretty good write for a crazy, suicidal author.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 11, 2009

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    Posted December 3, 2010

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    Posted October 29, 2008

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    Posted February 10, 2009

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    Posted January 31, 2009

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    Posted May 15, 2011

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    Posted November 15, 2009

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    Posted February 26, 2009

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