The Sea - Wolf

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Overview

This 100th Anniversary Edition presents the timeless tale of Humphrey Van Weyden, pressed into service aboard the seal-hunting Ghost, led by the brutal, enigmatic captain Wolf Larsen. This volume also includes four of London's acclaimed short stories.

Editorial Reviews

Dana Gioia
Although American literati don't read this adventure, it remains a masterpiece of Naturalist fiction.
The Hungry Mind Review

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780451529367
  • Publisher: Penguin Group (USA) Incorporated
  • Publication date: 5/4/2004
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: 100th Anniversary Edition
  • Edition number: 100
  • Pages: 352
  • Sales rank: 400,993
  • Product dimensions: 4.36 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 0.97 (d)

Meet the Author

Jack London (1876–1916) published an enormous number of stories and novels, including The Call of the Wild, White Fang, and Martin Eden.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

I scarcely know where to begin, though I sometimes facetiously place the cause of it all to Charley Furuseth's credit. He kept a summer cottage in Mill Valley, under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, and never occupied it except when he loafed through the winter months and read Nietzsche and Schopenhauer to rest his brain. When summer came on, he elected to sweat out a hot and dusty existence in the city and to toil incessantly. 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 pilothouse, 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 labor 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. It was good that men should be specialists, I mused. The peculiar knowledge of the pilot and captain sufficed for many thousands of people who knew no more of the sea and navigation than I knew. On the other hand, instead of having to devote my energy to the learning of a multitude of things, I concentrated it upon a few particular things, such as, for instance, the analysis of Poe's place in American literature—an essay of mine, by the way, in the current Atlantic. Coming aboard, as I passed through the cabin, I had noticed with greedy eyes a stout gentleman reading the Atlantic, which was open at my very essay. And there it was again, the division of labor, the special knowledge of the pilot and captain which permitted the stout gentleman to read my special knowledge on Poe while they carried him safely from Sausalito to San Francisco.

A red-faced man, slamming the cabin door behind him and stumping out on the deck, interrupted my reflections, though I made a mental note of the topic for use in a projected essay which I had thought of calling "The Necessity for Freedom: A Plea for the Artist." The red-faced man shot a glance up at the pilothouse, gazed around at the fog, stumped across the deck and back (he evidently had artificial legs), and stood still by my side, legs wide apart, and with an expression of keen enjoyment on his face. I was not wrong when I decided that his days had been spent on the sea.

"It's nasty weather like this here that turns heads gray before their time," he said with a nod toward the pilothouse.

"I had not thought there was any particular strain," I answered. "It seems as simple as ABC. They know the direction by compass, the distance, and the speed. I should not call it anything more than mathematical certainty."

"Strain!" he snorted. "Simple as ABC! Mathematical certainty!"

He seemed to brace himself up and lean backward against the air as he stared at me. "How about this here tide that's rushin' out through the Golden Gate?" he demanded, or bellowed, rather. "How fast is she ebbin'? What's the drift, eh? Listen to that, will you? A bell buoy, and we're atop of it! See 'em alterin' the course!"

From out of the fog came the mournful tolling of a bell, and I could see the pilot turning the wheel with great rapidity. The bell, which had seemed straight ahead, was now sounding from the side. Our own whistle was blowing hoarsely, and from time to time the sound of other whistles came to us from out of the fog.

"That's a ferryboat of some sort," the newcomer said, indicating a whistle off to the right. "And there! D'ye hear that? Blown by mouth. Some scow schooner, most likely. Better watch out, Mr. Schooner-man. Ah, I thought so. Now hell's a-poppin' for somebody!"

The unseen ferryboat was blowing blast after blast, and the mouth-blown horn was tooting in terror-stricken fashion.

"And now they're payin' their respects to each other and tryin' to get clear," the red-faced man went on as the hurried whistling ceased.

His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement, as he translated into articulate language the speech of the horns and sirens. "That's a steam siren a-goin' it over there to the left. And you hear that fellow with a frog in his throat—a steam schooner as near as I can judge, crawlin' in from the Heads against the tide."

A shrill little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from directly ahead and from very near at hand. Gongs sounded on the Martinez. Our paddle wheels stopped, their pulsing beat died away, and then they started again. The shrill little whistle, like the chirping of a cricket amid the cries of great beasts, shot through the fog from more to the side and swiftly grew faint and fainter. I looked to my companion for enlightenment.

"One of them daredevil launches," he said. "I almost wish we'd sunk him, the little rip! They're the cause of more trouble. And what good are they? Any jackass gets aboard one and runs it from hell to breakfast, blowin' his whistle to beat the band and tellin' the rest of the world to look out for him because he's comin' and can't look out for himself! Because he's comin'! And you've got to look out too! Right of way! Common decency! They don't know the meanin' of it!"

I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped indignantly up and down I fell to dwelling upon the romance of the fog. And romantic it certainly was—the fog, like the gray shadow of infinite mystery, brooding over the whirling speck of earth; and men, mere motes of light and sparkle, cursed with an insane relish for work, riding their steeds of wood and steel through the heart of the mystery, groping their way blindly through the unseen, and clamoring and clanging in confident speech the while their hearts are heavy with incertitude and fear.

The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh. I too had been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode clear-eyed through the mystery.

"Hello; somebody comin' our way," he was saying. "And d'ye hear that? He's comin' fast. Walking right along. Guess he don't hear us yet. Wind's in wrong direction."

The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the whistle plainly, off to one side and a little ahead.

"Ferrboat?" I asked.

He nodded, then added, "Or he wouldn't be keepin' up such a clip." He gave a short chuckle. "They're gettin' anxious up there."

I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of the pilothouse and was staring intently into the fog as though by sheer force of will he could penetrate it. His face was anxious, as was the face of my companion, who had stumped over to the rail and was gazing with a like intentness in the direction of the invisible danger.

Then everything happened, and with inconceivable rapidity. The fog seemed to break away as though split by a wedge, and the bow of a steamboat emerged, trailing fog wreaths on either side like seaweed on the snout of Leviathan. I could see the pilothouse and a white-bearded man leaning partly out of it on his elbows. He was clad in a blue uniform, and I remember noting how trim and quiet he was. His quietness, under the circumstances, was terrible. He accepted destiny, marched hand in hand with it, and cooly measured the stroke. As he leaned there, he ran a calm and speculative eye over us, as though to determine the precise point of the collision, and took no notice whatever when our pilot, white with rage, shouted, "Now you've done it!"

On looking back, I realize that the remark was too obvious to make rejoinder necessary.

"Grab hold of something and hang on," the red-faced man said to me. All his bluster had gone, and he seemed to have caught the contagion of preternatural calm. "And listen to the women scream," he said grimly—almost bitterly, I thought, as though he had been through the experience before.

The vessels came together before I could follow his advice. We must have been struck squarely amidships, for I saw nothing, the strange steamboat having passed beyond my line of vision. The Martinez heeled over sharply, and there was a crashing and rending of timber. I was thrown flat on the wet deck, and before I could scramble to my feet I heard the scream of the women. This it was, I am certain—the most indescribable of blood-curdling sounds—that threw me into a panic. I remembered the life-preservers stored in the cabin, but was met at the door and swept backward by a wild rush of men and women. What happened in the next few minutes I do not recollect, though I have a clear remembrance of pulling down life preservers from the overhead racks, while the red-faced man fastened them about the bodies of an hysterical group of women. This memory is as distinct and sharp as that of any picture I have seen. It is a picture, and I can see it now—the jagged edges of the hole in the side of the cabin through which the gray fog swirled and eddied; the empty upholstered seats littered with all the evidences of sudden flight, such as packages, hand satchels, umbrellas, and wraps; the stout gentleman who had been reading my essay encased in cork and canvas, the magazine still in his hand, and asking me with monotonous insistence if I thought there was any danger; the red-faced man stumping gallantly around on his artificial legs and buckling life preservers on all comers; and finally, the screaming bedlam of women.

This it was, the screaming of the women, that most tried my nerves. It must have tried, too, the nerves of the red-faced man, for I have another picture which will never fade from my mind. The stout gentleman is stuffing the magazine into his overcoat pocket and looking on curiously. A tangled mass of women with drawn, white faces and open mouths is shrieking like a chorus of lost souls; and the red-faced man, his face now purplish with wrath, and with arms extended overhead as in the act of hurling thunderbolts, is shouting, "Shut up! Oh, shut up!"

I remember the scene impelled me to sudden laughter, and in the next instant I realized I was becoming hysterical myself, for these were women of my own kind, like my mother and sisters, with the fear of death upon them and unwilling to die. And I remember that the sounds they made reminded me of the squealing pigs under the knife of the butcher, and I was struck with horror at the vividness of the analogy. These women, capable of the most sublime emotions, of the tenderest sympathies, were openmouthed and screaming. They wanted to live, they were helpless, like rats in a trap, and they screamed.

The horror of it drove me out on deck. I was feeling sick and squeamish, and sat down on a bench. In a hazy way I saw and heard men rushing and shouting as they strove to lower the boats. It was just as I had read descriptions of such scenes in books. The tackles jammed. Nothing worked. One boat lowered away with the plugs out, filled with women and children and then with water, and capsized. Another boat had been lowered by one end, and still hung in the tackle by the other end, where it had been abandoned. Nothing was to be seen of the strange steamboat which had caused the disaster, though I heard men saying that she would undoubtedly send boats to our assistance.

I descended to the lower deck. The Martinez was sinking fast, for the water was very near. Numbers of the passengers were leaping overboard. Others, in the water, were clamoring to be taken aboard again. No one heeded them. A cry arose that we were sinking. I was seized by the consequent panic, and went over the side in a surge of bodies. How I went over I do not know, though I did know, and instantly, why those in the water were so desirous of getting back on the steamer. The water was cold—so cold that it was painful. The pang as I plunged into it was as quick and sharp as that of fire. It bit to the marrow. It was like the grip of death. I gasped with the anguish and shock of it, filling my lungs before the life preserver popped me to the surface. The taste of the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was strangling with the acrid stuff in my throat and lungs.

But it was the cold that was most distressing. I felt that I could survive but a few minutes. People were struggling and floundering in the water about me. I could hear them crying out to one another. And I heard also the sound of oars. Evidently the strange steamboat had lowered its boats. As the time went by I marveled that I was still alive. I had no sensation whatever in my lower limbs, while a chilling numbness was wrapping about my heart and creeping into it. Small waves, with spiteful foaming crests, continually broke over me and into my mouth, sending me off into more strangling paroxysms.

The noises grew indistinct, though I heard a final and despairing chorus of screams in the distance and knew that the Martinez had gone down. Later—how much later I have no knowledge—I came to myself with a start of fear. I was alone. I could hear no calls or cries, only the sound of the waves, made weirdly hollow and reverberant by the fog. A panic in a crowd, which partakes of a sort of community of interest, is not so terrible as a panic when one is by oneself; and such a panic I now suffered. Whither was I drifting? The red-faced man had said that the tide was ebbing through the Golden Gate. Was I, then, being carried out to sea? And the life preserver in which I floated? Was it not liable to go to pieces at any moment? I had heard of such things being made of paper and hollow rushes which quickly became saturated and lost all buoyancy. And I could not swim a stroke. And I was alone, floating apparently in the midst of a gray primordial vastness. I confess that a madness seized me, that I shrieked aloud as the women had shrieked and beat the water with my numb hands.

How long this lasted I have no conception, for a blankness intervened, of which I remember no more than one remembers of troubled and painful sleep. When I aroused, it was as after centuries of time; and I saw, almost above me and emerging from the fog, the bow of a vessel and three triangular sails, each shrewdly lapping the other and filled with wind. Where the bow cut the water there was a great foaming and gurgling, and I seemed directly in its path. I tried to cry out but was too exhausted. The bow plunged down, just missing me and sending a swash of water clear over my head. Then the long, black side of the vessel began slipping past, so near that I could have touched it with my hands. I tried to reach it in a mad resolve to claw into the wood with my nails, but my arms were heavy and lifeless. Again I strove to call out but made no sound.

The stern of the vessel shot by, dropping as it did so into a hollow between the waves; and I caught a glimpse of a man standing at the wheel and of another man who seemed to be doing little else than smoke a cigar. I saw the smoke issuing from his lips as he slowly turned his head and glanced out over the water in my direction. It was a careless, unpremeditated glance, one of those haphazard things men do when they have no immediate call to do anything in particular, but act because they are alive and must do something.

But life and death were in that glance. I could see the vessel being swallowed up in the fog; I saw the back of the man at the wheel and the head of the other man turning, slowly turning, as his gaze struck the water and casually lifted along it toward me. His face wore an absent expression, as of deep thought, and I became afraid that if his eyes did light upon me he would nevertheless not see me. But his eyes did light upon me and looked squarely into mine, and he did see me, for he sprang to the wheel, thrusting the other man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand, at the same time shouting orders of some sort. The vessel seemed to go off at a tangent to its former course and leapt almost instantly from view into the fog.

I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness and tried with all the power of my will to fight above the suffocating blankness and darkness that was rising around me. A little later I heard the stroke of oars, growing nearer and nearer, and the calls of a man. When he was very near I heard him crying in vexed fashion, "Why in hell don't you sing out?" This meant me, I thought, and then the blankness and darkness rose over me.

All new materials in this edition copyright © 1993 by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Table of Contents

The Sea-Wolf and Selected Stories The Sea-Wolf The Law of Life The One Thousand Dozen All Gold Canyon Moon-Face Afterword Selected Bibliography

Reading Group Guide

1. Wolf Larsen is arguably Jack London's most memorable human character. Discuss your reaction to him.

2. Carl Sandburg contends that Wolf Larsen represents "The System Incarnate, " ruthlessly discarding anything in the way of his own agenda. Do you agree or disagree with this assessment? Why?

3. Humphrey Van Weyden and Maud Brewster and their civilized, almost spiritual mores stand in brutal contrast to the tyrannical Larsen, providing a dichotomy that persists throughout the novel. In light of this moral conflict London explores, what do you make of the book's closing sections?

4. Many critics have discussed London's socialist leanings. How do you think this influence informs the novel, if at all?

5. What do you think is the metaphorical significance of London's depicting most of the story aboard a ship?

6. Discuss Maud Brewster's role in the book. What is her significance to Van Weyden and to Larsen?

7. Did you think Larsen's morals were inherent or learned? Why?

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 46 )

Rating Distribution

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(24)

4 Star

(16)

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(4)

2 Star

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 46 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 21, 2012

    Umm

    No matter wut book i go to there is always something to do with warrior cats it gets annoying too

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 29, 2011

    Awesome Storyline!

    I have read the book several times through the years. This format being free had numerous typos- but I dealt with it. Still a great story!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 6, 2011

    Great writing, but ebook format slightly flawed

    Like many readers, I was introduced to Highsmith's Ripley character via the 1999 movie (Damon as Ripley, Jude Law as Dickie Greenleaf, Gwyneth Paltrow as Marge Sherwood). As often the case, the movie takes some liberties, so the book is definitely worth reading as an "alternate" version. In both versions, Ripley is an opportunist and more than a bit of a sociopath, someone who feels entitled to the good life he sees others enjoying, no matter what. The book version can seem homophobic by today's standards, but in this regard I think Highsmith's characterization is more about the deformation brought about by the "closet" than disapproval of non-heterosexuality per se. (Highsmith was apparently bisexual herself as well as a long time expat in Europe; might Ripley may be a bit of an alienated self-portrait?) The story is all the more remarkable for still engaging the reader on Ripley's behalf - it's remarkable how one wants the story to go on, for Ripley to get away with it all, even knowing that he's quite capable of more.

    = = =
    My quibble with the ebook version -- at least the one available via Nook -- is that the publishing process appears to have been flummoxed by diacritical marks, most annoyingly the e-accent-acute in "cafe", which is rendered "cafA(with a tilde!)(c)(the copyright symbol)". Since Tom likes to spend time at cafes congratulating himself on living the good life in Europe, this pops up frequently in the book. Given that the mistake has a diacritical mark of its own, I wonder if this is an easy one to fix by substituting one ASCII character set for another or some such maneuver. Other errors are harder to understand, e.g. "He wrote finally: Fm giving up the idea of an apartment" or "unless something concrete comes tout of it" or "bent close to them, apparently studying their tides" (should be "titles"). These seem to point to slight carelessness in an otherwise largely successful OCR process. All in all, Cresset Press and/or Barnes&Noble should take just a bit more care in proofing these publications before selling them; just a skim of the book or asking oneself "I wonder what it did with 'cafe'?" would have revealed some of these errors. I hope that a corrected version will be provided soon, and that versions purchased earlier will be updated free of charge.

    ===
    One other thing: the synopsis in the Overview here is *way* too detailed; talk about spoilers.

    ===
    OK, now my review has been moved to an entirely different book, "The Sea Wolf" by Jack London. I was advised re a different problem to reinstall nook for PC; either that or my complaint resulted in an unwanted substitution of the London book for the Highsmith one on one of the PCs I use. This is turning into a clown show.

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 3, 2011

    Good Book

    Dealt with typos since book was free.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 6, 2010

    An excellent adventure book

    If you like a good adventure The Sea Wolf is an excellent choice. The main character goes from being a soft intellectual type to a hardened sailor when he is picked up by Wolf Larsen a seal hunting ship captain. He is made to work by force on Wolf Larsen's ship exposing him to conditions that he had never encountered before. The book is set at around 1905 when it was written and gives you a look at how much things have changed in a hundred years.
    The book is also a philosophical masterpiece preaching the imposibility of neitzche's super human individualism.

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  • Posted November 28, 2010

    good read

    i found this book fun and fast past at some parts, but he slowed the pace when it was need.if you what read a good funny book the sea wolf is a good pick

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 25, 2009

    Ok, But Not Great

    I picked this book up while trying to find a great sea-faring adventure. Overall I found it an above average read, but I wouldn't list it as one of the greatest novels of all time. The novel is mainly about Captain Wolf and the man he takes as prisoner "Hump (nicknamed by the rest of the crew)." The novel is more of a look at the psyche of Captain Wolf vs "Hump," who have completely different views of life, religion, society and everything else ever discussed in books. The novel is exceptionally rugged in the writing. Some chapters will be read without realization to how much you have read, while others are only five to six pages and you have to force yourself to keep reading.

    The book for me seemed to parrallel philosophy rather than adventure, which isn't particularly bad, but it wasn't what I was expecting.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 15, 2008

    COMENTAR

    i think that jack london's writing sea-wolf, is the best writing under title ,,Heroism' when i read it, i became hero, in my soul. sea wolf is the greatest sea story it is current of nicsheanism, that's i like in it. JACK LONDON FOREVER

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 29, 2007

    London is a genius

    I have read this book when I was 10 years old. Unfortunately I can't express my feelings properly. My comprehension is much more better than my spoken language or writing speech. I am not english native speaker. For lack of words my review is short. I admire Jack London. I admire his courage, his life, his great talent. And I think that this book is one of the really outstanding novels. Lenni. Russia.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 24, 2005

    Awesome book.....read it

    I enjoyed this book because it was written by Jack London, the best author ever. This book's plot was differnet by have some unrealistic things that happen. In the Jack London books i have read they are usuyally realistic that is why I liked this one.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 18, 2004

    Read it... maybe

    This book has an interesting story with some unexpected (if not unrealistic) twists. At times this book can ramble on but there are some great scenes to wait for.I liked the ending except for a few details, which I wont discuss so as the ending isnt spoiled. In closing, this is a good book but not a great one.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 4, 2003

    Truly a great book, that speaks for itself.

    ¿The Sea Wolf¿ by Jack London. This book is an extraordinary tale of Humphrey Van Weyden, how the ferry he is one at the very beginning of the book sinks and he is picked up by the sealing-schooner called the Ghost. So he is forced to work on the ship under the command of captain Wolf Larsen along with his crew. I found this book to be very interesting and intellectual. The book was written before I was born and I believe is more sophisticated and proper than a lot of books written today. The grammar is very rich and descriptive. ¿I do not forget one night, when I should have been asleep, of lying on the forecastle-head and gazing down at the spectral ripple of foam thrust aside by the Ghost's forefoot. It sounded like the gurgling of a brook over mossy stones in some quiet dell, and the crooning song of it lured me away and out of myself till I was no longer Hump the cabin-boy, nor Van Weyden, the man who had dreamed away thirty-five years among books. But a voice behind me, the unmistakable voice of Wolf Larsen, strong with the invincible certitude of the man and mellow with appreciation of the words he was quoting, aroused me.¿ Chapter 7. This quote from Chapter seven in the book is one of the many examples of just how descriptive and vivid this book truly is. I also find that most of the conversations between Wolf Larsen and Humphrey Van Weyden are those of importance. As Humphrey is a scholar, and Wolf Larsen has taught himself most of the things he knows. Wolf Larsen despite his rugged and brutish appearance reads Shakespeare, Poe, Darwin, Reed and Kellogg, and Metcalf. The minds of the two characters seem to contradict each other in the most obvious, and yet slight ways all at the same time. Wolf Larsen¿s theories and opinion¿s seem to strengthen or rival that of my own. One of my favorite conversations between Wolf Larsen and Humphrey is that of one they first speak of the immortal soul. ¿By the way, do you believe in the immortal soul?' His lids lifted lazily as he asked the question, and it seemed that the deeps were opening to me and that I was gazing into his soul. But it was an illusion. Far as it might have seemed, no man has ever seen very far into Wolf Larsen's soul, or seen it at all, - of this I am convinced. It was a very lonely soul, I was to learn, that never unmasked, though at rare moments it played at doing so. 'I read immortality in your eyes,' I answered, dropping the 'sir,' - an experiment, for I thought the intimacy of the conversation warranted it. He took no notice. 'By that, I take it, you see something that is alive, but that necessarily does not have to live for ever.' 'I read more than that,' I continued boldly. 'Then you read consciousness. You read the consciousness of life that it is alive; but still no further away, no endlessness of life.' How clearly he thought, and how well he expressed what he thought! From regarding me curiously, he turned his head and glanced out over the leaden sea to windward. A bleakness came into his eyes, and the lines of his mouth grew severe and harsh. He was evidently in a pessimistic mood. 'Then to what end?' he demanded abruptly, turning back to me. 'If I am immortal - why?' Humphrey seems thrown off by the surprising intelligence of Wolf Larsen and almost doesn¿t know how to counter him. The two minds clash in almost a fury trying to prove their own thoughts, while barely listening to the other but never backing down, never showing any sign of submission or weakness.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 27, 2003

    tis truly the good book

    Author: Jack London Title: The Sea Wolf Genre: Classic adventures A young, rich, gentleman, Humphrey Van Whedon is on a ferry when out of the mist comes another ship that rams their ferry. He somehow miraculously survives and was found unconscious by the fishing schooner, The Ghost en route to Japan. The Ghosts owner, Wolf Larson, seems mysterious and the crew says he is even sadistic. Humphrey has to take to the ways of the sea and the ¿barbaric¿ sailors and is ridiculed become he is a ¿sissy¿. Yet his intelligent learn fast intrigues the captain and then things get interesting. The story is interesting and you really fell like Humphrey. The dialogue is deep at times when they Hump and Wolf talk philosophically. Also it gets confusing when the author tries to develop accents like the cook, Thomas Mugdrige, a.k.a. ¿Cooky¿ ond ish edz up shondn¿ yike dish. Also the multitude of Characters introduced at the same time and the similarities of the names tend to be confusing (i/e Johnson and Johenson). The plot doesn¿t really get interesting until the middle, before that it is introducing characters. Once it gets going it doesn¿t stop. A great book in the end. My best tip for reading this book is to pause each time a new character comes in and try and stick him in your mind. The ending is kind of predictable, but if you can¿t guess the eding, it is given away somewhere in this review. This book reminded me of the classic movie Mutiny on the Bounty because they both have a lot of in common such as a mean captain and voyage to the west. I also learned a lot about ships and their parts and I can now relate this book the any other tales of the sea.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 7, 2002

    this was an exellent book!

    The Sea Wolf by jack london is one of my all time favorite books. It is an enthralling tale of a man on a seal fishing vessel, who wasn't supposed to be there.but when he runs away from the ship it becomes one of the most exiteing survival stories of all time. Not a survival kind of person? this book will still hold your interest indefinatly

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 14, 2001

    Readers review of The Sea Wolf

    Jack London¿s The Sea Wolf takes you on the fantastic journey of what it is like for the narrator to have his whole wonderful life. Then have it change so fast for what at first would not seem to be better, but in the end is probably the best thing that has ever happened to you. Living the perfect life, then meeting the one you love and spending the rest of your life with. The narrator¿s life takes a detour, but he eventually gets back on the road heading in the right direction and has a new love. Most of Jack London¿s stories take place in nature, as does this one. London uses his love for nature and great ideas to catch the readers¿ attention and keep them wondering how the book is going to end. The description is so good that you can make a descriptive picture in your mind. The time period in which the story takes place is the 1900¿s. The story shows you what it is like to have gone from riches and having your whole life planned out for you and then being hit with a big surprise of having to work on a seal hunting ship for a few months. It is filled with murder, mystery, and cruelty. It is a must read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 12, 2001

    Measuring Human Values

    Caution: The Sea-Wolf is full of examples of man¿s inhumanity to man. If you are easily upset by callous disregard of the health and safety of others, you will not enjoy this book. Further, the book describes many of the worst abuses of the ways that seals were hunted for their fur. On the surface, The Sea-Wolf is a story about seal hunting expeditions to the Bering Sea. Beneath the surface, this book is an allegory about the nature of a human¿s life. The Sea-Wolf is one of those novels that explores philosophy as its primary purpose. The idea is to take abstract philosophical ideas, and make the philosophies come to life by putting them into interesting circumstances. So while there¿s an adventure tale on the surface of The Sea-Wolf, that story is there merely to provide examples of the philosophical points. So don¿t be surprised if the adventure falters from time to time in favor of developing the philosophical examples. In the Sea-Wolf, action is included primarily for character development rather than the reader¿s visceral entertainment. In this book, Jack London was obviously fascinated by the new theories of Social Darwinism that grew out of Darwin¿s Origin of Species, indicating that the most capable people survived and prospered while the least capable fell by the wayside. Another influence was Nietzsche¿s concept of the amoral superman. A third influence was Milton¿s poem, Paradise Lost, and the role that Lucifer played in that story. To explore these points, Mr. London developed Captain Wolf Larsen, owner of the seal hunting schooner, Ghost. Captain Larsen is as amoral and strong in body and mind as you can imagine. Think of him as 100 percent traditional masculinity. For a counterpoint, Mr. London looked to the traditional concepts of the Christian gentleman. Such a man is concerned with matters of the soul, helping others, ideas, and pursuing perfection. Taken to its extreme, such a man becomes almost like a woman. To develop this contrast, Mr. London uses the character of Humphrey van Weyden (known as ¿sissy¿ van Weyden to his friends while growing up) who is a literary critic. The story evolves through putting Humphrey van Weyden into Larsen¿s world. The book¿s key theme is that a true man combines the virtues of a Christian gentleman with the masculine strength and independence of his sex¿s superior qualities over many women (like a successful jousting knight), but this true man can only be completed by the company and spiritual connection to a good woman (much like the medieval knight had to have his lady as a source of platonic love). As you can imagine, this theme will not inspire those looking for a nonstop, heart-pounding adventure tale. The power of the story comes in the book¿s first half, when you will not know what to expect next from Wolf Larsen. If you are like me, you will feel a little involuntary discomfort every time Larsen comes near van Weyden . . . or anyone else, for that matter. The book¿s second half will be less appealing to most male readers, but will be the more appealing part for many female readers. Many readers will find the coincidences that bring the characters together when they do to be more than a stretch, and draw away from the story. I suggest that you look upon these circumstances as being intended to portray the hand of Providence, in Mr. London¿s way of thinking. The book¿s strength is the way that the van Weyden character develops. You will come to appreciate his trials and the ways he handles them. If you find that you don¿t like that character after 75 pages, I suggest that you read no further unless you are otherwise enjoying the book. May all your endeavors be worthy of your highest ideals and potential! Donald Mitchell, co-author of The 2,000 Percent Solution and The Irresistible Growth Enterprise

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 15, 2000

    A Great Classic!

    Jack London tells about his adventures by replacing himself as one of the characters. Wolf Larson reminds us about the competitive nature between good and evil! Read It!!!

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    Posted March 5, 2011

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 17, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted December 10, 2009

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