WOLFISH

A writer meditates on the place of the wolf in the world and in the imagination.

“I am not an academic nor a scientist, I am just one animal trying to see another.” So writes Berry, who opens with an unhappy story of a wolf that was collared by biologists and was clearly known to them yet was gunned down outside a small town in northeastern Oregon. Some 30 wolves have died at human hands in Oregon since the Yellowstone wolf reintroduction program began. From Yellowstone, individual animals and small packs have radiated outward to Idaho, Montana, and the eastern Pacific Northwest. Along the course of her narrative, Berry examines both their movements and the reactions of humans, sometimes based on the supposed need to protect livestock from predation but mostly out of fear. Humans fear what they don’t know, and wolves certainly count, even though the incidence of wolves’ attacking humans is extremely rare. Wolves, conversely, have every reason to fear humans; says one Canadian biologist whom Berry interviews, “If you experience something life-threatening, you are a different animal the very next day.” The author ranges widely among the body of biological facts and mythology to paint a portrait of wolves that sometimes threatens to turn into a data dump, with a page here devoted to Indo-European linkages of wolves to unruly teenage warrior initiates and a page there to the psychological origins of lycanthropy. Even if the material is sometimes scattered, Berry offers some intriguing insights: “What if the werewolf is not shackle but solution?” While her book doesn’t quite measure up to those by Barry Lopez and Rick McIntyre, it’s less a field report—though Berry does travel into wolf country, meaning mostly human country populated by men, mostly, who would rather “shoot, shovel, and shut up” than welcome wolves back—than a kind of extended essay on what wolves mean.

Occasionally digressive but worthy addition to the literature surrounding wolves.