I started reading The Wold Wilder with unfairly high expectations. For one, I’ve read and loved Katherine Rundell’s other books. For another, the cover of The Wolf Wilder has a quote from Philip Pullman saying it is a triumph. What more validation does a book need?
Yet, about halfway through the book, I was conscious of disappointment. Sure, it was a nice book. But it wasn’t great. It wasn’t the kind of book that forced me to keep reading. I could not gasp at Rundell’s imagination, somehow. It wasn’t a story that I’d find myself reliving and telling people about. It did not have the punch of things I love in stories – friendship, loyalty, bravery …
And then, as I continued to turn the pages, the narrative shifted again, and everything I wanted came in. It became a little less about power and blood, and a little more about things closer to my heart. Most of all, it wrung my heart with its portrayal of love.
The Wolf Wilder, with all its ups and downs, is a triumph. There’s no doubt about that. Feo, stormy and brave, is a character to admire. She’s not like Anne Shirley whom I wanted to befriend. She stands on her own, distant from me – admirable, and altogether real.
|Title||The Wolf Wilder|
|Rating (out of 5)||4|