As I write this I’m in Orono, a town near Bangor, dog-sitting for my son while he embarks on a scientific expedition in Alaska with some researchers from the University of Maine. My thoughts have turned to Jack London for a few reasons. First of all, I decided to bring along books that are tried and true in my personal past, and one of these is Sailor on Horseback. I discovered this book at just the right time, as a young writer wondering how I could bring out in words what was boiling inside. The story of Jack London inspired me not only to focus wholeheartedly on my writing, but also to get out into the world, see things I’ve never seen, meet people from other cultures, take risks to fulfill my goals, and move forward in spite of whatever obstacles are in my way. This fast-paced “autobiographical novel” by Stone lifted my spirits almost immediately as soon as I started it this time – even though, or perhaps because, I had read it several times before. Familiar passages uplifted me as if I were interacting with an old friend.

Another boost to my spirit occurred when I discovered amidst my son’s books a copy of a large-sized volume full of old photos called Jack London Ranch Album. He said he picked it up during a visit to Jack London State Historic Park at Glen Ellen in northern California a few years ago. I’ve been to the park several times and have been enthralled at the various museums and at the ruins of Wolf House, the mansion London constructed on his ranch that burned down just before he and his wife were about to move in. The first few times were when I was on the road, a fulltime traveler, and as I wandered around the grounds and in particular as I contemplated the masses of stone walls that were all that was left of Wolf House, I fell into a meditative state about my life and my writing. I returned with two of my sons decades later and we strolled through the grounds together; our conversations turned naturally to literary themes.

A recent experience that caused me to remember Jack London was my discovery of a museum downtown: the Seattle unit of the Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park. Seattle was the jumping-off point for many gold seekers, and this museum celebrates the phenomenon of the gold rush that helped make the city what it is today. The park has additional museums and historical buildings in Skagway, Alaska. Jack London traveled from San Francisco to Dawson via Skagway in search of gold, but didn’t find any. However, Stone states: “He arrived home without a penny in his pocket, yet he who had never mined an ounce of gold in Alaska was to make more money out of the gold rush than any sourdough who staked a claim on Bonanza Creek.” That’s because London turned his experiences into literary treasure. In the midst of poverty he struggled for a long time for recognition as a writer. His first-sold efforts were beautiful though often heartrending short stories of the far north such as “The White Silence,” “In a Far Country,” “The Law of Life,” “To Build a Fire,” and “An Odyssey of the North,” but his breakthrough came with his novella The Call of the Wild, which catapulted him to instant fame. This was followed not long after by another classic dog story: White Fang. Perusing the exhibits at the Klondike Museum inspire me to think of Jack London, who set forth to live an adventurous life so that he might afterwards write about it.

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I’d written the above before I had finished the book, but a few more words need to be said. I mentioned that the story of young Jack London working hard to establish his literary reputation filled me with delight and inspiration, and that’s true. However, as I read on, I realized that his later life increasingly turns into tragedy, and his flaws seem to leap out of the pages. He considered women inferior to men; he thought of “the inevitable white man,” epitomized by himself, as superior to other races; he called himself a socialist and gave speeches on equality and solidarity but at the same time earned a fortune and purchased vast land holdings. To top it off, he was terrible at money management, constantly overspent whenever something he wanted caught his eye, and was always deeply in debt. He seemed to be incapable of making mature decisions, especially as he got older. To balance the equation, though, it is important to mention that Stone writes the story of London’s life with intense melodrama (hence the subtitle “an autobiographical novel”), and other biographies, several of which I have read, are more nuanced. And despite his faults, Jack London was an exceedingly talented writer. He even wrote a terrific science fiction story called “The Red One,” about which none other than Theodore Sturgeon said, “Lord, how that fellow could write!” We all have our flaws. To say that London was a product of his times is not an excuse for his errant views, but it might perhaps be a justification for reading his books, even if the man himself falls short from a modern moral standpoint.