The Jack London Classic: The Call of The Wild

Individual vs a Group-1

Individual vs a GroupThe life in the Canadian North is a shock for a dog like Buck who came from a home where he was loved, nurtured, and respected. It takes Buck some time to understand what is going on and what is expected of him. Although he eventually adjusted well to this way of life, it was not before he was brutally beaten and forced to unconditionally obey the master, whoever that may be. It takes some time before Buck learns how to cope and before his primordial survival instincts kick in.

But, once Buck understands that very different rules govern the world of the wild, life becomes slightly easier. He bonds with some of the dogs from the pack and they help him learn how a sled should be pulled. The dogs work as a team and are proud of their achievements.

In sharp contrast to the team spirit that exists in the pack, there is also another trait considered to be very important for life in the wilderness - and that is individualism. To survive in a foreign, inhospitable world Buck not only has to be a team player, he also must learn to survive on his own.

When John Thornton frees Buck from his harness, he begins the process of Buck's separation from a pack mentality. Buck continues to live with Thornton, but being entirely free in the endless spaces of northern Canada, he gradually begins to yearn for independence and life among his own species.

At the end of the novel we learn that although Buck becomes completely free after his owner is killed by the Indians, he chooses not to live alone but joins a local wolf pack. The message of this theme is that to survive, one ultimately needs the cooperation and support of a group.

Bonding Between Man and Dog

In the harsh Klondike environment, man and sled dog often develop a strong bond mainly because they need each other. In some ways, they depend on each other to survive. Dogs provide transportation and an income, and man feeds and protects the dogs.

But, not all masters are the same and dog's character and destiny are often shaped by his master.

Back in California, Buck was a loved and pampered pet and the whole family adored him. In the wild, he becomes a hardworking dog and a fierce leader. Through John Thornton's love and respect, Buck transforms from a spoiled pet into a loyal and valuable companion.

In The Call of the Wild, we learn of many different dog-man relationships that existed in the Klondike community. For London, the man-dog kinship is primeval, stretching back thousands of years to a time when men were still hunter-gatherers.

The way a man treats a dog and the way he relates to him is what determines how strong the bond between the two will be. And in the wilderness, this bond becomes particularly strong because they both need each other to survive.

Famous Quotes from Call of The Wild

1. A man with a club is a law-maker, a man to be obeyed, but not necessarily conciliated.

2. The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life.

3. He must master or be mastered; to show mercy was a weakness.

4. Mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death.

5. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time, he obeyed.”

6. But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.

7. He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial.

8. He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken.

9. There is a patience of the wild – dogged, tireless, persistent as life itself.

10. And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him.

Jack London’s Classic

Call Of The Wild (Annotated) With A Historical Introduction, A Study Of Themes, An Overview And Famous Quotes

Chapter I.

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 tide-water 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 even 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 c*****d 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.”