The Sea Wolf, by Jack London, was an attempt to get back to fiction after my miserable sojourn in formulaic non-fiction. I was talking to one of my reading friends about Moby Dick, and how I prefer the first 45 chapters, which is mostly before the story gets going, and he recommended The Sea Wolf. But really for me it was the same story again, I liked the first half a lot, and the second half a good deal less. I thought it would make good review fodder, until I saw that wikipedia already contains the best and most accurate review of the book, attributed to Ambrose Bierce:

The great thing—and it is among the greatest of things—is that tremendous creation, Wolf Larsen… the hewing out and setting up of such a figure is enough for a man to do in one lifetime… The love element, with its absurd suppressions, and impossible proprieties, is awful.

And there you have it. That is the exact, perfect review of Jack London’s The Sea Wolf.