I've worked hard to like Peter Bowen's Gabriel Du Pre novels, and I'm going to read *Notches* before I give up, but it's an uphill battle, and the ethical stance in *Wolf, No Wolf* is a real show-stopper for me. Give me Anna Pigeon's respect for the wild over Du Pre's self-serving morality any time.
Bowen's Du Pre takes the position that environmentalists are worthless meddling troublemakers, but that doesn't give us good ole boys the right to kill them. In the course of argument, he lumps together fads of the environmental chic (you know; the folks who drive around Boulder in gas-guzzling SUVs with bumper stickers that say "Ban fossil fuels") and the attempts to preserve and restore the American wild. If the darn ranchers had just beat up the bunny huggers, 'stead of shootin' them, Du Pre would be just fine with it. Murder's wrong, of course.
I swallowed all that for the sake of the plot, and even put up with Du Pre's "real" Indian shaman who, unlike the drunken fake the enviro-tourists fall in with, is just fine with killing off the wolves. I even accepted the notion that the ranch family with acreage the size of Connecticut was involved in the crime from their sense of local philanthropy. I accepted as a thought experiment the idea that the local kid who lures the victims into a trap by pretending to support their causes is just a bit misguided. And that the locals who unanimously want to kill the wolves are perfectly reasonable people trying to protect their neighborhood.
But the last four pages iced it. In Bowen's "meti" world, apparently it's not Ok to kill Fish and Game folks with high-powered rifles, or to blow up bunny huggers, or even to shoot men who confess to those crimes and pull guns on you. It's a cause of great soul-searching and mystic fiddling when we have to shoot down a neighbor who goes a bit too far and takes off the head of a perfectly good FBI agent we like even though she isn't one of us. But illegal slaughter of introduced wolves? That's a party where we all can have some fun. Contemptible.
I've put up with three novels' worth of Bowen's pseudo-Meti dialect writing, which amounts to making everyone sound mildy retarded and throwing in a lot of extra "me"'s and "you"'s (As in "Me, I not like the way you thinking, you"). I'm still waiting to see a plot which doesn't move at the slouching pace of a cartoon hillbilly with hookworm. And the glib assertion of Benetsee's shamanic powers smacks a bit too much of jock soap opera for my taste.
The irony of Bowen's popularity is that the people who fall for this stuff are the clueless Easterners Du Pre loathes, people who admire the "manliness" of guys who like to pit dogs, break horses, and fight cocks.
Three books, and I hoped I didn't get it. When Gabriel gathers up his wolf traps, I get it. *Notches.* But it better be good. Real good.