Such, it seems, is Into The Wilderness, and I don’t mean that as an insult. They were lengthy, flowery in their verbiage, slow-moving in their action, and filled with protracted descriptions intended to decorate the reader/listener’s head with images. Books of this ilk were often meant to be read aloud, before the hearth, for the benefit of the entire family. An audience where its readers lived in isolation, far apart from neighbors, who had long evenings to fill with some kind of entertaining distraction. It was written for a different readership, one without television, movies, radio, often without newspapers or access to many books. Have you read James Fenimore Cooper’s, The Last of the Mohicans? Voluntarily? Or did you study only parts of it in the tenth grade, as I did? This classic piece of American literature is from a far different era, one we today would not recognize. But, if you’re willing to stay with me here, I’m willing to take a stab at it. I frankly don’t know what to say about this book.
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