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Novelist juggles life in modern America, past in Alaskan bush
By MICHAEL MOORE of the Missoulian
University of Montana graduate Seth Kantner uses his experience of growing up in a sod igloo in the Alaskan wilds as the basis for his best-selling book, "Ordinary Wolves."
Photo by KURT WILSON/Missoulian
Seth Kantner is a man with one foot in the Alaskan bush and the other in what passes for civilization.
He is the white man who grew up among Eskimos, the man who lived his boyhood in a sod igloo and now lives in the "All-American house," with lights, power and the Internet.
He is a man whose book "Ordinary Wolves" decries the drilling and mining of wild Alaska, yet is forced to travel on jets to faraway metropolises to publicize his writing.
He is the "socially retarded bush kid," the guy whose best jeans still have caribou blood on them, who now spends part of his time with the slick and urbane literati.
He is a man who, when he comes to the lower 48, is welcomed into the "real world," and wonders what it is that makes modern America "real."
"I believe I can show you the real world, and this is certainly not it," the 40-year-old Kantner said Monday.
Kantner, who graduated from the University of Montana School of Journalism in 1991, was in town to read from "Ordinary Wolves," which has just been released in paperback.
The real world, as Kantner knows it, is, in general, the story he tells in "Wolves," a coming-of-age tale about Cutuk, a white boy who grows up in the enormity of the Alaskan bush.
Cutuk is uncomfortable in both white and Inupiaq culture and feels most at home in the bush, living off the land. Yet the city, rich with the material goods of modern America, calls to him.
When he finally makes his way to the bright lights of Anchorage - "I wanted to go to college so I could meet girls," Kantner says of his real-life urge to see the city - he comes away feeling hollow.
"Ordinary Wolves" strikes a chord, in part because it invokes a fantasy that many Americans still cling to - that they could strike out for new country and make it. Kantner's parents did it for real, raising their two boys in a 12-by-12-foot sod igloo in the Brooks Range of northern Alaska.
The American fantasy is precisely that, though, and it doesn't jibe with the life the Kantners led in the bush, where the summers were an "eternity of trapped along the river under clouds of mosquitoes, like a writhing skin, black and stinging."
And the Alaskan winters, which erected "walls of blackness" during the season of darkness.
Kantner doesn't romanticize life in the bush, nor does he ennoble those who live there, either by choice or by fate. He mostly just tells it like it is, living in a place where simple existence was a full-time job.
"It is not necessarily a celebration of living such a life," Amanda Coyne wrote of "Wolves" in the Anchorage Press. "Nor is it really a celebration of Native culture, or white culture, or any culture. Kantner is equally harsh and equally honest about it all, with the majority of his disdain saved for the white 'native worshippers,' or the 'Sara Clubbers' who are turning Alaska into a 'playground wilderness.' "
Even many Eskimos, Kantner said, have embraced modernity with a frightening vigor.
"I know people who used to drag their boats 200 miles upriver with sled dogs and live the whole season outdoors," he said. "Now they're flying to Vegas. It's just amazing."
Some have read "Ordinary Wolves" as an environmental treatise, and there's an element of truth to that. Kantner meant for the book to serve as a warning shot about the destruction of the Alaska wilderness. But he also wanted to write a novel to tell a story.
"I felt like there was something of value in this story, something about the way the American culture shapes our lives, regardless of where we're living," he said. "And you know, I thought a story was a great way to poke some fun at the 'real' world."
Kantner still spends part of the year living outdoors; in fact, he spent much of the summer "upriver" in his boyhood home. He hunts for food and makes use of each and every animal to the fullest extent possible. And yet, he also has embraced modernity in some corners of his life; the fact that he can turn a switch and the heat comes on still thrills him to no end.
"In a lot of ways, I feel spoiled now," he said. "There's an aspect of technology that really does make parts of life better. You know, if I'm not chopping wood for the fire or rebuilding the igloo or something like that, I have time to write, which is what I'm supposed to be doing."
Still, he feels gnawed at by the disorienting effects of technology, by the fact that the heat that arrives at the turn of the switch is coming from somewhere. That place, more than likely, has been adversely affected by becoming a source for power generation, whether it's a dammed river or a coal-fired power plant.
He gets the same sense of dislocation when he looks at his daughter, China, who is 7. Not surprisingly, as the daughter of a writer and librarian, China is a bright, inquisitive child with a voracious appetite for books. And yet, just before Kantner left home on this most recent book tour, there was China helping him gut and skin a caribou.
"We're on the distant edge of America," he said, "and I really want to make sure she stays connected to the place we come from. But it's hard, because the culture has really taken hold, even in some place like Kotzebue."
Kantner is not optimistic about the future of wild Alaska. While the nation engages in a debate over drilling for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, other parts of the state are being gutted by big companies. Pro-development forces rule in Alaska, and arguments like drilling ANWR essentially offer a perfect cover for other development.
"Basically, it's screwed," he said. "The state is going to be drilled and mined and have roads and power lines draped across it. Once that's done, it's over."
Read the story
Seth Kantner's novel, "Ordinary Wolves," published by Milkweed Editions, has just been released in paperback. Kantner grew up in a sod igloo in the Alaska bush and later graduated from the University of Montana.
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By MICHAEL MOORE of the Missoulian
University of Montana graduate Seth Kantner uses his experience of growing up in a sod igloo in the Alaskan wilds as the basis for his best-selling book, "Ordinary Wolves."
Photo by KURT WILSON/Missoulian
Seth Kantner is a man with one foot in the Alaskan bush and the other in what passes for civilization.
He is the white man who grew up among Eskimos, the man who lived his boyhood in a sod igloo and now lives in the "All-American house," with lights, power and the Internet.
He is a man whose book "Ordinary Wolves" decries the drilling and mining of wild Alaska, yet is forced to travel on jets to faraway metropolises to publicize his writing.
He is the "socially retarded bush kid," the guy whose best jeans still have caribou blood on them, who now spends part of his time with the slick and urbane literati.
He is a man who, when he comes to the lower 48, is welcomed into the "real world," and wonders what it is that makes modern America "real."
"I believe I can show you the real world, and this is certainly not it," the 40-year-old Kantner said Monday.
Kantner, who graduated from the University of Montana School of Journalism in 1991, was in town to read from "Ordinary Wolves," which has just been released in paperback.
The real world, as Kantner knows it, is, in general, the story he tells in "Wolves," a coming-of-age tale about Cutuk, a white boy who grows up in the enormity of the Alaskan bush.
Cutuk is uncomfortable in both white and Inupiaq culture and feels most at home in the bush, living off the land. Yet the city, rich with the material goods of modern America, calls to him.
When he finally makes his way to the bright lights of Anchorage - "I wanted to go to college so I could meet girls," Kantner says of his real-life urge to see the city - he comes away feeling hollow.
"Ordinary Wolves" strikes a chord, in part because it invokes a fantasy that many Americans still cling to - that they could strike out for new country and make it. Kantner's parents did it for real, raising their two boys in a 12-by-12-foot sod igloo in the Brooks Range of northern Alaska.
The American fantasy is precisely that, though, and it doesn't jibe with the life the Kantners led in the bush, where the summers were an "eternity of trapped along the river under clouds of mosquitoes, like a writhing skin, black and stinging."
And the Alaskan winters, which erected "walls of blackness" during the season of darkness.
Kantner doesn't romanticize life in the bush, nor does he ennoble those who live there, either by choice or by fate. He mostly just tells it like it is, living in a place where simple existence was a full-time job.
"It is not necessarily a celebration of living such a life," Amanda Coyne wrote of "Wolves" in the Anchorage Press. "Nor is it really a celebration of Native culture, or white culture, or any culture. Kantner is equally harsh and equally honest about it all, with the majority of his disdain saved for the white 'native worshippers,' or the 'Sara Clubbers' who are turning Alaska into a 'playground wilderness.' "
Even many Eskimos, Kantner said, have embraced modernity with a frightening vigor.
"I know people who used to drag their boats 200 miles upriver with sled dogs and live the whole season outdoors," he said. "Now they're flying to Vegas. It's just amazing."
Some have read "Ordinary Wolves" as an environmental treatise, and there's an element of truth to that. Kantner meant for the book to serve as a warning shot about the destruction of the Alaska wilderness. But he also wanted to write a novel to tell a story.
"I felt like there was something of value in this story, something about the way the American culture shapes our lives, regardless of where we're living," he said. "And you know, I thought a story was a great way to poke some fun at the 'real' world."
Kantner still spends part of the year living outdoors; in fact, he spent much of the summer "upriver" in his boyhood home. He hunts for food and makes use of each and every animal to the fullest extent possible. And yet, he also has embraced modernity in some corners of his life; the fact that he can turn a switch and the heat comes on still thrills him to no end.
"In a lot of ways, I feel spoiled now," he said. "There's an aspect of technology that really does make parts of life better. You know, if I'm not chopping wood for the fire or rebuilding the igloo or something like that, I have time to write, which is what I'm supposed to be doing."
Still, he feels gnawed at by the disorienting effects of technology, by the fact that the heat that arrives at the turn of the switch is coming from somewhere. That place, more than likely, has been adversely affected by becoming a source for power generation, whether it's a dammed river or a coal-fired power plant.
He gets the same sense of dislocation when he looks at his daughter, China, who is 7. Not surprisingly, as the daughter of a writer and librarian, China is a bright, inquisitive child with a voracious appetite for books. And yet, just before Kantner left home on this most recent book tour, there was China helping him gut and skin a caribou.
"We're on the distant edge of America," he said, "and I really want to make sure she stays connected to the place we come from. But it's hard, because the culture has really taken hold, even in some place like Kotzebue."
Kantner is not optimistic about the future of wild Alaska. While the nation engages in a debate over drilling for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, other parts of the state are being gutted by big companies. Pro-development forces rule in Alaska, and arguments like drilling ANWR essentially offer a perfect cover for other development.
"Basically, it's screwed," he said. "The state is going to be drilled and mined and have roads and power lines draped across it. Once that's done, it's over."
Read the story
Seth Kantner's novel, "Ordinary Wolves," published by Milkweed Editions, has just been released in paperback. Kantner grew up in a sod igloo in the Alaska bush and later graduated from the University of Montana.
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