As in any good survival story, the protagonist must learn to accept the forces of nature and accommodate himself to them. At first, Abel resents nature when it conflicts with his will. He imagines the rain as inconsiderate when it interrupts his picnic, and he resents the power of the flood-swollen river, resolving to beat it. Gradually, he becomes attuned rather than resistant to the rhythm of the seasons: He passes the winter months in a mostly somnolent state, then revives with the spring, dancing and yodeling for the sheer joy of living. He loses his city-bred taste for mushroom omelettes and caviar and enjoys the fresh taste of strawberries and cherry birch bark, which he is somewhat shocked to learn that his own teeth are ideally adapted to gnawing. Perhaps the most significant example of Abel’s growing acceptance of the natural order of things is the attitude that he demonstrates toward the two predators he faces in the course of the novel. He sees the owl as a personal enemy. His deep hatred for the owl motivates him to fight back not only with weapons—his pocketknife tied to a stick to make a spear—but also with bloodcurdling curses chanted over the owl’s feathers, kept for their talisman-like power. Months later, Abel’s reliance on instinct rather than anger to elude a hunting cat and his matter-of-fact acceptance of its predatory behavior as simply part of its makeup suggest a mouse who has become wise in the ways of the natural world.
(The entire section is 539 words.)
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