The Wolf's Long Howl

In Short

This volume is a diverse mosaic of short fiction that traverses the extremes of human experience, from the prehistoric struggle for survival in 200,000 B.C. to the complex social anxieties of late 19th-century urban life. Through these vignettes, the author examines how deep-seated impulses—love, jealousy, greed, and the "homing instinct"—persist despite radical technological and social change. It has endured as a fascinating, if sometimes uneven, bridge between the frontier spirit of the 1800s and the burgeoning fascination with speculative science and psychological realism at the turn of the century.

The Story

The collection moves with a restless energy, shifting between domestic realism and speculative history. We see the internal collapse of a man named George Henry Harrison, who, facing bankruptcy, finds a cold, objective clarity that allows him to judge his creditors with icy detachment. This theme of emotional transformation recurs frequently. In another narrative, a husband, betrayed by his wife, channels his rage into a methodical, almost animalistic training of a guard dog, preparing it to destroy a mannequin dressed in his rival’s likeness—only to leave the animal primed for a lethal encounter upon his sudden departure.

The narrative scope broadens to include the epic, if weary, journey of John Appleman, a man returning to his Michigan home after years lost in the wild. He arrives just as his wife and daughter face the threat of foreclosure, bridging the gap between a rugged, vanished past and a modern era dominated by machines and mortgages. Elsewhere, the tone shifts to the whimsical and the profound: we witness a man falling in love with his own elderly mother, a scientist’s daughter forcing a change of heart in her father regarding a marriage, and the quiet, almost rhythmic death of an inseparable couple known as the Parasangs.

Science fiction elements emerge in stories like "Professor Morgan's Moon," where characters speculate on the potential for communicating with Martians, fascinated by the canals observed by astronomers. Yet, these grand ideas are always anchored by the gravity of human emotion. The collection even reaches back into the deep past, depicting a prehistoric family—Fangs, She Fox, and their daughter Red Lips—where the violence of cave life is tempered by the first stirrings of domesticity. Finally, the book concludes with a poignant look at an old man wandering a rapidly modernized Chicago, searching for the site of a long-ago massacre beneath a lone, surviving cottonwood tree. The arc of the collection is one of displacement; whether through time, the erosion of the wilderness, or the hardening of the human heart, the characters are constantly reckoning with a world that no longer fits the mold of their deepest instincts.

How It Unfolds

The social collapse George Henry Harrison attempts to reconcile his life of privilege with the crushing reality of debt. He adopts a cold, analytical perspective, treating his creditors as subjects for a final, moral examination before he abandons his old social standing.

The domestic nightmare A betrayed husband channels his mounting, murderous resentment into a meticulous ritual involving a dog and a stuffed effigy. He transforms his garden into a site of dark training, successfully preparing the beast to act on his behalf before he leaves his home to the mercy of his rival.

The long journey home John Appleman returns from the wilds of Mexico to his Michigan farm, only to find it on the brink of foreclosure. His arrival brings a sudden, necessary reconciliation with his family, who had long since presumed him dead.

The scientific dream Characters engage in intense, idealistic debates regarding the possibility of communicating with Mars. This speculative curiosity highlights the era's fascination with the heavens, even as the characters remain tethered to their own earthly romantic problems.

The prehistoric baseline The narrative leaps to the dawn of humanity, where Fangs and his kin survive in a world of simple, violent necessity. This beat establishes the primal roots of the behaviors seen throughout the more modern segments of the book.

The confrontation with progress An old survivor of the frontier walks through the unrecognizable, bustling streets of a modern metropolis. He seeks a landmark from his youth, only to find it surrounded by the overwhelming, alien architecture of the new age.

The People

George Henry Harrison serves as the archetype of the "modern" man undone by complexity; he is educated and gregarious, yet his spirit is hollowed out by financial failure and a resulting, cynical detachment. John Appleman represents the displaced pioneer, a man whose "homing instinct" eventually leads him back to a life that has evolved beyond his ability to manage it.

Red Dog is a study in raw, unvarnished existence; a drunken, dirty hunter in the Northwest Territory, he possesses a singular, primitive focus that contrasts sharply with the refined but emotionally stunted urbanites. Fangs, the prehistoric cave-dweller, is the ancestor of all these men, embodying a brute strength and a rudimentary, clucking language that serves as the foundation for the later, more sophisticated struggles of his descendants. The women in the book, such as She Fox or John Appleman’s wife, often act as the anchor for these men; they are either forces of domestic stability or objects of an idealized, sometimes obsessive, affection. Each character is defined by a specific, often painful, desire—be it the desire for revenge, the yearning for home, or the need to be understood—and each must ultimately reconcile their internal, often ancient, nature with the constraints of their particular place in time.

In Its Own Voice

"There was a leaden sluggishness, but my head was clear."

This observation, made by a betrayed husband, marks the moment he abandons his old identity to become a deliberate, cold-blooded plotter.

"The work of the farm was accomplished by patent devices in wood and steel."

The narrator describes the transition of the Appleman farm, illustrating the cold efficiency of machines replacing the traditional, personal labor of the past.

"The Earth, you know, is to the people on Mars a most brilliant object."

In a moment of scientific wonder, a woman explains the significance of our planet to the inhabitants of another world, capturing the era’s reach toward the cosmos.

What It's Really About

The central argument is that civilization is merely a thin, often fragile veneer over a base of prehistoric, animalistic impulse. The author posits that while technology—the reaper, the latch-key, the steam engine—advances at a dizzying pace, the fundamental human character remains static. The book asks whether we are truly evolving or merely becoming more adept at masking our primal urges behind the language of "reason" and "commerce." It is an exploration of the tension between the individual’s need for connection and the crushing, impersonal nature of a society that prizes progress over the soul.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a blend of historical atmosphere and speculative, turn-of-the-century philosophy will find much to admire here. There is a distinct, melancholic beauty in the way the prose shifts from the grit of the frontier to the polished veneer of the city. To read this book is to witness a writer struggling to make sense of a world in the midst of a violent industrial metamorphosis.

However, prospective readers should be prepared for the period attitudes present in the text. The depiction of Indigenous figures and the casual, sometimes brutal, treatment of women reflect the limitations of the author’s time, which can feel jarring to a contemporary sensibility. The prose, while precise, is also steeped in the oratorical style of the late 19th century, which demands a slower, more deliberate pace of reading. What remains with you is the haunting contrast between the "cottonwood of the massacre" and the "marble piles of rich men"—a reminder of how quickly the human story can be paved over, even if the ghosts of our ancient, howling selves never truly leave the forest. It is a contemplative, occasionally dark, but ultimately rewarding look at a world that feels both hauntingly familiar and deeply distant.