Firelands

For roughly the first two thirds this is a pretty engaging frontier survival story, with an unsettling dash of the super-naturals and some economic but unflinching gore thrown in. A good deal of time is spent ratcheting up the tension as sightings of the Wendigo (the beast of Native American folklore) increase, culminating in an attack on the main settlement, at which the general populace actually does the sensible thing in upping sticks and legging it - except for protagonist Cole Seavey (who since his arrival has acquired a transparent plot device in the shape of his dead brother's wife to whom he has dutifully proposed) and chums, who think it makes much more sense to return to their isolated shacks IN THE WOODS to give themselves the chance of being picked off one by one. Things devolve from hereon. What was a passable attempt at recreating the language of the time lapses into something distinctly present-day (the dreaded 'ironical' makes several appearances) and the narrative is mangled as Cole and the lads set off into the wilds in order to run round and round in circles, losing each other and achieving not much really. It is at this juncture that the one thing the novel has left going for it - the Wendigo as deliciously malevolent, seemingly unstoppable aberration of Nature - is pulled from under us via a jawdroppingly casual, breathtakingly bizarre (there are shades of an S & M relationship here that I still can't quite get me head round) and ludicrous twist that'd make even Hanna-Barbera blush.The final third ascends into farce as Cole is faced with a series of obstacles, each one presenting itself as a means for him to FINALLY step up and prove himself if not exactly a hero, then at least not totally inept. Like the trooper he is he manages to balls up every one. If there's a hole he'll fall into it, a tunnel to get lost in he'll get lost in it, the slightest chance of knocking himself unconscious he'll bang his head against it like billio, while author Jensen, oddly oblivious, continues to push the increasingly irritating notion he is some kind of relentless, cool-headed, 18th century he-man (aka "Cold-blooded Cole") when you will have long since come to the conclusion he is, well, a bit of a muppet. It's left to a protracted race through dark places and a convenient, explosive underground oil slick to save the day. There is a final suggestion of supernatural involvement, but by that point I was downing cough medicine and smearing my face with Alphabetti Spaghetti. The relationship between Cole and the Delaware Pakim - and by extension any exploration of attitudes among frontier folk and of the indigenous population towards same-sex relationships - remains largely underdeveloped (save for a couple of fireside hand jobs), and still only at the tentative stage come the novel's close. Throw in some heavy-handed metaphors about ice versus fire, and an attempt to draw parallels between Cole's life of solitary self-sufficiency and awakening to his emotional needs, with the frozen Ohio landscapes and promise of a new life in the far-off Firelands (mentioned almost in passing) and that's your lot. If I've been hard on it it's because it could have been so much better. Though it's still more entertaining than Larry Fessenden's Wendigo movie (from entirely different source material), but anyone who's seen it knows that ain't saying a lot.I'll be sticking to Algernon Blackwood's Wendigo in future.Pardon the pun.