If you want to shut out the news cycle for a bit, this is a good book to do it with. It will transport you into the Alaskan wilderness with all its beauty, solitude, and danger.

The story centers around 26-year-old Birdie, a struggling single mom who parties too much, works in a bar, and is raising her six-year-old daughter. She’s looking for a better life – one without the stress of bills, the routine of serving drinks, and the mundaneness she feels every day.

When she meets and warms up to Arthur, a giant man of the wilderness, living across the river in a remote area of the mountains alone, she decides that’s exactly the freedom and uncertainty she’s looking for to jolt her life awake. This is not rational or believable love, but rather a form of hope and escape.

Arthur’s backstory is a mystery to her and to many of the locals, but some know he’s more comfortable with the caribou, moose, bears, and beavers than with humans. Perhaps Birdie is just what he needs. But also it’s probably not a good idea, and several try to warn her–to no avail. 

Ivey, an Alaskan native, is best known for her novel The Snow Child (which I loved) and which weaves magical realism into a very human story. She uses a similar technique here–a bit of fairy tale, dark magical realism, and suspension of disbelief–all of which pull us in, though some elements work better than others, and there are some plot holes that detract from the story and cannot be attributed to the suspension-of-disbelief style of the writing.

The real strength of the novel is the detailed depiction of the Alaskan wilderness: the golden capped bolete mushrooms, the rock formations “like a row of giant teeth, rising gray, and crooked out of a crumbling slide,” the blue black night sky beyond the spruce trees, the daily routine of hauling, splitting, sweeping, and cooking.

A weakness is conveying 6-year-old Emaleen realistically: much of her dialogue sounds too young, while her internal monologue often feels too old. But her relationship with her imaginary friend Thimblina feels just right. And the mother/daughter relationship throughout the novel is emotionally compelling, though sometimes maddening. 

There’s a lot to like here, and it’s a fast, page-turning read. You just have to overlook some flaws that an editor should have caught.