Jack London's book, White Fang, is among many of his writings that my maternal Grandmother kept. I thought it was very good, when I first read it when I was about 12 years old. After my first trip North to go to work on the High Arctic Ice, as a Seismic Surveyor, I could give Jack the nod, as a superb writer of scene, weather, and what it feels-like, to be there. The Husky's attitudes are also writ as well as a mere human can manage, I aver.