ZooGoer presents its annual summer sampler of fiction books that pack an environmental punch:

Purgatory Ridge.
William Kent Krueger. 2001. Pocket Books, New York. 352 pp., hardbound.

Mill operator Karl Lindstrom plans to save his floundering lumber business by logging the ancient white pines the Ojibwe Anishinaabeg call Ninishoomisag—Our Grandfathers. When a propane tank at Lindstrom's mill is blown up, and his wife, Grace Fitzgerald—heir to the Fitzgerald Shipping Company fortune—is kidnapped, there are more suspects than trees in the forest.

Despite the conflict over the sacred white pines, many of the Anishinaabeg work as loggers and depend upon Lindstrom's business for their own livelihood. So perhaps the culprit instead is one of the environmentalists who have descended upon the small Great Lake town to protest the logging. Or could Lindstrom's sole neighbor—who lost his brother when the Fitzgerald ship, the Teasdale, went down, and lost his privacy when Lindstrom built his spacious log cabin across Grace Cove—have a vendetta against Lindstrom and Fitzgerald?

Purgatory Ridge, Krueger's third novel in his “Cork O'Connor” series, is a top-notch mystery, with enough twists and turns to keep you white-knuckled. At the same time, Krueger's characters are complex and believably flawed. Unlike books in many mystery series, Purgatory Ridge reads like a solo novel, without excessive references to previous storylines, but with a satisfying ending that will make you thirst for the next installment.

—Sue Zwicker

Field Guide.
Gwendolen Gross. 2001. Henry Holt and Company, New York. 275 pp., hardbound.

An American grad student studying fruit bats in the jungles of Queensland, Australia. Her enigmatic advisor vanishing into the wilderness. The son returning home from the States to search for his lost father. These storylines converge in compelling if somewhat unsurprising ways in Gwendolen Gross’s first novel, Field Guide.

Gross herself spent a summer mucking about Australia’s rainforests observing spectacled fruit bats, and her knowledge of the rush—and daily humdrum—of scientific exploration enlivens the narrative. Field research comes across as positively kinky: “Annabel watched him from the water when she came up from the clams. His face was intent—the deep sleep of absolute concentration—and it made him beautiful to her. He had the glow of intimate observation, and she longed to have that attention directed at her.”

The book stirs a satisfying blend of natural history, suspense, and romance, shifting gears and hopping continents, while the primary plot—the disappearance of Professor John Goode—plods along. As in Purgatory Ridge, tension between environmentalists and loggers factors into the mystery. The grad student heroine, Annabel Mendelssohn, returns to camp one day and finds her bat subjects driven off by anti-environmentalists; could they have done harm to the dear Professor? Ultimately, however, Gross opts not to push the throttle on the thrill but rather focuses on charting the characters’ emotional journeys. The reader may find the story’s final destination unsatisfying, but the ride is well worth it.

—Alex Hawes

Pavilion Key: Isle of Buried Treasure.
Greg Lewbart. 2000. Krieger Publishing Company, Malabar. 200 pp., hardbound.

It’s not Shakespeare. Heck, it’s not even Tom Clancy. But if you’re looking for a book to breeze through while lounging under the beach umbrella, then pick up a copy of Pavilion Key: Isle of Buried Treasure.

When Florida Game and Fresh Water Fish Commission Officer Hal Nobel agrees to help a friend investigate the suspicious disturbance to some sea-turtle nests on Pavilion Key, he finds more than he bargained for—murder, mayhem, and scientific discovery, with some romance thrown in for good measure. As with his novel Ivory Hunters: A Novel of Extinction, author Greg Lewbart weaves lessons on natural history and other biological tidbits into his story. Sometimes these instructive forays—seemingly aimed at a teenage mind—go awry. When one character’s Ford Explorer flips over into a canal (the driver was trying to avoid a radio-collared Florida panther, of course), Lewbart explains:

“Soon his face was engulfed by the fatal liquid and he held his breath in a final desperate attempt to sustain himself. The metabolic processes in his body continued to produce carbon dioxide, the stimulus for breathing in mammals, while they used up the dwindling oxygen supply in his bloodstream.”

Blatant inaccuracies elsewhere in the book tempted me to cross-check all of the author’s biological facts. Lewbart authoritatively tells his readers, for example, that the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service resides within the Department of Commerce, when it actually falls under the Department of Interior. Despite these errors, not to mention somewhat flat characters and a predictably pat ending, the story is fun and will keep the pages turning. Read the book—then pass it along to your favorite middle-schooler.

—Sue Zwicker

Zoogoer 30(4) 2001. Copyright 2001 Friends of the National Zoo. All rights reserved.