Andrew Krivak's
Bear
is not a novel, but a poem.
An elegy, a love song, an ode to nature.
We enter this book as into a forest of signs.
Drunken roads wind between blueberry bushes and rivers of fish.
Bears pass by and feed on trout.
Eagles spread their wings beyond the spaces that stretch endlessly.
From the tops of the mountains to the lake,
"snow covers such a large part of the universe"
that the reader, navigating in the middle of these moon dunes, seems landed in lunar land, in a literary out of time.
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It seems that there has been a catastrophe, a cataclysm.
There are no more cities, no more people, no more houses, except one.
That of a man and his daughter.
The small, unnamed family lives along the ancient Eastern Range on the side of what is known as
"the lonely mountain"
.
Since when?
Why?
Are there any other survivors?
We won't know.
The essential is elsewhere.
Through
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