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The Wolf Wilder Hardcover – August 25, 2015
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Feo’s life is extraordinary. Her mother trains domesticated wolves to be able to fend for themselves in the snowy wilderness of Russia, and Feo is following in her footsteps to become a wolf wilder. She loves taking care of the wolves, especially the three who stay at the house because they refuse to leave Feo, even though they’ve already been wilded. But not everyone is enamored with the wolves, or with the fact that Feo and her mother are turning them wild. And when her mother is taken captive, Feo must travel through the cold, harsh woods to save her—and learn from her wolves how to survive.
From the author of Rooftoppers, which Booklist called “a glorious adventure,” and Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms, which VOYA called “a treasure of a book,” comes an enchanting novel about love and resilience.
- Print length240 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Grade level3 - 7
- Lexile measure640L
- Dimensions5.5 x 0.9 x 8.25 inches
- PublisherSimon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
- Publication dateAugust 25, 2015
- ISBN-101481419420
- ISBN-13978-1481419420
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From the Publisher
Editorial Reviews
From School Library Journal
Review
“The hero of Katherine Rundell’s new book may be young and small, but Feo has a spirit as wild and dauntless as that of the wolves she cares for. I don’t know whether this irresistible force of nature and the colorful gang of waifs drawn to her had an actual hand in starting the Russian Revolution, but Rundell convinced me that they did. The Wolf Wilder is chilling (quite literally!) and thrilling from start to finish.” -- Tor Seidler, author of National Book Award finalist Mean Margaret and Firstborn
"[A] future classic...Enchanting, unique and outstanding: don't miss it." ― The Bookseller
"Rugged cross-country adventure with a diverse cast of two- and four-legged fellow travelers and a sturdy main character who is more than a little "wilded" herself." ― Kirkus Reviews
"Rundell gives readers a fierce young heroine whose strength and independence are as appealing and authentic as her painstakingly concealed vulnerabilities...Rundell’s strength is in the beauty of her writing—lyrical sentences that evoke the drama and simplicity of fairy- and folklore, combined with descriptions of a setting that will have readers shivering along with the frozen characters as they trudge across the unforgiving terrain." ― School Library Journal
* "Fairy tale and history merge seamlessly; in a land where terror reigns and adults grow numb with fear, a "little wolf girl" outmaneuvers a sadistic general, awes a village, and inspires an army of children to march on St. Petersburg with dreams of justice. Breathtaking." ― Publishers Weekly, starred review
* "Rundell never fails to work magic with language and deft storytelling. Feo’s world of wolves and snow, danger and triumphant bravery, rings with the classic allure of folktales. Her spirited, half-wild nature shines brightly on the page, even as her vulnerabilities endear her to readers’ hearts." ― Booklist, starred review
* "Will have readers cheering--or perhaps howling--their approval." ― BCCB, starred review
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
ONE
Once upon a time, a hundred years ago, there was a dark and stormy girl.
The girl was Russian, and although her hair and eyes and fingernails were dark all the time, she was stormy only when she thought it absolutely necessary. Which was fairly often.
Her name was Feodora.
She lived in a wooden house made of timber taken from the surrounding forest. The walls were layered with sheep’s wool to keep out the Russian winter, the windows were double thick, and the inside was lit with hurricane lamps. Feo had painted the lamps every color in her box of paints, so the house cast out light into the forest in reds and greens and yellows. Her mother had cut and sanded the door herself, and the wood was eight inches thick. Feo had painted it snow blue. The wolves had added claw marks over the years, which helped dissuade unwelcome visitors.
It all began—all of it—with someone knocking on the snow-blue door.
Although “knocking” was not the right word for this particular noise, Feo thought. It sounded as though someone was trying to dig a hole in the wood with his knuckles. But any knocking at all was unusual. Nobody knocked: It was just her and her mother and the wolves. Wolves do not knock. If they want to come in, they come in through the window, whether it is open or not.
Feo put down the skis she was oiling and listened. It was early, and she was still wearing her nightdress. She had no dressing gown, but she pulled on the sweater her mother had knit, which came down to the scar on her knee, and ran to the front door.
Her mother was wrapped in a bearskin housecoat, just looking up from the fire she had been lighting in the sitting room.
“I’ll do it!” Feo tugged at the door with both hands. It was stiff; ice had sealed the hinges.
Her mother grabbed at her—“Wait! Feo!”
But Feo already had pulled the door open, and before she could jump back, it slapped inward, catching the side of her head.
“Ach!” Feo stumbled, and sat down on her own ankle. She said a word that made the stranger pushing his way past her raise his eyebrows and curl his lip.
The man had a face made of right angles: a jutting nose and wrinkles in angry places, deep enough to cast shadows in the dark.
“Where is Marina Petrovna?” His boots left a trail of snow down the hall.
Feo got to her knees—and then lurched back, as two more men in gray coats and black boots marched past her, missing her fingers by inches. “Move, girl.” They carried between them, slung by its legs, the body of a young elk. It was dead, and dripping blood.
“Wait!” said Feo. Both wore the tall furry hats of the tsar’s Imperial Army, and exaggeratedly official expressions.
Feo ran after them. She readied her elbows and knees to fight.
The two soldiers dropped the elk on the rug. The sitting room was small, and the two young men were large and mustached. Their mustaches seemed to take up most of the room.
Up close, they looked barely more than sixteen; but the man with the door-beating fists was old, and his eyes were the oldest thing about him. Feo’s stomach bunched up under her throat.
The man spoke over Feo’s head to her mother. “Marina Petrovna? I am General Rakov.”
“What do you want?” Marina’s back was against the wall.
“I am commander of the tsar’s Imperial Army for the thousand miles south of Saint Petersburg. And I am here because your wolves did this,” he said. He kicked at the elk. Blood spread across his brightly polished shoe.
“My wolves?” Her mother’s face was steady, but her eyes were neither calm nor happy. “I do not own any wolves.”
“You bring them here,” said Rakov. His eyes had a coldness in them you do not expect to see in a living thing. “That makes them your responsibility.” His tongue was stained yellow by tobacco.
“No. No, neither of those things is true,” said Feo’s mother. “Other people send the wolves when they tire of them: the aristocrats, the rich. We untame them, that’s all. And wolves cannot be owned.”
“Lying will not help you, madam.”
“I am not—”
“Those three wolves I see your child with. Those are not yours?”
“No, of course not!” began Feo. “They’re—” But her mother shook her head, hard, and gestured to Feo to stay silent. Feo bit down on her hair instead, and tucked her fists into her armpits to be ready.
Her mother said, “They are hers only in the sense that I am hers and she is mine. They are Feo’s companions, not her pets. But that bite isn’t the work of Black or White or Gray.”
“Yes. The jaw marks,” said Feo. “They’re from a much smaller wolf.”
“You are mistaken,” said Rakov, “in imagining I wish to hear excuses.” His voice was growing less official: louder, ragged edged.
Feo tried to steady her breathing. The two young men, she saw, were staring at her mother: One of them had let his jaw sag open. Marina’s shoulders and back and hips were wide; she had muscles that were more commonly seen on men, or rather, Feo thought, on wolves. But her face, a visitor had once said, was built on the blueprint used for snow leopards, and for saints. “The look,” he had said, “is ‘goddess, modified.’?” Feo had pretended, at the time, not to be proud.
Rakov seemed immune to her mother’s beauty. “I have been sent to collect compensation for the tsar, and I shall do that, immediately. Do not play games with me. You owe the tsar a hundred rubles.”
“I don’t have a hundred rubles.”
Rakov slammed his fist against the wall. He was surprisingly strong for so old and shriveled a man, and the wooden walls shuddered. “Woman! I have no interest in protests or excuses. I have been sent to wrest obedience and order from this godforsaken place.” He glanced down at his red-speckled shoe. “The tsar rewards success.” Without warning, he kicked the elk so hard that its legs flailed, and Feo let out a hiss of horror.
“You!” The General crossed to her, leaning down until his face, veined and papery, was inches from hers. “If I had a child with a stare as insolent as yours, she would be beaten. Sit there and keep out of my sight.” He pushed her backward, and the cross hanging from his neck caught in Feo’s hair. He tugged it away viciously and passed through the door back into the hall. The soldiers followed him. Marina signaled to Feo to stay—the same hand gesture they used for wolves—and ran after them.
Feo crouched down in the doorway, waiting for the buzzing in her ears to die away; then she heard a cry and something breaking, and ran, skidding down the hall in her socks.
Her mother was not there, but the soldiers had crowded into Feo’s bedroom, filling her room with their smell. Feo flinched away from it: It was smoke, she thought, and a year’s worth of sweat and unwashed facial hair. One of the soldiers had an underbite he could have picked his own nose with.
“Nothing worth anything,” said one soldier. His eyes moved across her reindeer-skin bedspread and the hurricane lamp and came to rest on her skis, leaning against the fireplace. Feo ran to stand protectively in front of them.
“These are mine!” she said. “They’re nothing to do with the tsar. I made them.” It had taken her a whole month to make each ski, whittling them every evening and smoothing them with grease. Feo gripped one in both fists like a spear. She hoped the prickling in her eyes was not visible. “Get away from me.”
Rakov smiled, not sweetly. He took hold of Feo’s lamp, held it up to the morning light. Feo grabbed at it.
“Wait!” said Marina. She stood in the doorway. There was a bruise on her cheek that had not been there before. “Can’t you see this is my daughter’s room?”
The young men laughed. Rakov did not join in: He only stared at them until they turned red and fell silent. He crossed to Feo’s mother, studied the mark on her cheek. He leaned forward until the tip of his nose was touching her skin, and sniffed. Marina stood motionless, her lips bitten shut. Then Rakov grunted and threw the lamp at the ceiling.
“Chyort!” cried Feo, and ducked. Broken glass rained down on her shoulders. She lunged forward at the general, swinging blindly with her ski. “Get out!” she said. “Get out!”
The general laughed, caught the ski, and wrenched it from her. “Sit down and behave, before you make me angry.”
“Get out,” said Feo.
“Sit! Or you will end up in the same position as that elk.”
Marina seemed to jerk into life. “What? What insanity in your head makes you think you can threaten my child?”
“You both disgust me.” Rakov shook his head. “It is an abomination to live with those animals. Wolves are vermin with teeth.”
“That is . . .” Feo’s mother’s face spoke a hundred different swearwords before she said, “Inaccurate.”
“And your daughter is vermin when she is with those wolves. I’ve heard stories about you both—you’re unfit to be a mother.”
Marina let out a sound that it hurt Feo to hear, partway between a gasp and a hiss.
He went on. “There are schools—in Vladivostok—where she could learn the values of a better mother—Mother Russia. Perhaps I will have her sent there.”
“Feo,” said Marina, “go and wait in the kitchen. Immediately, please.” Feo darted out, rounded the door and stopped there, hesitating, peering through the crack in the hinge. Her mother’s face, as she turned to Rakov, was shining with anger and with other, more complicated things.
“Feo is my child. For God’s sake, do you not know what that means?” Marina shook her head incredulously. “She’s worth an entire army of men like you, and my love for her is a thing you should underestimate only if you have a particularly powerful death wish. The love of a parent for a child—it burns.”
“How inconvenient for you!” Rakov ran a hand along his chin. “What is your point?” He wiped his boot on the bed. “And make it quick, you’re becoming tedious.”
“My point is that you will keep your hands off my daughter if you value their current position at the ends of your arms.”
Rakov snorted. “That is somewhat unfeminine.”
“Not at all. It seems profoundly feminine to me.”
Rakov stared at Marina’s fingers, the tips of two of which were missing, and then at her face. His expression was frightening: There was something uncontained about it. Marina stared back at him. Rakov blinked first.
He grunted, and strode out the door. Feo twisted backward out of his way, then ran after him into the kitchen.
“You are not making this easy for yourself,” he said. His face was dispassionate as he gripped the side of the dining table and overturned it. Feo’s favorite mug crashed on the floor.
“Mama!” said Feo. She took a handful of her mother’s coat as Marina swept into the room, and held it tight.
Rakov did not even glance in her direction. “Take the paintings,” he said. They had three, each with boldly colored cubes arranged in shapes that hinted at men and women. Marina loved them. Feo humored her.
“Wait, don’t!” said Feo. “That’s Mama’s Malevich. It was a present! Wait! Here. There’s this!” Feo fished her gold chain from around her neck and held it out to the youngest soldier. “It’s gold. It was Mama’s mother’s before it was mine, so it’s old. Gold’s worth more when it’s old.” The soldier bit the chain, sniffed it, nodded, and handed it to Rakov.
Feo ran to open the front door. She stood by it, the snow blowing in and coating her socks. Her whole body was shaking. “Now you have to go.”
Marina closed her eyes for one brief moment, then opened them and smiled at Feo. The two soldiers spat on the floor in a bored kind of way and headed out into the snow.
“This is the only warning you will be given,” said Rakov. He ignored the open door and the snow-covered wind. “The tsar’s orders. The tsar will not have his animals slaughtered by wolves you have taught to hunt. From now on, if the people of the city send you wolves, you shoot them.”
“No!” said Feo. “We can’t! Anyway, we don’t have a gun! Tell him, Mama!”
Rakov ignored her. “You will send back a message to the superstitious idiots who send their ridiculous pets to you that you have released them into the wild, and then you will shoot the animals.”
“I will not,” said Marina. Her face looked empty of blood. It made Feo’s stomach ache; it made her wish that she had a gun to point at the man in the doorway.
Rakov’s coat wrinkled as he shrugged. “You know the penalty for those who act against the orders of the tsar? You remember what happened to the rioters in Saint Petersburg? This is the only warning you will receive.” He crossed to the front door, and as he passed he pointed a gloved finger at Feo’s heart. “You too, girl.” He jabbed once, hard, against her collarbone. Feo jumped backward.
“If we see that child with a wolf, we’ll shoot the wolf and take the child.”
He slammed the door behind him.
Later that day Feo and her mother sat by the fire. The shards of broken glass and china had been swept clear and the elk had been packed in ice and stored in the woodshed—Feo had wanted to bury it properly, with a cross and a funeral, but her mother had said no: They might need to eat it if the winter kept marching on. Feo rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.
“What do we do now, Mama?” she asked. “Now they’ve said we have to kill the wolves? We won’t, will we? I won’t let you.”
“No, lapushka!” Marina’s arm, with its embroidery of scars and muscle, enwrapped Feo. “Of course not. But we’ll be a little more silent, and a little more watchful.” She rattled the chestnuts roasting in the grate, and flipped one into Feo’s hands. “It’s what the wolves do. We can do it too. Can’t we?”
Of course they could, Feo thought that evening as she put on her skis. Humans, on the whole, Feo could take or leave; there was only one person she loved properly, with the sort of fierce pride that gets people into trouble, or prison, or history books. Her mother, she thought, could do anything.
It took Feo ten minutes to ski to the ruins of the stone chapel. At the entrance hall were three dilapidated statues of saints: They had no heads, and two of them had grown a scaly skin of green lichen. Even without heads, the saints managed to look unimpressed by this state of affairs. Only two and a half of the chapel walls were still standing, and the roof had long ago crumbled onto the mosaic floor below. There were pews, half eaten away by woodworm, and a marble miniature of the Virgin, which Feo had cleaned with the chewed end of a twig. If the light was right in the chapel, and if you looked closely, you could see that the walls had once been painted with gold figures. It was, Feo thought, the most beautiful place on earth.
In the chapel lived a pack of three wolves.
One wolf was white, one black, and one a grayish mix, with black ears and the face of a politician. They could not be called tame—they certainly would not come if you called—but nor were they wholly wild. And Feo, the neighbors said, was half feral herself, and they looked in horror at her wolf-smelling red cloak. It made sense, then, that Feo and the wolves would be best friends: They met each other halfway.
As she skied in through the door, the wolves were chewing on the carcasses of two ravens, covering the statue of Mary with flecks of blood. Feo did not go close—it is wisest not to interrupt wolves when they are eating, even if they are your best friends—but waited, her feet tucked up on one of the pews, until they had finished. They were unhurried, licking their muzzles and forepaws, and then charged at her as a gang, knocking her off the pew and covering her chin and hands with wolf spit. She and Black had a game of chase in and out of the pews, Feo swinging for balance around the headless saints. She felt some of the gray weight of the day lift off her stomach.
Feo could not remember a time when she had not known and loved the wolves. It was impossible not to love them: They were so lean and beautiful and uncompromising. She had grown up picking pine needles out of their fur and old meat from their teeth. She could howl, her mother used to say, before she could talk. Wolves made sense to her; wolves were one of the few things worth dying for. It seemed unlikely, though, that anyone would ask her to: After all, wolves were, in general, on the other side of the equation.
Product details
- Publisher : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers (August 25, 2015)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 240 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1481419420
- ISBN-13 : 978-1481419420
- Reading age : 9 - 12 years, from customers
- Lexile measure : 640L
- Grade level : 3 - 7
- Item Weight : 12 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.5 x 0.9 x 8.25 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #493,584 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #504 in Children's Fox & Wolf Books (Books)
- #8,081 in Children's Friendship Books
- #12,155 in Children's Action & Adventure Books (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Katherine Rundell is a bestselling writer and a Fellow of St Catherine's College, Oxford. Her books have sold millions of copies, been translated into 40 languages and have won, among others, the Baillie Gifford Prize for non-fiction, the Boston Globe Horn Book Award, the Waterstones Book of the Year, the Costa Children's Book Award, the Andersen Prize in Italy and Le Prix Sorcières in France. She lives mostly in London and a little in Oxford, where she works on research into the Renaissance poet John Donne and occasionally goes climbing on rooftops late at night.
Customer reviews
Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them.
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Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers find the story compelling and emotional with a magical backdrop. They describe the book as an engaging read for teenagers and adults, with powerful and interesting characters. The pace is described as fast-paced and hard to put down.
AI-generated from the text of customer reviews
Customers enjoyed the story. They found it compelling, emotional, and magical with a delightful tale that was interesting and exciting. The characters were well-developed and the ending was happy, but the story can be intense at times.
"...Highly imaginative and innovative, while exciting and providing good character development." Read more
"...The first chapter was so riveting that we wanted so badly to just read through the whole thing..." Read more
"Great little read, this was just a simple and delightful tale - almost a fairytale, in a good way...." Read more
"Read the book with my daughter (grade 4). We both thought the story was compelling and enjoyed the main characters...." Read more
Customers find the book engaging and well-written. They find it enjoyable to read aloud or by themselves. The story keeps readers interested throughout.
"A wonderful novel for teenage and adult readers. Highly imaginative and innovative, while exciting and providing good character development." Read more
"...This book is so well written and amazing. There is violence, so be aware of that...." Read more
"...I ended up not reading it to my daughter because of these things. It is a good book, but a serious one...." Read more
"Great little read, this was just a simple and delightful tale - almost a fairytale, in a good way...." Read more
Customers find the characters powerful and interesting. They describe the main character as brave and resourceful. The characters are close to nature and take heroic actions in the reality of Tzarist times.
"...Highly imaginative and innovative, while exciting and providing good character development." Read more
"...-- full of love and hope and another resilient, brave girl as the main character. Both books are good, just significantly different from each other...." Read more
"This story kept me interested the entire time. All of the characters were engaging & their stories made me cheer" Read more
"...We both thought the story was compelling and enjoyed the main characters...." Read more
Customers find the book's pace exciting and fast-paced. They say it's a unique story that is hard to put down.
"...Nice pace, recognisable setting, balanced a well written. I rally enjoyed this one." Read more
"Exciting. Fast paced. Unique story that is hard to put down. Characters you love and hate...." Read more
"...The characters are very powerful and interesting. Not too fast or too slow. Perfect" Read more
"Quick, easy read :)..." Read more
Customers enjoy the book's writing quality. They find it beautifully written and cleverly crafted.
"...I loved the historical relevance, and Rundell is excellent at descriptive writing, it was just too dark for my little girl who is 7 and already..." Read more
"...Nice pace, recognisable setting, balanced a well written. I rally enjoyed this one." Read more
"Rundell is a clever writer. Her stories remind me of the classic children's books I read when I was younger." Read more
"Beautifully written. I read this with my daughter who is eleven. We both enjoyed it." Read more
Top reviews from the United States
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- Reviewed in the United States on September 18, 2024A wonderful novel for teenage and adult readers. Highly imaginative and innovative, while exciting and providing good character development.
- Reviewed in the United States on December 21, 2018Oh my goodness. This book had me and my two sons hooked as soon as I started reading it to them. The first chapter was so riveting that we wanted so badly to just read through the whole thing (the chapters are each about 20 pages or more, other than a couple).
I homeschool my sons and we were finishing up our lessons in learning about Russia, and this one was perfect. It explains in an intro what wilding was from the past Soviet Union culture and historically how people viewed and treated wolves. When the story actually begins it focuses on a pre-teen girl and her mother who live alone in a cabin in the woods wilding wolves. Government powers in the time of the tsar come through and try to control and hurt people throughout the surrounding areas and threaten the mother/daughter duo. This leads to an adventure and possible revolution to start.
This book is so well written and amazing. There is violence, so be aware of that. It is definitely a chapter book that your pre-teens/teens can read and enjoy, and I think adults would enjoy it as much as I did too!
- Reviewed in the United States on January 24, 2024My daughter needed this book for school, I couldn’t find it anywhere in town. Thankfully Amazon had it in stock and got it to her in time.
- Reviewed in the United States on November 25, 2017We tried this after falling in love with her book The Rooftoppers, but this book is quite different. Still has a great young girl protagonist, very brave and resourceful. However, there is a lot more darkness in this book and much less humor. There is death of characters you've grown attached to, there is the threat of death, and there is a lot of seriousness with very little levity. I ended up not reading it to my daughter because of these things. It is a good book, but a serious one. I loved the historical relevance, and Rundell is excellent at descriptive writing, it was just too dark for my little girl who is 7 and already suffers from too many fears. I strongly recommend Rooftoppers -- full of love and hope and another resilient, brave girl as the main character. Both books are good, just significantly different from each other. Rooftoppers
- Reviewed in the United States on February 10, 2019Great little read, this was just a simple and delightful tale - almost a fairytale, in a good way. Nice pace, recognisable setting, balanced a well written. I rally enjoyed this one.
- Reviewed in the United States on February 1, 2020My son has been reading only Wimpy Kid books and comic books, and I've been trying to nudge him toward better literature without turning him off the whole idea of reading by being too pushy. He eventually chose this book from a big stack of 10 books of all levels of silliness and complexity that I'd piled up for him. I thought it might be too dark, or the print too small, etc, and almost didn't include it. He picked it up and literally couldn't put it down for two days. Breakthrough in his reading development for sure.
- Reviewed in the United States on January 12, 2020Thank you for sharing this with us. My husband and I both liked it. Will recommend to our oldest children with kids.
- Reviewed in the United States on February 17, 2021This story kept me interested the entire time. All of the characters were engaging & their stories made me cheer
Top reviews from other countries
- Amazon CustomerReviewed in Canada on September 1, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Excellent
Wasn’t sure what to expect, but this was a really good story
- bookworm8Reviewed in the United Kingdom on November 26, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Wonderful.
I bought this for a nine year old who loves reading. It is wonderful and raises so many points to talk about without in any way slowing or detracting from the fantastic story. I felt the show, the tension and the love. Ideal reading for any 9-11 year old!
- new haven mavenReviewed in Italy on October 5, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars We love this book
A wonderful exciting story
- SKReviewed in the United Arab Emirates on October 1, 2020
5.0 out of 5 stars Russia!!
Loved the vivid descriptions of winter in Russia! Overall a good adventurous story!!
- UrteReviewed in Germany on August 26, 2019
5.0 out of 5 stars This book made me cry
It made me laugh and feel young and I cried for animals and people I didn’t know before. This book feels like home. It is amazing and sweet and full of defiance and hope.