Allmark-Kent 24
animal advocacy (animal ethics, welfare, and conservation); and the scientific
study of animal minds. It recognizes that all three factors
—literature,
advocacy,
and science
—are in constant flux, as are their relationships with each other.
The practical zoocriticism model acknowledges, as best as possible, that these
relationships
are often complex, obtuse, and not necessarily favoured by all of
their practitioners. For instance, an author may represent animals in literature
without developing a scientific understanding of animal minds. An animal
cognition researcher may have no interest in animal ethics. And a welfare
campaigner may see no value in literary representations of animals. Even within
animal advocacy, the relationships between differing approaches can be
fraught; wildlife conservation and animal ethics are often at odds. These
diverging attitudes can be quite common, but the work of practical zoocriticism
is to pursue the instances in which all three factors are in alignment and explore
the practical possibilities of their interaction. It is my belief that the wild animal
stories of Seton and Roberts constitute just such an alignment of literature,
science, and advocacy.
In the preface to his first collection of realistic wild animal stories,
Kindred
of the Wild
(1902), Roberts writes that, whether avowedly or not, “it is with the
psychology of animal life that the representative animal stories of to-day [sic]
are first of all concerned” (16). Seton’s
own first collection,
Wild Animals I Have
Known
, was published four years earlier, but it is in Roberts’ preface that we
find the first attempt to define their new genre. Aware that they were attempting
a literary innovation, both authors often wrote such self-conscious prefaces to
their collections. However, Roberts proposed aims
and characteristics for the
genre, whereas Seton merely discussed his own work. As I will demonstrate in
my third chapter, based on my observations, I contend that Seton was the
Allmark-Kent 25
original innovator, but it was Roberts who influenced the final shape of the wild
animal story. The men worked separately (though they had some contact) and I
believe that it was their different backgrounds that contributed to the implicit
establishment of these two discrete roles. Seton lacked formal education, and
worked variously as
a wildlife artist, naturalist, and hunter (collecting bounties
on the heads of predators), before becoming a writer; Roberts was educated at
the University of New Brunswick, taught English and French literature, and
edited literary journals. Roberts emphasized the wild animal story’s relationship
with scientific
research, whilst Seton made passionate pleas on behalf of
animals. Indeed, he concludes the final story of
Wild Animals I Have Known
with one such declaration: “Have the wild things no moral or legal rights? What
right has man to inflict such long and fearful
agony on a fellow-creature, simply
because that creature does not speak his language” (357). Although Seton and
Roberts expressed their priorities differently, the work of both men contained
the same commitment to producing imaginative speculations
regarding the life
and psychology of individual animals in order to promote the improved
treatment of animals generally.
I argue that the prefaces Seton and Roberts wrote for each collection of
stories provide invaluable insights into this misunderstood and poorly-defined
genre. Where many critics choose not to do so, I take their words seriously and
approach the wild animal story on those terms. In his article “From Within Fur
and Feathers” (2000), John Sandlos observes that Seton and Roberts “attempt
[…] to create animal characters that are at least partly accurate and real is
precisely the creative objective that is so often overlooked” (76). Moreover, he
adds that, “this is the
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