poachers | Seattle Book Mama

3.5 stars, rounded upward.

Rebecca Renner is a journalist who has written for National Geographic and a host of other prestigious newspapers and magazines. Gator Country is her first book. Lucky me, I read it free and early. My thanks go to Macmillan Audio and Net Galley for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Gator Country is the true story of wildlife officer Jeff Babouta and the sting that brought in a number of poachers and slowed the ravaging of the alligator population in the Florida Everglades. Babouta is coasting toward retirement when he is approached, and although he is reluctant, he is eventually convinced that he is the best qualified officer to carry out this assignment. To do it, he has to live away from his family for years, posing as a newbie gator farmer. This is a legal profession, but it’s also one that is rife with poachers. In order to bring the poachers in, he must first convince them to mentor him and befriend him in his farming operation. He spends years gaining their trust and learning from them, but then has to turn them in.

I thought hard about whether to read this book, because generally speaking, I don’t have warm feelings toward cops, and the past ten years have intensified that sentiment. But rangers and other wildlife cops are a bit more ambiguous; some of them do more good than harm. So it is with Babouta.

There are, Renner tells us, basically two types of poachers. Some are the small, independent people that she says are just trying to feed their families, and some are the large scale despoilers, those working on a large scale to provide gator parts to buyers from China, where they are prized for their medicinal properties and folk cures. Renner is sympathetic toward the former but not the latter.

In following Babouta’s story I pick up odd bits of knowledge. I have never been to the Everglades, nor do I plan to, and so had I not read this book, I would probably never have known that there are bottlenose dolphins there. Who knew? There are a number of such tidbits that I pick up along the way, and this is one of the best things about reading—or listening to—nonfiction.

That said, the audio becomes a complicated read for two reasons. One is that the narrative skips around a great deal. The main part is Babouta’s, but we also hear about Peg Brown, a legendary poacher whose name keeps coming up as Babouta converses with his new colleagues. I have no idea why I or any reader needs to know so much about the guy; from where I sit, Brown hasn’t earned his place in this book, but then it’s not my book. The story is needlessly complicated by Brown as well as a handful of other bits that are woven into the narrative, such as the journalist following along, and we would be better off without these.

The other issue with the audio is that when we shift the point of view, the person whose story we’re hearing has exactly the same voice as Babouta. Now and then I would have to pause and run it back, just to figure out who we’re talking about, or hearing from.

Even though the synopsis makes it crystal clear that the book is about wildlife poaching, rather than an alligator version of Jaws, I expected to hear of some close calls, some scary moments. But the scary moments are mostly about humans.

At the beginning, this book was such a snooze that in order to force myself to keep listening, I found other things to do with my hands. About a third of the way in, however, the story woke up, and after that I was mostly interested, apart from the occasional divergence of topic and point of view. For those that are sufficiently interested to want to read this book, I recommend that you either stick to the print version, or if you strongly favor the audio, get the print version to help you stay oriented and follow along. I would also try to get it free or cheap, unless you have an endless amount of cash to burn.

Taylor Brown is quickly becoming one of my favorite novelists. His 2018 book, Gods of Howl Mountain is one of my ten best loved books among the 1,300 I have reviewed since 2012, so I have been waiting for this book, and it does not disappoint. My undying thanks go to Net Galley and St. Martin’s Press for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale today.

Pride of Eden is a wildlife sanctuary in Georgia, owned and run by a Vietnam vet named Anse. Anse has PTSD related to his service, and his most searing memory is of the loss of a service dog that sacrificed its life to prevent a soldier from being killed by an explosive device. Anse is a complicated character with a possible death wish, but this aspect of his character is never overplayed, and after a haunting, visceral passage at the beginning, it becomes a subtle quality that runs beneath the surface, as it likely would in real life.

Anse accepts animals of all sorts; some come from illegal private zoos, or from private owners that are surprised that their adorable lion cub has grown up to be a wild animal. But secretly, he is also a vigilante. When he sees an animal in need of rescue whose owner plans to keep it—or sell its dead body for parts—he creeps in at night and liberates it.

Tyler is the preserve’s veterinarian, a buff no-nonsense woman who is also Anse’s girlfriend. My favorite passage involving Tyler is when a man comes to see Anse, and Anse is in a mood and wants Tyler to get rid of the guy. Tyler pushes back; it might be important, and the man has traveled a long way to see him. Anse grudgingly tells her to “Send him in,” and Tyler fires back that she is “not your fucking secretary, Anse.” At the outset of the story, Tyler does not know that Anse does not acquire all of his animals legally.

The third main character is Malaya, who comes to the sanctuary looking for work:

“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Anything.”
“What are your qualifications?”
“Third infantry, two tours in Iraq. Honorable discharge. Then I contracted in South Africa, tracking ivory and rhino poachers.”
“You catch any of them?”
She uncrossed her arms, buried her hands in the pockets of her shorts. Anse could see her knuckles ridged hard against the denim. “Yes,” she said.

Malaya is complex as well. But I love Malaya not only for her meaty internal monologue, but for the things she isn’t. Most male authors (and some female ones too) wouldn’t be able to resist these tired elements, and once again I admire Brown’s respect for women, which shows vibrantly in the way he frames his characters. Malaya is not romantically interested in Anse, nor does she try to mother him. Malaya and Tyler are not jealous of one another, and they do not compete. Both characters are buff and intelligent, and at no time do they have to be rescued by men. As a result, I could appreciate this story as it unfolded without the distraction of stereotypes or overused, sexist plot devices. Neither female character is motivated by sexual assaults in her past.

The other two characters are Horn, another damaged vigilante that collects wild animals, and Lope, Anse’s driver, who helps him move large animals.

This is not an easy read. It will attract Brown’s fans, of course, and also animal lovers; yet those same animal lovers have to wade through an awful lot of sorrow, as the story is rife with tales of animal abuse. Brown’s purpose, apart from writing outstanding fiction, is likely to raise awareness of poachers that kill endangered animals for profit, and of private game reserves that send semi-tame animals to an enclosure so that wealthy ass hats can bag some big game, take that animal’s head home to hang in the den.

Yet there’s nothing at all here that is included to be prurient or sensationalistic; every word has a purpose, either to develop a character or drive the plot forward, or both.

My emotions run the full gamut as I am reading, and this is a sign of excellent literature. I laugh out loud a couple of times; at others, the prose is so painful that I have to walk away for awhile and then come back. But I am never sorry to be reading it. The ending is so deeply satisfying that I want to high-five someone, but alas, I am reading it alone.

Once again, Brown’s novel is destined to be one of the year’s best reads. I highly recommend it.