When I started reading Rathuun: King of the Prairie by David Fitz-Gerald, I didn't anticipated what I was about to embark upon. Calling it historical fiction seems a bit of a stretch, given that it’s from the perspective of a buffalo named Rathuun. Yes, you read that right: a buffalo. And let me tell you, if you want to grasp the essence of this tale, you’ll need a passport into the peculiar realm of buffalo linguistics. The author himself nudges readers toward a website full of buffalo terms like a guide trying to teach a language on the brink of extinction. Call it a quirk of mine, but I can’t help but feel slightly irked when a book requires a mini-lexicon. Yet, like a stubborn bull, I pressed through my annoyance to see what awaited me across the prairies.
Rathuun isn’t just any buffalo calf; he’s marked by a splash of white on his chin, which somehow makes him feel like a prophet of misfortune from the get-go. Born in a serene canyon, his world plunges into chaos instantly: his twin is murdered by a grizzly bear. The plains are filled with wagons rolling westward in a relentless procession, telegraph wires tattooing the sky, and locomotives roaring like angry beasts across polished steel. All the while, the specter of extinction hangs over Rathuun and his fellow buffalo, as hunters turn the prairie into a veritable slaughterhouse. You’ve got native hunters armed with arrows, herds being driven off cliffs, and an obsessed assassin on a misshapen personal vendetta against the species. You can practically hear the rifles barking, each shot a grim reminder that Rathuun’s days could be numbered. Will he become just another story buried in the dirt of history, left to rot under the relentless sun?


