The Wolf Borderby Sarah HallHarper, 2015Sarah Hall turns in her new book The Wolf Border to a world about as far removed from the Coney Island freak show of her breakout novel The Electric Michelangelo as you can get: here the action takes place in England's famous Lake District, and the plot turns around the unlikely scenario of an eccentric nobleman trying to re-introduce wolves into the dwindling English wilderness. The Earl of Annerdale, “this landed British entrepreneur, known for causing trouble in the House, for sponsoring sea eagles and opposing badger culls, is deadly serious about his latest environmental venture,” enlists the aid of a wolf conservationist named Rachel Caine, who's working in the United States but who grew up very near to the Earl's projected wolf habitat. Rachel's elderly mother still lives in the area, and she's initially doubtful of returning. The earl gives her the hard sell:

This is a real chance for environmental restoration in a country that desperately needs it. The whole process has been incredibly bureaucratic. All the things one has to prove about wolves: previous habitation, suitable territory. God forbid they should be able to hunt their own prey! Government has become extremely adept at legislating its urban squeamishness …

Rachel turns out to be a somewhat insipid character to ground so much of the novel (literally every speaking character we meet in the book is more interesting than she is), although she's an effective vehicle for Hall to depict with great sensitivity the acute sensory world of wolves, which are portrayed throughout as equal but alien beings rather than merely the Earl's pet science projects:

The van brakes moderately, keeps its distance from the traffic in front. In some part of their brain, even drowsing, they will comprehend motion. Through the seals in the van doors they will detect traces of passing substances: clays, flints, grasslands, under diesel and bitumen, exhaust fumes. And humans nearby – perspiration, hormones. They are intelligent analysts. In those in captivity, she's witnessed incredible responses to human conditions: aggression towards drunks, defence of pregnant staff if a threat is perceived. If they are starting to rouse, they will be communicating with each other, low-toned, almost whistling.

But the humans still steal the show; consistently the most interesting element of The Wolf Border, more so than the local resistance to the scheme, more so even than Rachel's prickly relationship with her mother, is the complex class-oriented dynamic between Rachel and Lord Annerdale, which Hall delineates with a fine and well-colored energy throughout the book:

She arrives at the Hall early, having crossed the estate's grounds wearing her interview suit, the trousers tucked into her boots, and carrying a pair of passable shoes in her bag. She exchanges the footwear by the ornamental shrubbery under the ha-ha wall, stashing the cast-offs beneath a bush, feeling slightly ridiculous, like a peasant in a folk tale. Pennington Hall is magnificent in the glow of evening, lit up by the setting sun; suddenly the red stone, transported miles west from the Eamont quarries, makes sense. Rachel wonders if it will ever feel natural, approaching such a building as if she had the right.

The result of these sometimes-conflicting narrative impulses is a visually evocative but dramatically impaired novel, much as The Electric Michelangelo was years ago. Over-enthusiastic early reviewers of The Wolf Border calling it a masterpiece are sadly premature, but it's very enjoyable nonetheless.