An author doesn't condone nor endorse the actions of his fictional characters. In The Valley of Silent Men, Curwood is true to his form. He is an excellent writer of forest adventure and mystery. This story has both.
The story follows the decisions of the two main characters, whether good or bad. The mystery is a style totally different than our modern day fascination with courtroom drama about graphic sexual abuse. His articulate style clearly presents the characters thoughts, even if immature, and I found none of it gross or graphic. I recommend this story to anyone that needs a break from such modern plots.
I also find it interesting that it was published or written around 1920 which is about 10 years before the real life events of Bonny and Clyde. ( )

Oh.my.God! This is silly, and also appalling. What ever was I thinking? I blame it all on my spouse's grandfather, who introduced me to James Oliver Curwood some 49 years ago, when we had just begun courting.

So, Jim Kent, a Mountie, lies in bed. He thinks he's dying, so confesses to having murdered someone or other so as to get the guy the Mounties had fingered, Sandy McGregor, set free. An amazingly beautiful young woman visits Kent, briefly, and he is immediately smitten by her long raven tresses and her violet-flamed eyes. Also her tiny feet.

Well, it turns out Kent was lying and he didn't kill someone or other. But his testimony convicts him. But...the ravishing young woman, Marette Radisson, comes to the jail and frees him. They flee up the river into the north. They are separated when their boat crashes on the rapids, and each presumes the other is done for. But each persists on to the "Valley of the Silent Men" so as to commune with the soul of the "lost" one. And so forth.

The sexism in this is appalling. Yeah, I know it was written in 1920, but even for that time it seems appalling to me. The silly, self-indulgent romantic fantasies of the main character are appalling. But, back in the dark ages, I was attracted to the works of James Oliver Curwood, chuckling at the rampant sexism and self-indulgent romantic fantasies. I'm appalled at what I once was.
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