In Part 1, Chapter 1, London uses vivid imagery to create an ominous mood and to emphasize the silence and horror of the Northland wilderness. He describes a thick layer of frost covering the bodies of two men, Bill and Henry, who are crossing the wilderness with a coffin, tasked with the errand of bringing it to the nearest town for a burial:
But front and rear, unawed and indomitable, toiled the two men who were not yet dead. Their […] eyelashes and cheeks and lips were so coated with the crystals from their frozen breath that their faces were not discernible. This gave them the seeming of ghostly masques, undertakers in a spectral world at the funeral of some ghost. But under it all they were men, penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure, putting themselves against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the abysses of space.
Here, words like “dead,” “ghostly,” “undertakers,” “spectral,” and “pulseless,” all associated with death, foreshadow the grim fate of the two men and their sled dogs: that they will be hunted one by one by a pack of starving wolves, and that only one of them will survive the ordeal. London uses imagery related to sound (or the absence of sound) to convey the profound silence of the landscape. He also uses imagery to paint a vivid picture of the men’s faces covered in a layer of white, glittering frost, making them appear both as pale as ghosts and indistinct, as if their individuality has been wiped out by the harsh landscape. Their faces are “not discernible,” indicating that their personalities are taking a backseat to the desperate struggle to survive against the harsh elements and starving wolves. All of their extraneous human desires and ideals have been stripped away by the urgency of the situation.
Nature is represented as horrifying throughout this passage. London associates it with death through his choice of words like “undertakers” and “spectral,” as well as portraying it as frighteningly silent, empty, and uncaring. The two men appear to be the only sparks of life or movement in a landscape that is totally silent. Describing it as “alien” and comparing it to outer space suggests that it is something profoundly unknown and unfamiliar, perhaps even lying beyond human comprehension. This description emphasizes the bravery of the two men for daring to traverse the Northland. London depicts them as heroic adventurers venturing into the unknown and seems to admire them for being so fearless.
In Part 1, Chapter 1, London uses vivid imagery when describing the pack of starving wolves surrounding Bill and Henry as they set up their camp at night, adding to the overall mood of danger and horror at the beginning of the novel:
[Bill] pointed toward the wall of darkness that pressed about them from every side. There was no suggestion of form in the utter blackness; only could be seen a pair of eyes gleaming like live coals. Henry indicated with his head a second pair and a third. A circle of gleaming eyes had drawn about their camp. Now and again a pair of eyes moved, or disappeared to appear again a moment later.
Here, the “wall of darkness” surrounding the two men on all sides suggests that they are trapped, not only by the wolves, but by the forest itself—as if it possesses a malevolent will of its own and seeks to consume them, just as the wolves do. The wolves are depicted in this passage as being extensions of the darkness; they have no form of their own, but bleed into the surrounding shadows with only their eyes visible, creating the impression that the wolves and the forest are of one body, sharing the singular intent of extinguishing Bill and Henry's lives. That the wolves’ eyes are described as “gleaming like live coals” suggests devilishness or hellfire, indicating that their intent toward the two men is malevolent, as well as illustrating their burning desire to survive at all costs.
London’s use of imagery in this passage connects to the novel’s exploration of themes like domestication vs. wildness and the boundary between nature and civilization. The wolves, as wild animals, are represented as being extensions of nature, following nature’s will—which in this case is to destroy Bill and Henry. By using imagery to depict their physical bodies blurring into the shadows of the wilderness, London illustrates this connectedness. The sled dogs in this scene, however, are severed from nature by their domestication. Rather than blurring into the background like the wolves, they stay illuminated in the firelight of Bill and Henry’s camp, demonstrating that they no longer follow nature’s will, but rather serve their human masters. This contrast—visually illustrated through imagery of light, representing civilization, and shadow, representing wildness—foreshadows White Fang’s own severance from nature later in the novel. While he begins life as a wild wolf, he eventually chooses to accept Gray Beaver as his master, from that point on following the will of humans rather than that of the wilderness.
In Part 3, Chapter 4, when White Fang runs away from the Indians back into the forest, the novel uses imagery of absence, both of sights and sounds, to express his feelings of loneliness and fear:
Here was no meat, nothing but a threatening and inedible silence […] The night yawned about him. His senses, accustomed to the hum and bustle of the camp, used to the continuous impact of sights and sounds, were now left idle. There was nothing to do, nothing to see nor hear. They strained to catch some interruption of the silence and immobility of nature. They were appalled by inaction and by the feel of something terrible impending.
In this passage, London emphasizes the profound emptiness and silence of the Wild by contrasting it with the “continuous impact of sights and sounds” of the camp he has just left behind. London uses a succession of negatives—“no meat,” “nothing,” “idle,” “nothing to do," “nothing to see,” to evoke the feeling of endlessness and emptiness in the Wild. When he had never experienced anything else, it was not noticeable, but now that he’s experienced human activity, it feels unbearable by contrast. That he is straining to see or hear anything serves to further emphasize the utter absence of sights or sounds, putting him on edge and causing him to feel anxious and fearful, as if something terrible is going to happen.
This new fear of the silence of the Wild represents the point of no return for White Fang—now that he has spent time by the fires of human civilization, he has developed the same fear of the Wild that causes domestic dogs to attack him on sight. By returning to the Wild, he has discovered that he is no longer at home there, because he has been domesticated. Now that he’s lived among movement, light, and warmth with his human masters, he is able to perceive the cold absence of the Northland by contrast, and finds it terrifying.
