Throughout White Fang, fire is used as a metaphor to represent the life that burns within all creatures, willing them to survive at all costs. One example of this metaphor can be found in Part 2, Chapter 3, when One Eye and Kiche are struggling to feed their new litter of pups, including White Fang (who is referred to as “the grey cub” at this point in the novel), during a famine:
It was not long before they were reduced to a coma of hunger […] The cubs slept, while the life that was in them flickered and died down […] When the grey cub came back to life again […] His little body rounded out with the meat he now ate, but the food had come too late for [his sister]. She slept continuously, a tiny skeleton flung round with skin in which the flame flickered lower and lower and at last went out.
White Fang’s unlikely survival through the famine that kills all of his siblings represents his strength and tenacity, as well as his strong will to survive. By surviving this hardship early on in life, White Fang becomes an embodiment of the Darwinist idea of the “survival of the fittest”; of all his siblings, he has proven himself to be the fittest, because he is the only one whose life-flame burned brightly enough to not be put out by the damping hand of the famine. Although the flame within him briefly “flickers and die[s] down,” it is never extinguished. This is true throughout the novel, as White Fang continues to cling tenaciously to life in spite of the cruelties he experiences at the hand of nature and men.
London also uses fire as a metaphor for life and the will to survive in Part 1, Chapter 1, when Bill, Henry, and their sled dogs are being pursued by a pack of hungry wolves through the harsh Northland wilderness, tasked with bringing a coffin to the nearest town. In the following passage, fire represents both the two men’s will to survive long enough to get back to the safety of civilization, as well as the wolves' will to survive the winter by eating them:
He 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 […] The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer to the circle they had flung about the camp […] He got out of bed carefully, so as to not disturb the sleep of his comrade, and threw more wood on the fire. As it began to flame up, the circle of eyes drew further back.
Here, the image of the wolves' eyes “gleaming like live coals” reveals the wolves’ burning will to survive: the flame of life is strong, visibly burning in their eyes as they surround Bill and Henry’s camp and prepare to eat them. However, the men's will to survive burns bright within them, too, and their refusal to let their campfire die down in the night represents their refusal to stop fighting for their lives, even when the wolves have them surrounded and things look hopeless.
Throughout White Fang, fire is used as a metaphor to represent the life that burns within all creatures, willing them to survive at all costs. One example of this metaphor can be found in Part 2, Chapter 3, when One Eye and Kiche are struggling to feed their new litter of pups, including White Fang (who is referred to as “the grey cub” at this point in the novel), during a famine:
It was not long before they were reduced to a coma of hunger […] The cubs slept, while the life that was in them flickered and died down […] When the grey cub came back to life again […] His little body rounded out with the meat he now ate, but the food had come too late for [his sister]. She slept continuously, a tiny skeleton flung round with skin in which the flame flickered lower and lower and at last went out.
White Fang’s unlikely survival through the famine that kills all of his siblings represents his strength and tenacity, as well as his strong will to survive. By surviving this hardship early on in life, White Fang becomes an embodiment of the Darwinist idea of the “survival of the fittest”; of all his siblings, he has proven himself to be the fittest, because he is the only one whose life-flame burned brightly enough to not be put out by the damping hand of the famine. Although the flame within him briefly “flickers and die[s] down,” it is never extinguished. This is true throughout the novel, as White Fang continues to cling tenaciously to life in spite of the cruelties he experiences at the hand of nature and men.
London also uses fire as a metaphor for life and the will to survive in Part 1, Chapter 1, when Bill, Henry, and their sled dogs are being pursued by a pack of hungry wolves through the harsh Northland wilderness, tasked with bringing a coffin to the nearest town. In the following passage, fire represents both the two men’s will to survive long enough to get back to the safety of civilization, as well as the wolves' will to survive the winter by eating them:
He 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 […] The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer to the circle they had flung about the camp […] He got out of bed carefully, so as to not disturb the sleep of his comrade, and threw more wood on the fire. As it began to flame up, the circle of eyes drew further back.
Here, the image of the wolves' eyes “gleaming like live coals” reveals the wolves’ burning will to survive: the flame of life is strong, visibly burning in their eyes as they surround Bill and Henry’s camp and prepare to eat them. However, the men's will to survive burns bright within them, too, and their refusal to let their campfire die down in the night represents their refusal to stop fighting for their lives, even when the wolves have them surrounded and things look hopeless.
Throughout White Fang, the novel uses metaphor to compare human beings to gods and put the reader in White Fang’s perspective. White Fang regards human manipulation of the natural world as a supernatural ability, and eventually decides to submit to them in recognition of their godlike power.
In Part 3, Chapter 1, when White Fang first encounters humans, he is awestruck by their ability to animate dead and inanimate objects—to take resources from nature and turn them into tools and structures for human use. He is particularly impressed when they set up their tepees, which he perceives as arising “around him, on every side, like some monstrous quickening form of life,” and when Gray Beaver starts a fire, which White Fang unwittingly touches and feels to be “savagely clutching him by the nose.” In both of these examples, White Fang perceives humanity’s power over nature as the creation of life, something which he had previously believed to be the sole province of the Wild. Whereas White Fang had once regarded the Wild as the ultimate power, possessing certain inalterable laws, seeing humans directly contradict these laws by seemingly imbuing inanimate things with life leads White Fang to regard them as a force more powerful than nature itself:
Unlike any animal he had ever encountered […] Dead things did their bidding. Thus, sticks and stones, directed by these strange creatures, leaped through the air like living things […] To his mind this was power unusual, power inconceivable and beyond the natural, power that was godlike. White Fang, in the very nature of him, could never know anything about gods […] but the wonder and awe that he had of these man-animals in ways resembled what would be the wonder and awe of man at sight of some celestial creature, on a mountain top, hurling thunder bolts from either hand at an astonished world.
Here, London highlights how remarkable human actions must appear to a wild animal who has never encountered civilization. He metaphorically compares the impression created by human actions on White Fang to the effect witnessing a “celestial creature, on a mountain top, hurling thunder bolts” would have on the mind of a human. This awe-inspiring impression explains why wolves may have originally allowed themselves to be domesticated by humans.
At several points in the novel, White Fang’s relationship to his human masters is metaphorically compared to “fealty,” while his masters are compared to feudal lords. This metaphor is a reference to feudalism, the dominant social, economic, political, and military system in medieval Europe.
In feudalism, society was structured upon the relationship between landowning nobles (or lords) and their vassals, who swore fealty (or service) to their lords in exchange for a portion of their land. Originally, the king granted feudal lords (called dukes) a portion of land called a duchy in exchange for military protection during times of war. Within a duchy there are smaller portions of land owned by lower-ranking nobles called marquesses and earls, and within their land there are still smaller portions of land owned by viscounts, and so on. At the bottom of this social hierarchy were serfs, who did not own their land but were forced to rent it from a landowning noble through farm labor and the payment of taxes, ostensibly in exchange for military protection.
London introduces this feudal metaphor for the relationship between White Fang and his human masters in Part 3, Chapter 2, when he refers to Gray Beaver as White Fang’s “surly lord”:
Gray Beaver himself sometimes tossed [White Fang] a piece of meat, and defended him against the other dogs in the eating of it [...] Gray Beaver never petted nor caressed. Perhaps it was the weight of his hand, perhaps his justice, perhaps the sheer power of him, and perhaps it was all these things that influenced White Fang, for a certain tie of attachment was forming between him and his surly lord.
Here, the novel highlights the way that Gray Beaver “defended [White Fang] against the other dogs,” suggesting that White Fang is offering Gray Beaver his labor—in this case, the labor of pulling a dog sled—in exchange for his protection. When White Fang throws himself at Gray Beaver’s feet, voluntarily submitting himself to his mastery because he has grown afraid of the darkness and the silence of the Wild after spending time among humans, he is giving up his freedom in exchange for the benefits of civilization. This could be read as a metaphor for the tendency toward mastery in human society as well as in dogs. Living in a society means that people give up a portion of their freedom—they have laws that they need to follow and responsibilities that they need to fulfill—but they do this in order to reap the benefits provided by society. White Fang does the same when he offers himself to Gray Beaver, and again when he pledges “fealty” to Weedon Scott, taking up the responsibility of protecting his new master’s property in exchange for love, food, comfort, and a sense of purpose in life.
Throughout the novel, clay is used as a metaphor to represent White Fang. In this metaphor, White Fang is represented by the clay, while his environment is compared to the hand that shapes it.
In Part 3, Chapter 6, when Gray Beaver’s people are experiencing a famine and White Fang leaves their camp to hunt for his own food, it quickly becomes clear that the “clay” of his nature has been shaped into something more domestic while he was living with the Indians. Accustomed to the comforts of Gray Beaver’s camp, he is no longer a wild animal—his clay has been shaped by civilization into something more closely resembling a dog than a wolf:
White Fang grew stronger, heavier, more compact, while his character was developing along the lines laid down by his heredity and his environment. His heredity was a life-stuff that may be likened to clay. It possessed many possibilities, was capable of being molded into many different forms. Environment served to model the clay, to give it a particular form. Thus had White Fang never come in to the fires of man, the Wild would have molded him into a true wolf. But the gods had given him a different environment, and he was molded into a dog that was rather wolfish, but that was a dog and not a wolf.
Here, London refers to White Fang’s “life-stuff” as a raw material that can be shaped any number of ways depending on his environment. This life-stuff, in London’s view, is endlessly malleable. Indeed, throughout the novel, White Fang’s life-stuff is constantly being molded into new shapes: in the wilderness he is a vicious hunter, because that is what is required of him to survive; with the Indians, he is a domineering sled dog who attacks any other dog that wants to do him harm; with Beauty Smith, he is a hateful fighter; and with Weedon Scott, he becomes a devoted and loving protector of his master. London’s belief that White Fang has such an immense capacity for change connects with his interest in environmental determinism, a term that refers to the belief that people aren’t inherently different from one another—rather, their differences are created by their differing environments, which could refer to a geographical environment or to one’s cultural or family upbringing. This also connects to the novel’s overall theme of nature vs. nurture: by depicting White Fang as clay that is molded into many shapes over the course of his life, London comes down firmly on the nurture side of the debate.
London’s depiction of White Fang as endlessly malleable depending on his environment could be transferred to human nature as well. By suggesting that even a wild wolf, formerly a vicious hunter and a violent fighting dog, can be transformed into a happy and loving pet if his basic needs are met and he is treated with kindness, London suggests that the same applies to humans who act cruelly or violently. Perhaps, he suggests, they have been made that way by a world that has treated them harshly, and with a little bit of empathy and kindness, they can change for the better.
Throughout the novel, White Fang himself functions as a metaphor for the Northland Wild. Domestic dogs fear and hate him because he represents the wild part of themselves that they have turned away from in favor of civilization and comfort.
In Part 4, Chapter 1, Gray Beaver takes White Fang to the town of Fort Yukon, where he proceeds to fight with every dog he encounters, usually killing them with a fatal bite to the throat. Generally, the other dogs are the ones to start the fights because they feel threatened by White Fang’s presence. To their minds, he embodies the Wild:
All he had to do, when the strange dogs came ashore, was to show himself. When they saw him they rushed for him. It was their instinct. He was the Wild—the unknown, the terrible, the ever-menacing, the thing that prowled in the darkness around the fires of the primeval world when they, cowering close to the fires, were reshaping their instincts, learning to fear the Wild out of which they had come, and which they had deserted or betrayed.
Here, London draws contrasts between civilization and the Wild, firelight and the darkness, the known and the unknown. This passage highlights how domestic dogs were once wolves who entered humankind’s “fires of the primeval world” from the outer darkness of the Wild. Once they came into the circle of light (representing human civilization), they severed their connection to the Wild and grew to fear the dark and the unknown. Because White Fang was born in the wild and is genetically more wolf than he is domestic dog, he still maintains this connection, which is represented as “roots” that connect him to his wild heritage.
At several points in the novel, London metaphorically compares White Fang to a plant with deep roots connecting him to his origins in the wild. He is like a tree firmly rooted in nature’s soil, even after he starts to live with humans. These roots give him strength, allowing him to draw power from nature in a way that domestic dogs, whose roots are severed, cannot. At the same time, they keep him from being fully at home in civilization, causing him to be alienated and shunned by other dogs.
In Part 4, Chapter 1, when White Fang is living with Gray Beaver’s people, the other domestic dogs continually gang up on him and attack him because they recognize that he is not truly one of them. Despite their numbers, they are unable to knock him off his feet:
On the other hand, try as they would, [the dogs] could not kill White Fang. He was too quick for them, too formidable, too wise […] While, as for getting him off his feet, there was no dog among them capable of doing the trick. His feet clung to the earth with the same tenacity that he clung to life. For that matter, life and footing were synonymous in this unending warfare with the pack, and none knew it better than White Fang.
Throughout the novel, White Fang’s “tenacity”—his strong survival instinct that has allowed him to survive through two famines and driven him to dominate every other dog he comes in contact with—is aligned with his ability to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground, suggesting that this capacity for survival is linked to his roots in the wilderness. He can’t be knocked down because his feet are rooted to the earth.
The few times White Fang is knocked off his feet in the novel, it is significant. For example, when he first encounters Indians as a puppy, they immediately give him “a clout alongside the head that knocked him over on his side,” symbolizing that this first meeting with humans is the beginning of a long journey away from his wild roots and toward his eventual domestication. White Fang is significantly knocked over again in Part 5, Chapter 2, when he is brought to the Southland by Weedon Scott and first encounters Collie, a sheepdog who is represented as the most domestic of all domestic dogs, with an ancient and “instinctive fear of the Wild, and especially the wolf,” that is, “unusually keen.” When she knocks White Fang off his feet, it represents his total domestication by Weedon Scott:
[Collie] struck White Fang at right angles in the midst of this spring, and again he was knocked off his feet and rolled over.
The next moment the master arrived, and with one hand held White Fang, while the father called off the dogs.
"I say, this is a pretty warm reception for a poor lone wolf from the Arctic," the master said, while White Fang calmed down under his caressing hand. "In all his life he's only been known once to go off his feet, and here he's been rolled twice in thirty seconds."
By this point in the novel, he is more domestic dog than wild wolf, and his journey toward civilization culminates in his having his first litter of puppies with Collie. Whereas before he was like a tree in the forest, firmly rooted to the wild earth, at the end of the novel he is metaphorically compared to a plant in a pot, “like a flower planted in good soil”—his roots to the wilderness severed.
At several points in the novel, London metaphorically compares White Fang to a plant with deep roots connecting him to his origins in the wild. He is like a tree firmly rooted in nature’s soil, even after he starts to live with humans. These roots give him strength, allowing him to draw power from nature in a way that domestic dogs, whose roots are severed, cannot. At the same time, they keep him from being fully at home in civilization, causing him to be alienated and shunned by other dogs.
In Part 4, Chapter 1, when White Fang is living with Gray Beaver’s people, the other domestic dogs continually gang up on him and attack him because they recognize that he is not truly one of them. Despite their numbers, they are unable to knock him off his feet:
On the other hand, try as they would, [the dogs] could not kill White Fang. He was too quick for them, too formidable, too wise […] While, as for getting him off his feet, there was no dog among them capable of doing the trick. His feet clung to the earth with the same tenacity that he clung to life. For that matter, life and footing were synonymous in this unending warfare with the pack, and none knew it better than White Fang.
Throughout the novel, White Fang’s “tenacity”—his strong survival instinct that has allowed him to survive through two famines and driven him to dominate every other dog he comes in contact with—is aligned with his ability to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground, suggesting that this capacity for survival is linked to his roots in the wilderness. He can’t be knocked down because his feet are rooted to the earth.
The few times White Fang is knocked off his feet in the novel, it is significant. For example, when he first encounters Indians as a puppy, they immediately give him “a clout alongside the head that knocked him over on his side,” symbolizing that this first meeting with humans is the beginning of a long journey away from his wild roots and toward his eventual domestication. White Fang is significantly knocked over again in Part 5, Chapter 2, when he is brought to the Southland by Weedon Scott and first encounters Collie, a sheepdog who is represented as the most domestic of all domestic dogs, with an ancient and “instinctive fear of the Wild, and especially the wolf,” that is, “unusually keen.” When she knocks White Fang off his feet, it represents his total domestication by Weedon Scott:
[Collie] struck White Fang at right angles in the midst of this spring, and again he was knocked off his feet and rolled over.
The next moment the master arrived, and with one hand held White Fang, while the father called off the dogs.
"I say, this is a pretty warm reception for a poor lone wolf from the Arctic," the master said, while White Fang calmed down under his caressing hand. "In all his life he's only been known once to go off his feet, and here he's been rolled twice in thirty seconds."
By this point in the novel, he is more domestic dog than wild wolf, and his journey toward civilization culminates in his having his first litter of puppies with Collie. Whereas before he was like a tree in the forest, firmly rooted to the wild earth, at the end of the novel he is metaphorically compared to a plant in a pot, “like a flower planted in good soil”—his roots to the wilderness severed.
