I've been reading this old, long-forgotten classic this summer, and enjoying it immensely. The book is scoffed at by college professors and other "sophisticated" readers, but I love if for its sincerity. Somehow I get the feeling that Cooper, while not being the most talented writer I've read, is one of the most genuine. It feels like he loved his characters, and especially loved his settings -- and I admire authors with that kind of devotion and genuineness. Plus, since my recent move to a home in the dark forests of northeast Connecticut, I feel right at home as I read the chapters in the shadows of the great trees. I almost expect to see Natty and Hurry and Hutter and Chingachook come out of the woods nearby.
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