Hardly modern--but a dour tale about the pristine love of a simple man for his home, which takes place in the severe but lovely landscape of the Inner Hebrides. The author's metaphorical perceptions are explicit in the first glimpse of lobster fisherman Alasdair Mor, last remnant of a vanished settlement: ""He moved like a bear on its hindlegs. . . hands dangling like forepaws; chest, waist and hips rolling clumsily."" In his solitary stone cottage the gentle giant lives in placid, timeless quiet with his few loved animals. But an inexplicable evil arrives in the person of an island newcomer nicknamed ""the Fox,"" who not only robs Alasdair's creels but tortures and kills his creatures. Even the efforts of the Fox's helpless wife to save Alasdair cannot deflect the mindless cruelty of the Fox, understood by Alasdair, in his dying vision, to be an agent sent to deliver the final death blow to his people and his land. Bleakly obvious, but the scenic splendors make it all more or less tolerable.