Filled with karmic ruminations and digressions on animal consciousness, a spate of new “hunter memoirs” seem to be angling to prove that people who kill animals for food have feelings, too, dammit, reports the Times. Steven Rinella, a manly champion of fricasseed squirrel and beer can sparrow, becomes one with nature when he dries jerky at home. Moral discussions abound: A practicing Buddhist turns big buck hunter after his doctor says he could use a little color in his cheeks, and elsewhere, the prose in Georgia Pellegrini’s Girl Hunter is imbued with a “Carrie Bradshaw meets Annie Oakley vibe.” The good news is that we’ve never been closer to getting a cable-TV series that gives driftless twentysomethings and entrails equal airtime. [NYT, Earlier]
