Second Nature

There's always been a kind of primal undercurrent in Hoffman's love stories - a pulse of feeling as mysterious and inevitable as the moon-besotted turtles who clamber out of the sea to lay their eggs once a year. In her tenth novel, a latter-day Beauty and the Beast, this pulse is as powerful as a drumbeat - it draws you in and frightens you at the same time. Stephen is not your everyday beast. He's an attractive and intelligent man who happens to have been a feral child, raised by wolves and then returned, unwillingly, to civilization. When Robin Moore chances upon him in a hospital corridor, it's as if she's fallen under a spell. She could never explain it, she just has to rescue him, spiriting him back to the house she shares with her teenaged son in a small island community near N.Y.C. But it's difficult to keep secrets in a small community. Robin and Stephen quickly find themselves the objects of rumor and scrutiny from nosy neighbors, from Robin's estranged husband, Roy, who's a member of the police force, from just about anybody who has a window to spy out of. Tensions mount and, when tragedy strikes on the island, its aftermath comes as no surprise. Hoffman's foreshadowing is laid on a little thick here, but, by the close, events don't seem so much predictable as predestined in the way of a myth or a good fairy tale, made just spooky enough by that steady, distant drumbeat. Once again, Hoffman (Turtle Moon, 1992, etc.) stirs up the unlikely with the ordinary and seasons it, expertly, deliciously, with our darkest desires - her fans should wolf it down. (Kirkus Reviews)