Through sharp, lyrical poems, Mack interrogates the relationship between black bears and the people who hunt them, drawing parallels between ecological destruction and human vulnerability.
Bears stumble through ruined forests, hunters' dogs linger at the edges of shadowed clearings, and the hum of environmental collapse pulses beneath the surface. Mack captures the tension between predator and prey, life and death, revealing how survival always comes at a cost.
Rooted in the history of bear hunting in Appalachia and the eastern United States since the first periods of colonization, Beasts of Chase is sharply researched and deeply specific to the region. Mack references Craven County, North Carolina, the site of the largest black bear ever recorded by hunters, as he examines how displacement and loss ripple through both the natural world and human history.
But beneath the natural world lies another quiet terror: the fragility of human rights. As bears are pushed from their habitats, so too are queer and marginalized communities forced to fight for safety and survival in a country where basic rights are under attack. Mack’s exploration of displacement, of animals and people alike, reflects the brutal reality of living in a world where existence itself can feel like resistance.
If you’ve been moved by the vulnerability of Ada Limón’s The Carrying or the environmental reckoning of Camille Dungy’s Trophic Cascade, Beasts of Chase leaves a quiet ache—a reminder of what it means to survive when the ground beneath you is always shifting.
