Maria picked up Bigfoot: The Life and Times of a Legend off the non-fiction new releases rack at our library. She knows me so well.

It was a pretty good read, in a way. Through the course of the book, the author, an “independent scholar” with a fairly strange name, Joshua Blu Buhs, sets out to frame the legend of Bigfoot in terms of its larger societal impact. From the outset, this seemed like a pretty interesting idea. I’ve had an interest in Bigfoot since, I think, I discovered my own big feet (size 12, not bad) so a book about society and the Bigfoot monster seemed like something good to read. But it was, to be sure, a little bit too good to be true.

Now, for those interested in Bigfoot, this book is a great read. In fact, Loren Coleman, a cryptozoologist and the foremost expert on Bigfoot gave this book a decent commendation but, as a view of Bigfoot in the bigger society, it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and certainly isn’t what the author claimed he set out to explore. I mean, it’s good, but it isn’t sociology.

Instead, Blu Buhs takes us on a wild ride through the history of Bigfoot. Beginning with the infamous Yeti—the Abominable Snowman—Blu Buhs traces the history of various sightings and expeditions surrounding these “wild man” creatures. He introduces us to a whole collection of characters, Bigfoot enthusiasts and skeptics alike, who are colourful and wild in their own ways, all of them. (Seriously, what a host of characters.) We follow Blu Buhs through regional expositions, through newspaper archives and delve into aboriginal folklore and myth, and all of this is interesting, for what it’s worth.

But Bigfoot falls apart in two areas, and the first is an absolute deal-breaker.

In its outset, Blu Buhs says that he is setting out to understand the legend of Bigfoot and its impact on society, around the world. Big claim. Interesting goal. But he fails, utterly, to deliver. Instead, Blu Buhs gets lost in the person of Bigfoot, tracing back sightings, following up on leads, and taking us down through a maze of evidence and circumspect. Yes, that’s absolutely interesting, but it isn’t what he said he was going to do. When Blu Buhs does get down to sociological introspect it’s usually tacked onto the end of a chapter, it’s usually wholly half-baked(!) and it’s most certainly absurd. While a few interesting facts remain, like the impact of monster movies on independent cinema in the 1970′s, the large assertions and suggestions made by the author are unforgivable, lame, and seem to lack any real work on his part. And to be fair, I remember the feeling too, of tacking on a swiss cheese conclusion to the end of a term paper while not really believing it at all. Forgive me, Prof. Gorman.

The other major failing of this book is its chronology and immense roster. On the one hand, the number of intriguing personalities in the history of Bigfoot is wonderful. But on the other hand, it’s immense. The sheer number of characters that Blu Buhs is trying to work with makes the book very difficult to follow at times. I found myself constantly trying to remember who was who and, several times, although positive that a person hadn’t been mentioned before, their sudden appearance lacks any perspective or backstory. As if I should know who they were. The other bit is the chronology: the book jumps through time like the survivors from LOST, and while I like LOST, it can be damn confusing. Blu Buhs hovers in 1967 only to jump to 1972 then back to 1965, ad nausem. It’s a bit much.

All told, I liked this book, but probably because I’m a diehard. The history is interesting, engaging even, at times, but it isn’t the sociological investigation it claimed to be. I doubt anyone with a more pedestrian interest in Bigfoot would have the time or patience to sort through this tome at all.

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