Book Review - Goodreads September 25, 2025
SunshineSmiles101 (Loch Sport, 07, Australia)’s review of
Noah the Wanderer: An Elephant Memoir
If you desire a book that comes at your heart softly and leaves you breathless with emotion, David Kilpatrick's Noah the Wanderer is the book. I confess—when I first picked it up, I was anticipating a sappy animal tale. What I discovered was so much more: a sweeping, soul-moving journey through the centuries, observed by the eyes of one amazing African elephant. It's not just a book about an elephant—oh no, it's a mirror held up to humanity, and it's absolutely beautiful.
Kilpatrick hooks you on page one and whisks you into Noah's world. Born in the wild in Africa, Noah's early life is painted with such lush, poetic prose that you can feel the warm sun on your skin and hear the far-off rumblings of his herd. But that freedom doesn't last. The instant that Noah is seized—plucked from his family by poachers—you sense that loss as a body blow to the stomach. Then, a century of existence: circus chains, gawking mobs, chilly zoo cages. It's tragic, certainly, but Kilpatrick never intrudes into melodrama. Rather, he allows the inner strength of Noah's voice (yes, even wordlessly, the narration has a profoundly spoken feel to it) to bear the burden of the narrative.
The brilliance of Noah the Wanderer is how it takes one elephant's life and makes it mirror a hundred years of human existence—wars, social transformation, devastation of the environment, incidents of sudden humaneness. Noah isn't merely an observer; he is a witness, a survivor, and also a quiet judge at times. And despite all the brutality he witnesses, the book never gives an impression that it is hopeless. There are times—short, fleeting, but powerful—when humans catch him (and us) off guard with kindness. A kind zookeeper. A kid who sees him as something more than a stare. These times sparkle like stars against blackness.
The relationship between Noah and the young boy who visits him in his final days is at the emotional core of the book. They share no words, and their relationship is so powerful, so tender, it brings tears to your eyes. You realize that understanding does not always involve words—sometimes it is the gentle way a hand rests on a folded trunk, or the power in a shared silence to speak everything.
Kilpatrick's writing is lyrical but never sentimental. He counterbalances the grandeur of Noah's journey with intimate, personal remembrances—the sound of his mother's voice, the smell of rain on dry ground, the ache of loneliness in a steel box. It's an authorial trick, but it's like having a story whispered in your ear at midnight—soft, suggestive, not to be put down.
In the end, Noah the Wanderer is a book. It's an ode to perseverance, a reminder of mercy, and a testament to how much animals experience and recall. It made me cry, certainly, but it made me reflect—and about how we treat the planet, about whom we prefer to recall, and what we're leaving behind.
If you enjoy reading books that linger in your mind for years after the last page—or if you've ever looked into an elephant's eyes and wished you could know what they've seen—this book is for you. It's not only one of the best books I've ever read this year. It feels like one of those precious books that really count. Highly, highly recommended.